Vivian Arend - Turn It Up

She snorted. “Oh yeah. Thank you. Exactly what I need to see the night after I drink myself shit-faced. Good for you.” She scrolled down the page with a finger. “Gee, nice blood pressure. And your BMI is amazing. You should be proud.”

Max chuckled. “Ahh, I love your sense of humor.”

Tasha leaned back and sighed. “Look, I don’t feel well. Get to the point. I know you’re smarter than anyone else, so use small words and I’ll try to understand.”

“Turn the page. I think you’ll get the picture.”

She rolled her eyes then winced in pain, and he wiped his mouth to hide his grin. While he felt for her, he was grateful the liquor last night had been enough to loosen her lips. At least enough to make her spill the beans in regards to her plan to get pregnant.

Which fit his agenda just fine.

She turned the page and froze, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the open file before her. The twin spots of color on her cheeks spread to flush her entire face, and she slammed her lips together.

He waited. He was good at waiting.

“Maxwell Dale Turner, what the hell is this?”

Tasha flipped the portfolio around to display the ring he’d taped to the page below the note written in all capital letters.

WILL YOU MARRY ME?

The constant pulse of blood through her temples was louder now than when she’d arrived at the coffee shop. And if Junior didn’t stop grinning and start talking, she was going to remove his tonsils with a spoon.

“I think it’s pretty clear. I didn’t even use fancy words. Plain and simple, like you requested.” He motioned to the file. “Go on, read it.”

She stared at the silver ring. It shone against the stark white background of the paper. Maxwell’s neat handwriting continued below where it hung.

In light of your desire to start a family it seems—

An icy chill washed over her as she tore her gaze from the page to stare at him. “How did you find out I wanted to start a family?”

She hadn’t told anyone. Not her closest friend, not anyone.

“You told me. Last night. While you were getting undressed you—”

Getting undressed? She snapped up a hand and he stopped dead in mid-sentence. Conversations continued to float around them, light laughter carrying from a few tables over. The whole situation was surreal and this was not the place she wanted to hold this discussion. Not where they could be overheard.

Because it sounded like they had a few things to discuss.

“Drive me home,” she demanded.

He stood and held out his hand. If she could have made it out the door without wavering, she would have ignored the offer, but ending up on her ass on the floor would be more traumatic than accepting his assistance. They walked outside in silence where she paused to root in her purse for her sunglasses.

Max opened his car door and she slid onto the leather seat. The dark-toned interior and shaded windows eased her pain a little. He squatted beside her, leaning across her body to fasten her seatbelt. The spicy scent of his aftershave made her mouth water as her face settled into the crook of his neck.

She pushed him away, trying to hide her reaction. “I can do that.”

He seemed to slow deliberately, his hands lingering over the strap, and her pulse leapt up another notch. “I know you can, but I want to help. Relax. I’ll take you home, then we can talk.”

Tasha rubbed her temples as he closed the door and strode around to the driver’s side. Head held high, shoulders back. His arms looked thicker than she remembered, and she wondered if he’d been working out or something.

Dammit, no, she didn’t wonder. She wasn’t ogling his body and she was completely uncurious why he had the audacity to propose. What she needed to concentrate on was last night. On him taking her home and what other secrets she might have spilled. Obviously her idea to have a drink or two as a last hurrah had backfired in more than one way. Now she felt like hell and had a major problem to deal with.

Maxwell Turner had been pursuing her for years. From the moment he’d issued his first ridiculous invitation as a boy of seventeen, she’d made it blatantly clear she wasn’t interested. Yeah, she’d lied her ass off, at least about not being physically attracted to him, especially as he got older. Still, there was no way she was getting involved with him. Her friend’s much younger cousin? Damn, if the guys she’d been dating couldn’t act like grown-ups and keep their dicks in their pants, what could she expect from a pup?

She was done with cheating, lying, out-to-get-what-they-wanted men. She didn’t need them, not for anything. Spending time with Maxwell as a friend—especially around the Turner clan—that was doable. He was a decent-enough fellow, as long as they didn’t get romantically involved. Anything more? She wasn’t stupid enough to fall into the dating trap again.

He drove slowly, windows rolled down. The fresh fall air drifted in, cooling her feverish skin. Light rock music played softly, and she closed her eyes. She needed five minutes respite before figuring out how to deal with this insane situation.

A slight motion rocked her and she sat upright with a jerk. She must have fallen into a doze—half asleep, half still drunk. Maybe Max would agree to call off the rest of the morning, and they could pick this up in the future once she’d gotten her brain back.

Tasha fumbled for the seat-belt release as he opened her door. She didn’t need his hands on her again, thank you very much. She was committed to this path. No men in her life. No more having to defend her heart. Just because her body reacted didn’t mean she had to give in.

She did accept his hand out of the vehicle, only to stop in confusion. “Why are we…? Max, you brought me to my building site. I asked you to take me home.”

“And I will. But this is one of your homes, so strictly speaking I did what you asked.”

His grin was back and the urge to smack him one grew larger by the minute. “You are so annoying.”

Maxwell opened the trunk and pulled out two lawn chairs. “Come on, let’s talk.”

