It turned out Luke had booked a room in the hotel too.
‘I’d like to spend the night with you,’ he told her. His confidence was overwhelmingly sexy. ‘I don’t mean… you know… but I’ve come all this way and I just want to be with you.’
Max could think of nothing she would prefer to being held close to him all night. Mind you, she wasn’t entirely sure either of them would be able to hold back.
Luke told her he’d come to her room in twenty minutes. He wanted to jump in the shower first.
Thank God, thought Max. She could freshen up too. And shave her legs. She had a waxing appointment booked for next week in London but the last thing she wanted was for Luke to feel her hairy legs. Thankfully, she’d brought a razor.
Stepping into the shower she let out a scream as the freezing water hit her. Jumping back, she gave it a moment to warm up. After lathering her hair with shampoo, she rinsed it off while hurriedly rubbing hotel soap all over her body. At times like this she wished she’d packed her best soaps and creams, like Lucy did wherever she went. But who could have foreseen Luke would turn up? How wonderful. Almost too good to be true. Max considered that it was a peculiarly pessimistic human trait to worry that things were going too well and to wonder what was round the corner. Enjoy the moment, she told herself as she washed the film of soap off her body.
Max launched herself out of the shower and quickly towelled herself dry. She brushed through her hair. No time to dry it – hell, the tousled look could be sexy. Max brushed her teeth, applied a light coat of mascara to open her sleepy eyes and rubbed in a little face cream.
He was really here. He’d flown to New York just to see her. Max was overcome with anticipation and excitement as she sprinted in little bursts around the room, picking up clothes she’d discarded about the place and shoving them under the bed.
She pulled on her cream-satin nightie, which only just covered her bum. A little indecent without pants, she thought, rummaging through her suitcase for her La Perla cream thong. A scoosh of Jo Malone Lime, Basil and Mandarin, nice and fresh.
‘There, done,’ she said aloud standing in front of the mirror. ‘Shit, no, my legs,’ she muttered, racing through to the bathroom. Turning on the shower she put her right leg over the bath and started shaving. No bloody shaving cream. Ah well, needs must. Done. Now the left leg.
A knock at the door.
Shit.
‘Just coming,’ she shouted.
Two more lines. That’s it. Good.
Max turned off the shower and ran to the door.
‘Hey,’ she said, opening the door, a surge of confidence rising within her. Luke had come all this way for her. There was no point in worrying if he liked her as much as she liked him. He clearly did.
She kissed him lightly on the lips and stepped back. He followed her in. Max was standing a few feet away from him. She wanted to look at him, make sure he was really here. He was wearing those baggy faded jeans and a light blue T-shirt. He was so effortlessly sexy.
Max looked at his face. Something wasn’t right. He looked panicked.
‘Luke?’
‘Jesus, Max.’
God, why did he look disgusted, like he was about to faint?
He was staring at her legs. She looked down.
Blood was gushing down her right leg. A bright-red stream from just above her knee down to her foot. She must have nicked herself with the razor.
Luke stepped towards her, his face etched with concern.
‘Max, what have you done?’
‘I’ve shaved my legs, Luke. Just not very well,’ Max ventured sheepishly.
He looked at her face. He guessed that guilty expression hadn’t changed much since she was a toddler. He bellowed with laughter, doubling over.
Straightening up he looked at Max.
‘You are adorable.’
Max laughed back. ‘Well, that’s one way of seeing it.’
Luke picked up a white towel from the bed and wrapped it round her leg. They assessed her wound and realized the outlet for all that blood was nothing more than a teeny cut.
‘I’m OK,’ she whispered.
‘Good,’ Luke said, scooping her up and laying her on the bed.