Furious blue eyes met and shredded her with a ruthlessness that made her shudder. “I’ll forgive you for that comment. Once. I’ll also leave you alone, but be warned. When I think you’ve had enough time, I’m coming after you.” He smiled cruelly. “And I promise you’ll beg for more.”
The door slammed behind him.
• • •
He was such a dick.
Max glanced up the staircase and listened to the strains of Rihanna vibrating in the air. Two days had passed since their fight. She’d kept her distance and treated him with an icy politeness that drove him nuts. She worked long shifts at BookCrazy, holed up in the art room, and avoided dinner.
A loneliness he’d never noticed before permeated the air of his home. Her energy pulsed through the rooms but he craved direct contact, a real conversation. He missed her laughter and enthusiasm and wit. He missed everything about her. Rocky got more time with her than he did.
He never should have pushed. When she’d come so naturally into his arms, her scent wrapped around him and he’d been drugged. The softness of her curves pressed against his chest. The silky brush of her curls. He had ached to pull her into the bedroom and claim her all over again. Now, he realized it was the epitome of bad timing.
Max groaned. So stupid. Instead of being rational and giving her the time she needed, he had threatened her. Yeah, the blood had definitely gone to his other head, and he had no excuse. Her heartfelt statement about her own happily-ever-after seared into his brain and broke his heart. Was that what he’d done to her? Ripped away her illusions and dreams?
He always worried he’d break her heart one day. Sure, he was forced into marrying her, but why didn’t it feel like such a chore? Why did he look forward to coming home and catching a glimpse? She deserved so much more. Instead, she got him.
Depression settled over him. The hell with it. He’d cook dinner and force her to interact. Max headed toward the bedroom, stripped off his suit, and changed into jeans and a black T-shirt. He poured two glasses of Merlot and settled on a chicken salsa dish she’d like. The meditative motions of preparing a meal soothed him. The culinary kitchen had been custom-built, with cream granite countertops, a Sub-Zero fridge, a brick oven for pizza, and a Viking stove. The island cut through the main area with a sink and separate work area, a breakfast bar, and cushioned leather stools. He grabbed a few copper pots, drizzled in the olive oil, and began chopping tomatoes and onions. Ten minutes later, she clattered down the stairs and stood framed in the kitchen. “I’m going. Don’t wait up.”
He threw down the knife and leaned one hip against the counter. “I’m cooking dinner. Where are you going?”
“Bookstore.”
“Stay for a bite. You need food before your long shift.”
She shifted on her feet, obviously tempted. “Can’t. I’ll grab something at the café.”
“They only have snacks, you need protein. For God’s sake, I promise you don’t have to stay long in my company. Sit.”
“I don’t—”
“Sit.”
She pulled out a chair and sat. Her immediate response reminded him of her obedience in the bedroom and gave him an instant hard-on. He slid the chicken onto a plate, topped it with salsa, and plopped it on the counter with a fork. She dove in with her usual relish, making those yummy sounds of pleasure. He shifted with discomfort and tried to adjust. “Did you find anything out about our dove?”
“Yes. I tracked the tag to an owner about fifty miles from here. She’s a homing pigeon, known as a rock dove. Name’s Gabby. She’s not a regular racer, but he sends her out on occasional missions to keep her sharp. A few of his friends belong to a club, and I guess all their doves returned except Gabby. He’s been frantic.”
Max filled his own plate and slid into the stool across from her. “I didn’t realize racing pigeons even existed. Is he coming to pick her up?”
She took a sip of her wine. “No, I explained what we did and the damage to Gabby’s wing, and he agreed to let me take care of her here until she’s healed. Then I can let her fly home. If there are any problems with her recovery, he’ll drive over to pick her up, but I think she’s doing better already. She’s alert and seems to know what’s going on.”
“How long before she can be released?”
“Two to three weeks, depending.” A smile broke over her face. “The owner said she was used to carry letters back and forth between separated couples. Isn’t that cool?”
He smiled back. “Extremely. Just be careful, sweetheart. You always get attached.”
Her nose scrunched up. “I know. She’s only a bird, so I should be okay.”
“Oh, yeah. What about the chipmunk?”
A laugh escaped her lips. “I forgot about that! But I was young.”
He snorted and forked another piece of chicken. “You named him Dale from the Disney cartoons. I think he faked that hurt leg. You set him up in the shed with his own man cave. No wonder the rodent didn’t want to leave.”
“Don’t call him a rodent. He was sweet. He didn’t stay long.”
“He was damn mean. Bit me and Michael all the time when we tried to play with him. Then he brought all his rodent friends to party and we were afraid to even go in and get our bikes.”
Her dark eyes glowed and the lines in her beautiful face softened. “Papa got so mad. They chewed holes in the wall and stored towers of nuts. He forced me to get rid of Dale.”
“You cried for days.”
“I have trouble letting go of those I love.”
The startling confession burst through the room. She jerked back, obviously regretting her words, and concentrated on her plate. Max spoke softly. “I know. They always seem to come back to you, though. “
Carina refused to look up. He fought the urge to caress her cheek and kiss the sadness away. Instead, he poured more wine and changed the subject. “How’s your work coming? Are you still doing portraits?”
A strange expression flickered over her face. “Kind of. I’m trying something new.”
“I have a lot of contacts in the art world, Carina. I’d love to set you up with a consultant. If they like it, maybe a show can be arranged?”
She shook her head in between bites. “No, thanks. I’m handling this on my own.”