She followed behind as he paced toward the skeleton frame of what would eventually be her home. After years of working for other people, she’d finally gotten the chance to take her own dreams and put them down on paper. The architectural designs she’d created were slowly being turned into a reality. The foundation was poured, the weeping tile and backfill completed. The framers were hard at it this week with most of the outer walls up and the sheeting beginning to close it in so it actually looked like a house.

He unfolded the lawn chairs in the future living room and gestured to one. She shook her head. Standing would be better, especially when he arranged his long limbs into one chair. That allowed her to get the upper hand, right? Being taller than him for once?

“What did I tell you?” she blurted out. Oh, that was controlled and dignified. Not. He raised a brow and grinned wider, and she bit back a smart comment. “I mean, tell me what happened last night, please.”

Max crossed his ankles and placed his elbows on the armrests, looking entirely too relaxed and comfortable. He wasn’t suffering nearly as much as she was.

“You explained to me how stupid men were, and I had to agree since you were discussing the idiots you’ve dated over the past couple of years. Then you informed me this being the modern world there was no reason for you to try to find a Prince Charming.” He made quote-unquote motions with his fingers, his dark eyes fixed on hers as he spoke. “I agreed with you on that one as well, in case you’re interested.”

“I thought you liked to argue with me.”

“Only when you’re wrong. Most of your revelations last night were amazingly accurate.”

She dragged the second lawn chair farther from him and collapsed into it. “Last night… Umm, what else did I say? Or do? Because I was too drunk for you to think I was serious. It must have been the alcohol talking.”

He tapped his fingers together as he considered. “No, the alcohol-influenced bit came when you stripped off your clothes right after we walked in the door.”

Dear Lord, no. “You’re kidding me.”

Maxwell took a deep breath. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll simply spit it out. Three sheets to the wind, you’re very chatty. You’re also very affectionate. Don’t worry, nothing physical happened between us. I carried you to your room, convinced you to put on your PJs and tucked you into bed. I did not accept your offer to fuck your brains out.”

Tasha opened her mouth but her vocal cords were frozen. She couldn’t have. Max dragged his chair back to its original distance from hers and grabbed her hand. His thumb traced slow circles on her knuckles, and that flutter of desire she’d kicked into the corner years ago woke up and stretched.

He spoke quietly, the deep tone smoothing over her skin like butter on hot toast. “You insisted you were not usually a drunk, and that’s true. I’ve never seen you lose control like that ever before.”

“And never will again.” God, she was so embarrassed. A tingling sensation stole up her arm from where he caressed her skin. He’d flipped her hand over to rub the tender inside of her wrist and tendrils of desire flew along her nerves.

She pulled her fingers free. “Stop that.”

He shrugged and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. Yup, definitely larger muscles—broader across the… No. No admiring the man. She had to get to the bottom of this puzzle so the insanity could be finished.

“Max…”

“You told me about Operation Baby.”

Tasha sucked for air. “No. Way.”

“Yup. No time like the present, there are plenty of opportunities for a woman like you to successfully raise a child alone. Damn if you’ll wait any longer for the right guy to come along. Artificial insemination will work fine.”

She buried her head in her hands with a moan as he repeated verbatim all the arguments she’d had with herself over the past year. Shit, shit, shit. She’d told him everything, while naked to boot. What the hell had come over her, and how could she possibly explain this away? Her face flamed red hot with embarrassment.

Confusion flooded her already overtaxed brain and she stared at him in dismay. No matter how dense she’d been, that still didn’t explain the ring he’d offered.

“Let me get this straight. I stripped in front of you and told you my plans for getting pregnant before I turned thirty-five. Your response was to set my alarm clock, give me your health records and propose?” Tasha scrubbed her temples in frustration. This was not happening. She grabbed the armrests of the lawn chair so tightly they creaked. “Junior, I may be a stupid drunk, but what’s your excuse? You were sober and you’re acting more insane than me.”

“You’ve rebuffed me for a long time.” His dark eyes caught hers, locking her in place. A wave of his hair fell across his brow, hanging untended as he gazed intently at her. “Now that I’ve finally found something I can give you, I wanted to be sure you listened.”

“That you can give me… Wait a minute.” No. Freaking. Way. He was nuts. “Your health records? Are you offering stud services to get me pregnant? Because, buddy, that’s—”

He laughed and the lightness of it danced around the room, filling the open spaces with the sound of his delight. “I’m offering more, but that’s a damn good place to begin. You think you’re getting old enough you need to start a family immediately. Personally, I don’t think there’s any rush, but if it’s that important to you, fine. But artificial insemination? Why would you go with an anonymous donor? No matter how good the charts, you’ve got no guarantees. I, on the other hand, can provide complete health records, plus a family history with no inherent health risks. Long-lived grandparents, and a decent chance at a fantastically attractive kid.” Max waggled his brows and she groaned.

He was serious. Tasha shot to her feet, ignoring the stabbing pain it caused, and paced away from him. Her fingers twitched with the need to shred something.

“You forgot to mention the streak of insanity that shows up every now and again. Maxwell, you proposed to me. Now you’re offering to get me pregnant? Maybe I’m still too hungover to connect all the dots, but none of this makes sense.”