9. Max

9

MAX

I ’m fucking pissed, although I’m not sure why. I’m a little worried I’ve had one drink too many and my inhibitions are down.

Gia takes a step back, which angers me more because she shouldn’t be afraid of me. Not of me. Her confused gaze stays on me. Her chin lifts. “Then explain it.”

“You want me away from you and the kids, right? What do you think, I’m going to hurt them… hurt you?”

"They're not your responsibility." Her voice carries that same distant tone that's been driving me crazy since she arrived.

"The hell they're not. Your mother asked me to look after you, and by extension, that includes them."

“You can do that without making them breakfast and playing with them.”

“Why do you want me away from them?—”

“It’s not that,” she says with exasperation. “It’s just not a part of your job duties.”

Job. She thinks this is a job? I give my head a shake because she's not completely wrong. I have a duty to Nic and her mother.

"Last year in New York, you could barely stand to be in the same room with me. Now you're making pancakes and playing games with the kids like?—”

"Like what?"

"Like you care." She wraps her arms around herself, a gesture that makes her look vulnerable despite her cool facade.

"Christ, Gia." I run a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to shake some sense into her. "You think I don't care? You think I converted that playroom and stocked it with toys because Nic ordered me to?"

"I don't know what to think anymore." Her voice cracks slightly. "Last year, you couldn’t stand to be near us, and now you’re… you're…"

"I'm what?"

“The point is, I don’t want to disrupt your life. I don’t want you to feel obliged to spend time with us. I’m sure you have your own life, and I don't want the kids and me getting in the way of that."

“You’re not in the way.”

She looks at me like I’m not understanding what she’s trying to say. “The kids are growing close to you… always asking about you?—”

"Good." The word comes out sharp enough to make her flinch. "Maybe I like coming home to something other than an empty house. Maybe I enjoy having breakfast with people instead of staring at financial reports."

She presses her lips together. "We both know that's not true. Last year?—”

"Last year was different."

"Why?" Her eyes search mine. "What changed?"

Everything. Nothing. I can't tell her the real reason I kept my distance in New York, that being near her and pretending I didn't want her were killing me. That watching her with the kids reminded me of everything I gave up.

The thing is, I should accept what she’s saying and stay away like I did last year. Nothing has changed. I’m still her godfather. Her brother is still my boss and best friend. I’m still ancient compared to her. And yet, for some reason, everything has changed. The need for her is so acute, I can’t hardly breath.

"This is my home," I say instead. "My territory. Besides, you’re the one acting like they can’t be in the same room with me.”

"Me?" Gia's laugh holds no humor. "I wasn't the one who could barely look at anyone. Who disappeared the moment dinner was over. Who treated me like I had some contagious disease."

I hate that she's right. I'd been cold, distant, wrapped in my own guilt and fear.

"You’re giving me whiplash, Max. In New York, you acted like you couldn't wait to get away from me. From us." She gestures between us. "And now you're making pancakes and playing games like we’re one big, happy family."

I deserve her anger, every cutting word. Last year, I treated her like she was radioactive. I’d seen clear as day how I’d hurt her when I'd dodged her attempts at conversation, when I'd made excuses to leave a room. I’d been terrified that one wrong move would expose everything I felt. So I ran. Like a coward. Christ, I was such an asshole.

The anger bubbles up, at myself, at this whole fucked up situation. Here she is, in my home with her kids, and I'm still screwing everything up. The truth is, I’m giving myself whiplash because all the reasons I shouldn’t want her still exist. But this time, I’m losing the battle.

"You want to know why I was different last year?" My voice comes out rough. "Because being in New York, seeing you again —” I cut myself off, knowing I'm about to say too much. I’m still a coward.

She crosses her arms, defensive. "Don't bother explaining. It's ancient history."

That makes me laugh, a harsh sound that has her eyes snapping to mine. Ancient history? Every moment with her is seared into my brain. The way she'd looked at me that night six years ago, trust and desire in her eyes. The soft sounds she'd made. The guilt that followed.

I want to tell her she's wrong, that everything she thinks she knows about last year is wrong. But the words stick in my throat. Because maybe she's better off believing I didn't care. Maybe it's safer that way.

"Maybe I didn't handle things well before, but?—"

"But what?" She steps closer, and the scent of her perfume makes my head spin. "What changed?"

