He nodded as he drove out of the parking lot.

“Agreed—maybe it was because they kept eating in that movie.”

They tossed around restaurant ideas as they drove in the general direction of her place, until she saw a sign up ahead.

“Can you believe I haven’t been to In-N-Out since I’ve been back to California?”

He immediately threw on his blinker, just like she knew he would.

“Are you serious? That feels sacrilegious. Let’s go.”

He started to pull into a parking spot, but she stopped him.

“No, let’s go through the drive-through—it’s probably packed inside. We can eat at my place.”

He put his hand on hers.

“Olivia Monroe, you’re the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.”

She laughed at him, but damn was this man getting to her. Every time he looked at her, she wanted him to touch her. Every time he touched her, she wanted it to last longer. And now, he was coming back to her place, to touch her, she hoped, for a very long time.

She stopped herself. No, Olivia, don’t build it up too much—sure you haven’t had sex for months, but you haven’t even kissed this guy. Just because he has a good head of hair and a sexy smile doesn’t mean he knows what to do with his body . . . or yours. Okay, but it had the potential to be good, didn’t it? He paid attention when she talked, and he clearly liked looking at her. That was honestly half the battle for most men—if he could listen when she said Yes, no, right there, YES, he had the advantage over about eighty percent of men.

Maybe ninety.

When they got back to her place, Olivia led him to the kitchen, and picked up the bottle of red wine on her kitchen counter.

“Wine? I have white wine in the fridge if you want that. I’m not sure which one goes better with In-N-Out, though.”

His eyes lingered on her, and her whole body tingled.

“Whichever one you’re having,” he said.

She took two wineglasses down from the cabinet and opened the red wine. He didn’t jump to try to open it for her, thank God. She enjoyed it when men opened doors for her and all of that, but too often men tried to take over every damn thing from women in the interest of “chivalry,” and Olivia hated that. She poured two glasses, and led him into the living room.

“Let’s sit in here,” she said. “It’s more comfortable than the kitchen stools at the counter, and I don’t have a kitchen table yet.”

He followed her into the living room with the food and sat down next to her on the couch. Very close to her on the couch.

“A car, a kitchen table, what else do you still have to buy?”

She laughed as she took their food out of the bags.

“Oh, probably a million things. A new wardrobe, for that matter—all of my clothes are too dark and too formal for L.A. I think the only time I’ve seen anyone in a suit since I got here was that luncheon, and that was only you and a handful of other lawyers.”

He squeezed out ketchup for both of them and picked up a fry.

“Has it been hard? The transition?” he asked.

Yes, much harder than she’d expected.

“Not really,” she said. “Maybe at some point it will be, but for now, it’s all a new adventure, you know? And it’s a relief to be back in California.”

She took a bite of her burger so she wouldn’t be able to answer any more questions, and maybe he got the hint, because so did he.

“Ahh, that hit the spot,” he said when he finished his burger. “I haven’t been in months and it was just what I was in the mood for. Thank you for suggesting it.”

He took a sip of wine and smiled at her over his wineglass, and she felt that electricity between them again. She must be really attracted to this man, because usually right after she finished a cheeseburger was when she felt the least sexy possible, but for some reason, being with Max Powell was the exception.

“Okay, so, list of things Olivia still has to do in L.A.: buy a car, buy a kitchen table, buy a whole new wardrobe. Anything else?”

Olivia picked up her wineglass and took another sip as Max looked down at her. Had he gotten even closer to her on the couch, or was it just her imagination?

“Oh, I’m sure there are so many more things. Go to the beach—I haven’t done that once since I’ve moved back. I’ve always wanted to go to the Getty museum and have never been. Oh, and Disneyland—I’ve always loved it there, but I haven’t been in a long time. I know it’s super touristy, but I’ve never gone up to see the Hollywood sign—the problem is I feel like you have to hike to do that, and I definitely don’t have hiking clothes. Or, like . . . a hiking mentality. Or . . .”

Max plucked her wineglass out of her fingers and set it down on the table. The look in his eyes made her feel breathless.

“I have one more thing to put on your list. But you can check it off anytime you want.” He trailed his fingers along her jaw and drew her even closer to him.

“Oh? What’s that?” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but then she hadn’t expected him to make her tremble. She put her hand on his knee. God, why did it feel so good to touch him?

He leaned in, inch by inch, until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart.

“Kiss me,” he said.

And she did.

His lips were soft and gentle . . . at first. But after a few moments of light, tender kisses, he slid his hands into her hair and pulled her hard against him. She threw herself into the kiss, kissing him harder, deeper. She could tell he liked it, so she did it again, until he pulled her on top of him so she was straddling him. Now she could really tell he liked it. He leaned down to kiss her neck—this man had good instincts, God did she love being kissed there. She took the opportunity to run her fingers through his thick hair, and felt him sigh and then kiss her harder.

She reached down and tugged his shirt out of his jeans, and ran her hands up and down his back. He pulled her head back down to his and kissed her hard, but as they kissed, he reached around and took her hands in his.

Did he not want her to touch him there? Or touch him at all? No, she was on his lap right now, he clearly liked it when she touched him and kissed him, but as tactful as it had been he’d definitely removed her hands from his back.

She pulled away and looked at him. He certainly looked like he was enjoying himself. All flushed, with swollen lips and unfocused eyes.

“Do you want to move to my bedroom?” she asked, just as he said, “I should probably go.”

As soon as Olivia realized what he’d said, equal amounts of rage and humiliation rushed over her.

“I see,” she said.

She scrambled off his lap and tugged her dress down.

He touched her arm, but she pulled away and stood up.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “You should probably go.”

Was this somehow fun for him? Had last time not been an emergency, but instead just a way for him to get off on leading her on?

“No, wait, Olivia . . .” He sighed. “I should have done this earlier, but you’re so . . . well, I got carried away. This isn’t . . . I really . . .” He stopped and closed his eyes for a second and then looked at her. “I did this all wrong, but can you let me explain?”