Love Bug (The Prescotts Book 3) Read online

  She’d never wanted so badly in her life to be wrong.

  After a moment, Max returned, and still naked, he slipped into bed and pulled her into his arms, settling her against his warm chest. Exhaustion fell over her like a blanket, and with Max’s heart beating steadily against her cheek, she dropped into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

  3

  Max’s eyes popped open, and he knew it was 5:05 AM without having to check his watch or his phone. He’d been getting up early for so long now that his internal alarm clock was infallible. He liked routine and predictability. He liked the simple clarity of it, the regimented discipline. He liked having control over everything—his environment, his schedule, himself.

  He’d lost that carefully honed control last night. Fuck.

  He glanced over at Willa, her face relaxed in sleep, her light brown hair falling across her eyes. She was so tiny, so delicate that she seemed almost like something unreal. Like an achingly beautiful vision, haunting in its loveliness. Her chest moved up and down steadily as she breathed, and he allowed himself the brief luxury of watching her. The sky outside was gray, the sunrise still over an hour away, but there was enough light that he could see her. She was so pretty with her heart shaped face, high cheekbones, pointed chin and delicate jawline. She was even prettier when she was awake, smiling that brilliant smile, her enormous hazel eyes flashing with intelligence and humor.

  As he watched her, his chest started to hurt, a burning from somewhere deep inside and he exhaled sharply, closing his eyes. Last night should never have happened. Under any circumstances, even the terrifying ones of yesterday.

  Doing his best not to disturb her, he slipped out of bed and quietly padded into his closet, where he retrieved a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He quickly pulled them on and then left the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, partly because he wanted to let her sleep, and partly because he wasn’t ready to face her yet.

  He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and then took the stairs two at a time up to his workout area. The open loft was his home gym, stocked with expensive equipment that he used regularly. It was where he came to think, when he was puzzling out a piece of code that wasn’t working, or thinking through a new business strategy. The mindlessness of lifting weights allowed his brain to switch off just enough that the solution would appear seemingly out of nowhere. He normally started his day with a run on the treadmill, watching the sun rise over the Manhattan skyline through the wall-to-wall windows, but he didn’t feel like running this morning. No, this morning he felt like hitting something, and so in a rare deviation from his routine, he found himself pulling on a pair of boxing gloves and circling the punching bag in the far corner of the room. He jabbed at it a few times, the contact satisfying, soothing the buzzing restlessness inside him.

  God, he was such a fucking asshole. Yeah, he’d wanted Willa in his bed last night—hell, he’d wanted her in his bed pretty much since the first conversation he’d ever had with her. Every time she walked into a room it was like the sun came out. The air smelled sweeter and everything just felt brighter. She was like a glorious May afternoon personified. She was smart and sweet and warm and everything he couldn’t have. Women like Willa weren’t meant for men like him—broken, toxic, harmful.

  He hit the bag harder, the contact vibrating up his arms, making him want more of it. He couldn’t pummel himself into oblivion, but the bag would do nicely as a stopgap.

  He’d taken advantage of her last night. She’d said yes, but she’d also been vulnerable, having endured the terror of the home invasion. He should never have let it go as far as it did. He shouldn’t have even kissed her because after that first taste of her lips, he’d been done. Knowing the sweetness of her mouth had slashed his brake lines, fully and completely.

  His punches came faster now, harder, the gloves socking against the bag with a satisfying smack.

  Not only had he taken advantage of her, but he was her boss. He’d crossed a line last night, one he’d sworn he would never cross. But, selfish prick that he was, he’d gone and done it anyway.

  He wanted to blame everything he’d done last night on adrenaline. When he’d seen Willa’s text fear had gripped him, the need to get to her obliterating everything else. He’d seen red when he’d laid eyes on those two assholes in her apartment, guns pointed at her and Kayla. Never in his life had he wanted to murder someone—until last night. And yeah, maybe adrenaline had played a small role in having sex with Willa, but all it had done was loosen his grip on his control. It wasn’t as though all of his feelings for her hadn’t been there until last night. They’d been there for months now, simmering just below the surface. The spike of fear had been what they’d needed to finally boil over.

  But the worst part—the worst fucking part—was that he’d seen the way she’d looked at him last night, with trust and warmth. With open desire. With hope. His mind flashed back to what she’d said last night, about wanting him for a long time. He’d had no idea that she’d ever seen him as anything but her boss, which made what had happened last night even worse. Sex hadn’t just been about comfort or adrenaline. It had been more.

  But her feelings for him didn’t matter. They couldn’t, because he wasn’t the man she needed, and if she knew the truth, he wouldn’t be the man she wanted, either. There was a reason he buried himself in work, that he kept everyone at arm’s length, and if Willa knew why he lived his life the way he did, if she knew what a toxic, selfish bastard he truly was, she wouldn’t have spent the night in his bed. Wouldn’t have given him a taste of something incredible that could never be his. Now, they were both going to pay the price.

  He punctuated his thoughts with hooks and jabs against the bag, sweat running down over his temples.

  Such. A. Fucking. Asshole. Motherfucking. Bastard. Hurting. Willa. Fucking. Jackass.

