Royal Pain by Megan Mulry Read Free Book Online

for all… present company excluded, of course,” she added, still smiling.
    “No need to make excuses. I love New York. I have enjoyed Chicago for other reasons.” (Cue slow smile… and… there it is.) “But my days here are numbered. I am trying not to be too pessimistic—I mean, I really do love England, especially come midsummer. The gentle rain in July is, well, you should see it some time. It’s beautiful.”
    Forcing herself to set aside the dreamy implication of a future that involved her ever stepping foot in the gentle rain, she plowed ahead: “So what should we do between now and then?”
    Max gave her a mocking half-smile in response that nearly knocked her off her chair. Clearly, he had some things in mind.
    Bronte pressed on. “The thing is, I probably seem really crass and pushy, and American in the worst possible way, but I just spent the last year building up to and then crashing down from this imaginary—or at least far more meaningful in my imagination than it was in his reality—relationship. And I have made this promise to myself that from here on out, I will err on the side of brutal honesty—lest I get sucked into another morass of second-guessing, unspoken hints, gestures, sighs, what have you…”
    Just then, Max placed his cool, calm hand over Bronte’s fidgeting one, and she couldn’t talk anymore. She felt all her chaotic, nervous energy sputter and then slowly abate. She looked up into those astonishing slate-gray eyes and felt it physically: her shoulders eased and the weight of her anxiety slid away.
    Not good , some hard-hearted alter ego grumbled deep in the back of her psyche. Listen to what he’s really saying. Don’t be fooled! Run!
    No! I don’t want to be his arm candy , she parried with her inner bitch. I don’t want to be rescued! He’s just nice and there’s a clear end in sight. I’m safe!
    But he just smoothed every conflicting inner quip flush away. He stroked her like she was a nervous creature. A part of her once-burned-twice-shy conscience still bucked, but with a grudging capitulation: like an angry young horse that knows it is about to be saddled for the first time and concedes, haltingly, that it might not be all bad.
    She brought her other hand over his and gently caressed the ridge of his knuckles as they rested over hers. She didn’t feel like talking anymore. Her thumb moved slowly over each knuckle, loving the feel of the soft skin between each finger and the contrast of the rough, masculine texture of the hair on the back of his hand.
    It was almost noon and the bright sun was streaking through the plate-glass windows to her left that fronted the café. Another bus sped by, shooting another flash of brilliant light across Max’s eyes.
    Heaven.
    Bronte was going to hold on to this bit for as long as he’d let her. An involuntary hum must have escaped her because at that moment, Max looked at her with a questioning gleam in his eye. When Bronte continued to smile benignly, Max slowly turned her hand palm up on the table and began to trace slow circles there and occasionally up to her wrist and back. It was such a welcome novelty, just to be touched, to open herself to this; her eyes fell half-closed in a pleasant stupor.
    It was just physical. Totally fine.
    Another little hum of pleasure escaped through her slightly parted lips and Max let out a wonderfully deep, low chuckle.
    “My younger sister always hums when she’s happy. It’s a nice habit. Letting people know you’re content.”
    He slowly brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the center of Bronte’s palm, then the pulse point of her wrist. She would have never believed that something so seemingly innocent could be downright erotic.
    The waitress came over then and smiled conspiratorially at the two of them. They had finished their food and, before Bronte could grab her wallet, Max had already handed his Coutts Visa card to the waitress and preemptively launched into his