Chapter Twenty-Two

At seven thirty-five a.m., Tuesday morning, a brisk knock sounded on Max’s door. When he opened it, his breath was wrenched from his lungs. Aggie, makeup free, wearing the tiniest pair of running shorts, the kind elite runners wore in major marathons, a pink sports bra, and what looked to be brand new shoes. No shirt of any kind. The outfit made her painting shorts look like a nun’s habit.

The pithy greeting he’d planned failed to launch. Sweat broke out on his brow. “Almost right on time.”

“Are you ready to do it?”

He nodded, refused to think do it meant do it, and headed toward the elevators while mentally flipping through the multiplication’s table, starting with nines, to keep his brain off of what it wanted to dwell on. Kissing every inch of her bare skin.

She followed.

In the elevator, they stood along the back wall. He forced his eyes to stay on the door. Tried not to inhale her sweet scent, but it soaked through his nostrils, and the tempting scent all but convinced him it would be okay to fuck her right here, right now.

He dragged a hand down his face. It’s not like he hadn’t already known she had a killer body—he’d known since the first day they met.

Knowing it and seeing so much of it naked sent him into a tailspin of lust. Now it wouldn’t only be her lips he daydreamed of ravaging.

“It’s a beautiful morning for a run.” Her voice sounded rumbly.

“How far do you want to go?” He glanced at her. Big mistake. Nine times seven…sixty something.

She slid her gaze over his body. “How far do you normally go the first time with a new partner?” Her voice husky.

Eight times eight… “Six to ten miles.”

“Oh.”

With his gaze on the light reflecting the floors going by, he waited for her to expand. She didn’t. Twenty hours later, the elevator door slid open, and they exited the building. “Want to stretch first?”

Her eyes gave him another thorough inspection. “I did before I came, but you can. I’ll wait and watch.”

“I’m good.” He turned toward a hill. “I like to get this climb over in the beginning.” He fell into a slow jog. “You set the pace. I don’t want to go too fast for you.”

“Setting the pace is my favorite.” She picked up the speed, moving out in front like a true competitor.

He followed, watching in amusement as she maneuvered the hill. Thirty steps in, his insides were bursting with bottled-up laughter. Aggie Johansson’s arms were swinging outward like a downhill-careening child, and her knees were pointing awkwardly inward, and her feet came up off the pavement at an angle and…

His laughter faded. Damn it. He was being pranked. For certain this time.

At the top, she stopped. Bent over and gasped for air.

He wiped all hints of laughter out of his voice. “Are you okay?” She was, of course, pranking him, but maybe he could get the upper hand in this charade if he pretended ignorance.

She looked up at him. Her face was red, and real sweat rolled down her cheeks as she barely nodded.

Maybe this wasn’t a prank. “That hill can be a little tough the first time around.” A lie. It wasn’t over three-tenths of a mile and not that steep. “If it makes you feel better, there aren’t any more hills.” Of course, if he ran like she ran, he’d be out of breath as well.

She stood. “Your turn to set the pace.” Her words came out on little individual gasps. Definitely not pranking him.

He took the lead. She lagged far enough behind he couldn’t see her with his peripheral vision. But he could hear her breathing. Pretty sure people in England could hear her breathing. A car honked at them. And as it passed, the passenger shouted, “Go, Phoebe, go!”

What?

“Fuck you,” Aggie shouted.

Max stopped running and glanced at her. “What was that about?”

“Assholes being assholes. Phoebe happens to be a kick-ass character from the sitcom Friends whose running style is a combination of a toddler and a baby giraffe. Which is a perfectly legit way to run.”

He nodded as if he totally agreed. “Shall I chase them down and kick their asses?”

She gave him a squinty-eyed stare, as if measuring his level of sincerity. “I’m done with this. You can finish running on your own.”

“Aggie—”

“No.” She turned and stumbled back the way they’d come.

“Where are you going?”

“Home to take a shower and then to work.”

Damn it. “But…I thought you enjoyed running.”

She turned and glared back at him. “I do. But not with my boss.”

Figuring out Aggie the Horrible was like trying to understand Quantum Mechanics as a toddler.