Everything. Nothing. I open my mouth, but no words come out. How can I tell her the truth when I can barely admit it to myself?

"My problem is you." The words rip from my throat before I can stop them.

Gia recoils like I've slapped her. Her face drains of color, and she spins toward the door.

"Wait." I lunge forward, catching her arm. "That came out wrong."

She tries to pull away, but I hold firm. "Let me go, Max."

"No, damn it." Frustration claws at my chest. Every time I open my mouth, I make things worse. "I'm not saying this right."

"You're saying it perfectly clear." Her voice quavers despite her attempt to sound cold. "I'm a problem. Message received."

“Fuck,” I growl in frustration. “I’ve never forgotten that night, Gia. It’s a beautiful memory, and it was so wrong.”

“I get it,” she snaps as she continues to try and tug her arm free.

I know I need to let her go, should back off and maintain the careful distance I've kept all these years. But having her here, in my space, watching her with the kids, it's breaking down every wall I've built.

“I’m the problem and it was a mistake. Now let me go.”

“Dammit… Gia, I'm not good at saying what I mean. At feeling…"

She finally turns to face me, those green eyes scorching hot as they look up at me. "Then try harder."

I release her arm, hoping she’ll wait and hear me out. “I’m your godfather, and I…” I close my eyes because it feels so wrong.

Gia inhales sharply.

"You were barely more than a kid. And I was your brother's best friend. Your mother trusted me to look after you, and I…" I drag a hand down my face feeling like a pervert. "It was wrong. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't…" I swallow hard. "I couldn't say no to you, but Jesus… you were so young. I?—”

"No.” She gives me a small shove in the chest. “You don't get to rewrite history. I wasn't some innocent child you corrupted. I knew exactly what I was asking for, what I wanted, needed from you."

"You were eighteen." The words scrape my throat raw. "I was thirty-five. Your godfather, for Christ's sake."

"Stop saying that like it's something dirty." She pushes me again. "You were my friend, Max. Always only my friend. I trusted you."

“You had a crush?—”

“Yeah, well, that’s gone now, so you don’t have to worry.”

This is going so fucking wrong. I should give up. Let it go. There’s no righting this wrong.

“If all I am to you is a god-child that you’re obligated to protect, then that’s all you need to do. Just keep our distance?—”

“It’s not that easy.”

"Why not? It seemed easy enough for you last year."

"Nothing about last year was easy." The admission tears from my throat. "Every minute I spent avoiding you, trying to keep my distance… it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

"Then stop fighting it." Her voice drops to barely above a whisper.

God, I want to. I want to give in to this overwhelming need for her.

“You did nothing wrong, Max.”

“I left you with Aldo.”

She looks down, and I can see that it is a point of contention for her. She feels, as I do, that I abandoned her.

She looks up at me, and I see the strong woman she’s become. “There was no getting out of that. I see that now. You gave me something beautiful to carry with me, to help me through those next two years.”

I can’t believe she sees it like that.

“You gave me exactly what I wanted, what I needed. Why would you feel guilty about that? Why would what I’m telling you now not carry weight over all your excuses about why it’s wrong?”

Emotion wells in my chest. It’s all consuming, all powerful. It breaks my control, shattering it like glass. Her eyes widen as I cup her face in my hands, but she doesn't pull away as I capture her lips with mine.

She tastes sweet, just like I remember. My fingers tangle in her hair as I deepen the kiss. Her soft moan vibrates against my lips, and I'm lost. The guilt, the responsibilities, the complications, they all fade away until there's nothing but her warmth pressed against me.

Her hands slide up my chest, around my neck, drawing me impossibly closer.

Thank fuck , I think. She’s not pushing me away but pulling me to her. I’m not alone in this crazy desire.

I back her against the desk, lifting her onto it. Papers scatter to the floor, but I can’t care less. All that matters is the way she arches into me, how perfectly she fits in my arms.

My tongue traces her bottom lip, and she opens for me with a whimper that shoots straight to my cock. One of my hands drops to her hip, gripping tight enough to bruise. The other cradles her head as I pour six years of wanting into the kiss.

The rational part of my brain screams that this is wrong, that I'm crossing a line I can never uncross. Again. But with Gia's fingers in my hair and her taste on my tongue, I can't stop.