Sex and the Billionaire Crime Boss

Ch. 5: In Max's Bed

Max looks at me and frowns as he stands back up again.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Um, lunch. I took a nap and missed dinner when Martina came to pick me up for the club."

He just nods and swings my legs up onto the bed. I fall back onto the mound of pillows, then shift toward the center of the bed to make room for him. But instead of getting in bed with me or stripping off his own clothes, he pulls the cover up over my body and turns, walking toward the doorway.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting you something to eat."

"But–"

He turns back momentarily and gives me a level gaze. "If you don't get some food in your stomach you are going to be really sick by morning."

Where is he going to get food at this hour? Then I remind myself that Max is ridiculously wealthy and possibly the head of a criminal organization, if I take the rumors Martina shared seriously.

I suppose a man like that gets anything he wants anytime he wants it.

His sheets and comforter are like heaven, and the pillow feels like I'm resting my head on a cloud. I give a contented sigh that comes out almost like a purr, and stretch. If he wants me to eat, I'll eat.

I must have dozed off, because in what seems like seconds later, I feel the bed shift as Max sits down on the side of it.

"Open your eyes, Hadley, and sit up."

Before I even open my eyes, it's my sense of smell that overwhelms me. Not just his alluring cologne, but breakfast food?

I look at Max, and then down at the tray he's holding. There's a plate with a generous mound of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and toast slathered with butter. And two water bottles– icy cold, judging from the condensation on the sides.

I realize I'm not just hungry, I'm starving.

"Best way to minimize a hangover. Number one, hydrate. Number two, diner-style breakfast food."

I push myself upright and he slides the breakfast tray onto my lap.

"Where did you get this?" I ask him, imagining a late-night delivery, and Styrofoam containers and foil wrappers in his kitchen, and Max transferring it all onto a plate. But the eggs are steaming as if they just come from the stove.

"I keep the basics here–eggs, bread, potatoes–so I don't have to send out for breakfast when I stay over."

I pause with a forkful of eggs halfway to my mouth. "You cooked this? You cooked me breakfast?" A guy I was seeing for awhile in law school used to run out for bagels and coffee in the morning. Nice, but probably more because he was hungry and never had any food in the apartment. No guy has ever cooked for me like this before. And I haven't even slept with Max.

Max, however, is frowning at me.

"Do you think just because I pay people to do things for me, I don't know how to make a simple breakfast?"

"That is not what I meant. What I meant was, this was really kind of you."

His look softens.

I sample a bite of the eggs and a little moan escapes my lips. Then I untwist the top of one of the water bottles and take a long drink.

"Food this good isn't simple," I tell him. "Thank you."

He brushes my hair back from my forehead. "There are quite a few things I want to do with you, Hadley," he says, and there's a gleam in his eyes that tells me something completely different would be going on if I hadn't had way too much to drink this evening. "Taking care of you right now is surprisingly one of them."