  He huffed out a breath and forced himself to slow down, his heart throbbing in his chest. Gripping the Velcro pull with his teeth, he ripped off one glove and then the other, throwing them down and pacing away with his hands on his hips. His T-shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, and he was shocked when the digital clock mounted to the wall showed that he’d been hammering away on the bag for over twenty minutes. He guzzled down his water and strode over to the windows, looking out over the city as the first traces of dawn lit up the sky.

  As he gazed out over the skyline, flashes of last night exploded through his brain. The taste of Willa. The scent of her skin, the feel of her mouth. The tight, wet heat of her, gripping him so perfectly. The sweetness of her moans, her sighs. The sound of his name falling from her lips, over and over again. The peace of watching her drift into sleep, her face pressed against his chest. How fucking good he’d felt, taking care of her. Giving her the comfort she’d asked for, even if he should’ve said no. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to push it all away. Bury it deep. He’d never experienced something that felt like a miracle and a mistake all at once. Until now.

  He drained the rest of his water and then headed back down the stairs. He felt a kick in his gut and an answering throb in his balls at the sight of Willa in the kitchen, perched on one of the stools lined up in front of the island, her slender fingers curled around a glass of orange juice. She wasn’t wearing anything except his button-down shirt from the night before, but it was so big on her that it covered her entirely.

  He hadn’t been prepared for the sight of her in his shirt. Hadn’t been prepared for the bolt of possessive lust making his skin feel hot and tight. She looked up, her gorgeous eyes meeting his and making his heart pound in his chest. She bit her lip, her eyes raking over him, lingering on his cock, thickening visibly beneath his sweatpants.

  He kept moving down the stairs, forcing himself to look away from her. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to cross the distance between them, close his mouth over hers and kiss the living daylights out of her.

  She’d kiss him back, her arms around his neck, her sw
eetness exploding over his tongue, and then he’d lift her onto the counter, unable to stop himself from sinking his cock inside her again, taking her, feeling her come around him as she screamed out his name…

  “Morning,” she said, almost shyly, tucking a strand of her chin-length hair behind her ear.

  He ripped himself out of his impossible fantasy and headed for the fridge, pulling out another bottle of water. He took a long drink, struggling to get a handle on the lust raging through his system. Fuck, how was he supposed to survive being around her now that he knew how incredible they were together? Now that he knew she’d wanted him all this time?

  He turned to find her studying him, her head tilted. The oversized shirt had slipped down a little, leaving part of her slender shoulder exposed. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to go to her. To drag her back to bed.

  To do the opposite of what he knew he had to do.

  “Mmm,” he said with a curt nod, his stomach churning sickly at the way her tentative smile faltered.

  She took another sip of her juice and licked her lips, shifting slightly on the stool. “So, um. Thank you. For last night. For saving me and Kayla and for…” Her eyes flashed to his, burning with need. “For last night.”

  He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be thanking me, Willa.”

  She frowned, her delicate eyebrows furrowing together. “No?”

  “No. Listen, last night…” He felt like he’d swallowed a mouthful of sawdust, struggling to get his mouth to form the words he knew he needed to say. “I’m glad you’re safe, but us…It never should’ve happened.”

  She adjusted the shirt, pulling it up over her shoulder. Tucking herself away from him, as she should. “But it did.”

  He braced his hands on the island, keeping the slab of marble between them so he wouldn’t reach for her. He felt the need to pull her into his arms like a vibration in his bones, almost painful in its intensity.

  “And for that, I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. Forcing himself to look at the hurt he’d put there. Accepting it, because that was who he was. He was a man who hurt people. Who deserved to be alone.

  She took a sip of her orange juice and shot him a tight smile. “Nothing to be sorry for. It’s…” She trailed off, glancing away. “It’s fine.”

  It was anything but fine, but this was the way it had to be. “Do you have someone you can stay with? I don’t want you going back to that apartment alone.” He felt like the worst kind of slime asking her that. She’d just been through a terrifying ordeal and he was kicking her out before the sheets were even cold.

  She nodded, her eyes darting around the space, looking everywhere but at him. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” She pushed her empty glass away and slid off the stool, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling down her slender legs, remembering how perfect they’d felt wrapped around him last night. “I should go.”

  He clenched his jaw so hard his molars ached, and then nodded. Pushing her away because it was what he had to do. She glanced at him once more, her eyes bright and sad before she disappeared down the hallway that led to his bedroom.

  Fuck washing those sheets, he was going to have to burn them. It was bad enough he’d let this happen and he’d still have to see her—see this gorgeous creature he’d tainted with his hands, with his mouth, with his pain—every day at work. He’d never survive the smell of her everywhere. The memory of her spread out on his bed, telling him she wanted him.

  He opened the fridge and started pulling out the ingredients for his usual breakfast—an egg white omelet with spinach and granola with yogurt. Leaning against the counter, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a minute, treating himself to the fantasy of how he wished things could be.

