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toward him—“I had other things on my mind when I was younger. You may not believe this, but I much preferred fucking to anything else when I was a teenager.”
    Lille widened her eyes in mock surprise. “I’m shocked.”
    He laughed. “I suppose you were much the same?”
    Lille didn’t answer that, didn’t want to answer that. Instead, she freed her hands from beneath her towel, then slid them over his dick and balls, stroking and cupping him. He was still a bit damp from the shower.
    â€œWho said anything about were ?” she murmured coyly, and began moving her hand rhythmically up and down, feeling him harden, velvet over steel.
    He widened his stance and let her do as she would. “Damn, lass, you may just be the death of me.”
    Yeah, Lille agreed. That was what she was afraid of. She liked him; she liked him too much to trust herself with him. She wasn’t a woman a man could love. Look what trouble she brought, on herself and others. Caring about people was dangerous. Allowing them to care for her was worse.

CHAPTER Twenty-four

    Lille awoke suddenly, but even though panic had her heart racing, she didn’t move, didn’t change her breathing. She waited, letting the awareness of her surroundings slowly sink into her flesh. The sun was shining on her; she could tell that from the warmth on her face and the red glow in front of her eyes.
    She was wrapped around a warm, muscled body—Max.
    Memories of the previous night, of being laid gently on the bed and tied, were superimposed with an image of Paul, his eyes wide and confused as he held a gun to her head.
    She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and thought just of Max, of last night, of the last night. Only it was morning now, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
    â€œI decided that I’m not ready for our night to end,” Max said from above her. He was straddling her hips and had already taken one of her arms and tied it to the bedpost with a hideous 1970s tie.
    Lille had laughed. “That’s a far cry from Fifty Shades of Grey, you know.”
    He’d snorted and tied her other wrist with another tie, this one a green-and-orange paisley print. “One woman wants to be spanked, and now we all have to be billionaires with gray ties.”
    Running one of the hideous things through her fingers, she couldn’t help but be glad that it wasn’t gray, that he wasn’t taking this too seriously. “Why do you have such ugly ties?” He pulled out a cotton-candy-pink one with small pigs all over it and used it to tie her left ankle to the footboard.
    â€œIt’s tradition, like.” He knotted it loosely. “Every year on St. Pat’s, the lads buy me a new ugly tie to wear. I forget why it started.”
    â€œYou must have quite a collection,” Lille noted.
    â€œAye,” he agreed, and tied her other ankle to the footboard—this tie had little leprechauns on it.
    â€œI like that one, darling,” Lille said. “They look depraved.”
    He laughed, moving so that he was kneeling between her spread legs. “That they do. I told the lads that meself, but I don’t think they imagined I’d use it quite this way.”
    Lille felt her own lips twitch; though the sight of him kneeling between her legs had taken her breath, she still felt like laughing. Who would have thought Max Jobman could be funny?
    He stroked his hands up her thighs slowly, making her gasp.
    â€œNo talking, lass, this is my show.”
    â€œHave you ever been in love, Max?” Lille threw it out there like a grenade, wondering what he’d say, what he’d do.
    He looked appalled. “God, no. Women in general can’t be trusted.”
    â€œTrusted with what?”
    He thought about that for a moment, then climbed off of her and went back to his closet.
    â€œThis is as close to gray as I’ve got, pet, so shut up.”
    It was a gray