The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

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      Ruthie! thought Annie, anxiety and anger gripping her. She tore through the hall and flung open the door to the front parlour.

      ‘Look, Ruthie, if you’ve come here for another bloody row …’

      But it wasn’t Ruthie waiting to see her.

      It was Max.

      Every time she saw Max Carter she was hit by the sheer physical impact of him. Of course whoever had let him in had shown him into the front room, not the kitchen. You didn’t show Max into a kitchen.

      Annie stood frozen in the doorway for a moment.

      Chris came up close and hissed: ‘You want me to phone Redmond?’ in her ear.

      Annie shook her head. ‘I’ll deal with this. See that nobody disturbs us, will you?’

      She went into the front room and closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathless, heart hammering crazily in her chest.

      ‘Sorry. I thought you were Ruthie,’ said Annie. Her mouth was dry.

      ‘She’s been here then?’ said Max.

      ‘Yeah,’ said Annie coolly. ‘Can’t seem to make up her mind whether your marriage is dead or alive, but she was here. You mean you didn’t know she called?’

      ‘I don’t own her.’

      ‘Sorry, I thought you did.’

      Max nodded. Slowly he came over to where she stood, placed one large hand on the door beside her head, and leaned in.

      ‘You’ve got a fucking nerve, Annie Bailey, talking to me like that,’ he said.

      ‘Ruthie might be afraid of you,’ said Annie. ‘I’m not.’

      ‘No?’ Max was half-smiling as he came in closer still. He knew the effect he had on her.

      Annie gulped. ‘No,’ she said.

      ‘You’ve changed, Annie. Look at you. You’re all grown up now,’ he said, his eyes moving over her.

      Annie nodded. ‘I had to grow up fast, Max. I got kicked out by my mother, remember? If I hadn’t been able to come here I’d have been walking the streets.’

      ‘Is this what you wanted out of life, running a knocking shop?’

      Annie shrugged, trying to be cool, but her heart was racing and now – oh shit! – her nipples were hard. The flat details in her hand were crumpled and damp, forgotten. She wished he’d back off. But she knew he wouldn’t.

      ‘It’s a living,’ she said.

      ‘Word is you’re making a good job of it,’ said Max.

      ‘I like to think so.’

      ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said.

      ‘Why?’ Annie was stung by this. What fucking business was it of his where she was or what she did? He’d made his feelings plain enough when he’d kicked her out of his car into the pouring rain; she’d never forget that, or forgive it. ‘Is something going to happen? Is the place going to burn down around my ears, is that it?’

      She saw anger in his eyes and then he smiled. ‘You may not be afraid of me, Annie Bailey, but I think you’re afraid of yourself.’

      ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Annie, but she did.

      ‘So I’m asking the question,’ said Max.

      ‘What?’ Annie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. She could feel Max’s breath on her face, feel the heat coming off his body.

      ‘How much?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘How much do you want?’ Max’s eyes were sharp now, predatory. ‘You know I want you. Always have, always will. So if it makes you feel better we’ll keep this strictly business. How much?’

      For fuck’s sake! The cheek of him, to treat her like a tart! Annie shook her head violently. She wanted to hit him.

      ‘God, you’re a bastard,’ she said. ‘And let’s get this straight. Even if I was selling it – which I’m not – you couldn’t afford me.’

      ‘Yes I could,’ said Max. ‘I could have you for free, and you fucking-well know it.’

      Now she did hit him. Or she tried to. He caught her arm on the upswing and pinned it back against the door. Then he kissed her and she was lost. She couldn’t help it. The heat of his body, the smell of his cologne, the slickness of his tongue as it entered her mouth, everything overwhelmed her.

      Ruthie, she thought.

      But it was no good. She was gone, the touch and feel and smell of him was something she had dreamed of every night for too long. Then he was lifting her, carrying her over to the couch, lowering her on to it, pushing up her dress.

      ‘No,’ she managed to say. ‘No, I don’t want this.’

      But Max wasn’t listening. His mouth covered hers again and she was powerless to resist. He was shoving aside the flimsy pants she wore, then she felt him undoing his trousers. We mustn’t do this, she thought, but the wetness was flooding her.

      Then suddenly he was inside her, huge and pumping and just as she remembered. She cried out and he covered her mouth with his hand and had her quickly and silently. Annie lay there, pinioned, trapped, loving it. Then he stiffened and groaned as his seed spilled into her, God, no protection, nothing, there could be a baby, anything could happen, she was in terror and in rapture, she loved it, couldn’t get enough of it, God she must be a whore, what else was she, this was her sister’s husband, Ruthie’s husband …

      It was over. He was finished, but instead of withdrawing he stayed there, kissing her, nuzzling his nose into her neck, crushing her with his strength, hurting her a little but she still loved it.

      ‘I want this,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I want you. I’ve been going fucking mad ever since I saw you again, dreaming about you.’

      At the gallery, she thought. And at poor Eddie’s funeral. It was Eddie’s death that had really brought them back together. She remembered that hot, lingering look they’d exchanged as Max stood at Eddie’s graveside.

      ‘But Ruthie,’ she groaned, nearer to tears than she had ever been before.

      ‘She lives her life, I live mine,’ he said roughly. ‘Whatever you and I do, it’ll make no difference to her.’

      If Annie tried hard enough she could almost make herself believe that it was true.

      ‘What’s this?’ He was taking the scrap of mangled paper out of her hand, pulling away from her a little, adjusting his trousers. Annie straightened too, feeling sore and achy. She wasn’t used to bearing a man’s СКАЧАТЬ