  Coming down the stairs from his workout and finding Willa in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt and taking her on that island, then dragging her into the shower. Then he’d say forget the egg whites and order in whatever she wanted, no matter how extravagant. They’d eat it in bed, looking out over the city and then—

  “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice a little raspy. She’d put on her clothes from the previous night and she held her phone in her hands. God, the fact that she was worried about him while he was kicking her out of his apartment after having sex with her just confirmed how much he didn’t deserve her.

  “I’m fine.”

  She nodded hesitantly, her eyes roving up and down his body. “I’m gonna go. My brother’s meeting me for breakfast nearby.” She moved toward the elevator, jabbing at the call button.

  “If you need to take some time off, just let HR know.”

  She whirled, her eyes suddenly bright. “I don’t need any more of your pity, Max.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Don’t. Please,” she cut him off. “Let’s just…” She shook her head and then the elevator doors opened. “I’ll see you at work.” The doors slid closed, sealing her away from him.

  He leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face, guilt and self-loathing crawling over his skin like bugs. But a woman was dead because of him, and if he did one good thing in this life, it would be staying the hell away from Willa Banks.

  4

  Six Weeks Later

  Willa smiled to herself as she walked down 7th Ave, the spring greenery of Central Park at her back. It was an absolutely stunning late April day, with the sun shimmering through the new leaves, a few puffy clouds dotting the sky, a light breeze stirring the air. The temperature hovered somewhere near seventy, and the gorgeous weather was why Willa had decided to walk back to her apartment from Sloan-Memorial instead of cabbing it or taking the subway. Even though her unicorn onesie was getting at least a few strange looks—mostly from tourists, native New Yorkers didn’t even bat an eye at her costume—she was glad for the walk and the fresh air and the glorious sunshine. Besides, the kids at the hospital loved when Cupcake the Unicorn came to read them stories and do crafts (always involving copious amounts of glitter, of course) so it was totally worth it, strange looks be damned. Putting smiles on those kids’ faces mattered more than anyone thinking she was yet another crazy person, walking through Central Park in a unicorn onesie with glitter on her face. She knew first-hand the kind of hell they were going through and she’d do anything to bring a little joy to their lives.

  As she walked, her stomach rumbled, as if sensing her proximity to Red Fox, her favorite takeout sushi place. She hadn’t planned on stopping to get something to eat, but now that the idea was in her head, her mouth was already watering. She could practically taste the wasabi. With a little laugh, she turned down West 59th, putting Central Park to her right as she headed for the restaurant. She slipped her phone out of her pocket, checking the time. It was almost 5:30, which was perfect because she’d beat the Saturday evening dinner rush.

  She stepped inside, leaving the fresh air and sunshine behind her. The interior of the restaurant was tiny, with only a handful of tables available for dining in. The front of the space was taken up with a high wooden counter with the plastic-encased menu attached to the front of it. The scents of wasabi and ginger and soy sauce cut through the air in the dim space, making her mouth water and her stomach grumble again. She skimmed the menu, even though she already knew what she was going to order: the California roll with blue crab, tempura shrimp and the green tea crème brulée. It was the same thing she always got whenever she treated herself to Red Fox. It wasn’t that she didn’t like trying new things, it was just that she didn’t mess around when it came to her Red Fox order. Why stray from perfection?

  She stepped up to the counter, placed her order and then moved into the little alcove off to the side to wait. A brightly lit aquarium showcased several tropical fish and she leaned forward to peer at them, smiling at the bright colors.

  “Willa?”

  Everything inside her came to life at the sound of Max’s voice from sev
eral feet behind her. She whirled quickly, her eyes landing on him. He stood in the corner, leaning one shoulder against the wall, his ankles crossed, phone in hand. The unexpected sight of him set off a dizzying chain reaction inside her—lust, happiness, confusion, embarrassment, foolishness, hurt. A longing so intense it made her feel sunburned, her skin tight and itchy. Normally, she spent her commute giving herself a pep talk about not feeling anything for Max, not letting the sight of him get to her, being strong. By the time she got to work, she was armed and ready for the day. It helped that she’d been avoiding him as much as possible, keeping her necessary interactions with him perfunctory and professional.

  But the truth was, she was an absolute mess over him.

  Spending the night with him had opened her eyes to the fact that she didn’t have a crush on Max. No, she had feelings for him. Big, capital F feelings that didn’t seem to be fading even after the way he’d pushed her away. She’d known it the morning she’d walked out of his penthouse feeling like an absolute fool, and it was all still there. This pull toward him. This ache every time she looked at him. If a guy she had a crush on had told her he wasn’t interested in a relationship with her, yeah, that would suck. It would sting a little. But for six weeks now, she’d been reeling. She hurt.

  Underlying all of that hurt, all of that longing, was complete and utter confusion. Had what had happened between them been a pity fuck? Or had it been more? After all, he’d said that he’d imagined her under him so many times, that she’d felt even better than he’d ever imagined. She wasn’t misremembering—he’d said those things to her. Had that been part of whatever game he’d been playing with her that night? Because as many times as she’d replayed it, as many times as she’d turned the words over and over in her mind, she couldn’t find anything but lust and sincerity behind them.