Reforming the Playboy by Inara Scott

Author:Inara Scott [Scott, Inara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

They were practically strangers, after all. Max had lived an entire life in the past fi ve years, and so had she. She’d gone from a lost girl to an independent woman. A woman who could have sex with

a man and then wave good-bye happily when he left town a few

days later.

She smiled, ignoring the fl ip of her stomach that warned of

the devastating, heartbreaking consequences if she was wrong. “It sounds like I better get back into bed.”

They spent the afternoon exploring each other’s bodies. Max

cataloged her freckles, nodded in affi rmation when he discovered a small reddish birthmark on her left side that he claimed to

AR remember, and made a tsk ing sound when she showed him the C #93GX57LMP2 scar on her hand where she’d seriously misjudged the depth of a bagel. She marveled at the strength in his pecs, and kissed the ribs he said had been broken in the accident. They made love again,

more slowly this time, drawing the peak out to a release that left them both gasping for air. Then they collapsed against each other and fell asleep, even though it was only fi ve in the evening.

When Kira awoke, the room was bathed in the soft glow of

a streetlight, and the clock by her bedside read nine thirty. She poked Max, who was breathing slowly on the bed beside her. “I’m going to make some dinner,” she whispered.

He did not move, so she grabbed a robe from her closet and

headed downstairs. She rummaged around in the fridge for a few

minutes before deciding she had no interest in cooking. Instead, she turned on the oven and pulled a pizza out of the freezer.

Feeling lazier by the second, she dumped a bag of salad into a

bowl and set a couple of bottles of dressing beside it on the table.

“Now that looks like a familiar meal,” Max drawled.

She spun around to fi nd him in the doorway, hair tousled and

chest bare, pants low on his hips. Each muscle of his stomach was defined, the ridge of his hip demanding her attention. “Tried and true,” she said, tearing her gaze away with an effort. “We’ll add a few carrots and peppers to the salad and call it homemade.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Kira handed him a cutting board, a knife, and a fresh red

pepper. They settled into an easy routine, one they had perfected years before. She peeled and cut the carrots, while he added long thin slices of pepper to their salad.

“So what are the best things about being rich?” she asked,

determined to keep things lighthearted.

Max paused in his cutting. “Hmm. Good question. The cars

are nice. And I do like my hot tub.”

“You’ve got a hot tub? In which house? Paris or Tuscany?”

“All of them.” He waggled the knife at her. “How do you

know about my houses? Are you a fan, Kira Butler? Are you one

of my Facebook followers?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, spare me. You’re just such a media

slut I can’t help but see you sometimes when I’m checking up on a real artist.

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