Chapter Seven - part two

It didn’t bother Max that she’d raised her walls up at his last question; that fitted with her profile. What didn’t fit was Abby opening up about her relationship with her family. The file they had on Abigail Evans never included details of abuse. From the intel they’d gathered, Max profiled a teenage Abby as a rebellious pastor’s daughter, leaving the restrictive nest and thumbing her nose at her small-town missionary parents. When questioning the Idaho community, they’d called her parents “saints.” Saying what do-gooders they were. How sad they were when Abby had left the protection of their church and the light of God. Some of the intel hinted that The Unity of Light had worrying cultish quirks, but overall the followers kept to themselves and stayed out of trouble.

Max had a problem on his hands because this new information changed things. Abby hadn’t run to the Middle East as a spoiled, lost, small town girl looking to make her mark. She’d run there as a determined survivor willing to fight for a new future. She was now a square peg that Max was trying to fit into a round hole.

The heavens opened up as they ran to the truck. Max grabbed Abby’s hand, hearing a giggle as she tripped, grabbing his waist and twirling in the rain. Max couldn’t take his eyes off her. Jesus. The now transparent white shirt clung to her tanned skin. A lacy white bra stood out beneath.

“The rain makes you whole, doesn’t it? It’s freedom!” Abby shouted with sparkling eyes.

She was like a fucking glowing angel. An angel that suddenly gave a whoop and pressed her lips to his. Holy cow.A warm, wet female smelling like vanilla and spring rain filled his arms. Dragging his mouth away, Max hustled her into the vehicle. The downpour screwed up his comms unit, and Max slipped it into his jean pocket before climbing in the truck. They were effectively alone, and Max felt the buzz.

“That was fun. I love cloudbursts.” Abby grinned and then turned serious. “Whenever a storm blew into Idaho, I used to run out to my neighbor’s field and sit in the mud, feeling the rain pelt my skin.”

Max paused before starting the truck. “That doesn’t sound wise. Lightning is dangerous and kills around fifty people per year in the US.”

“I know but the storm was an escape. It made me feel like I mattered, like the heavens reserved their potent beauty just for little old me.”

“Now why do you have to go and say something so profound?” Max pulled a sodden lock of hair off her cheek.

The fogged-up windows encased them in a veiled sanctum where only the sound of their breathing filled the space. Her rounded tits rose and fell with each breath; drops of water ran down between them. Abby bent towards him; those incredible mounds were too close. Her hand ran up his chest as she climbed into his lap. Too damn close.

“This isn’t a good idea.” The air felt hot. Steamy. Her body heat surrounded him as Abby shifted her hips on his lap. “Fuck.”

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

Her serpentine eyes held him captive for long moments. The small, intimate space made him want to look away, but before he could move, her mouth was on his. They were alone for this minute, and Max took full advantage. His hand gripped her tangled hair and dragged her close, mating his tongue with hers, rubbing his hard cock against her mound. She tasted so good. He gripped her wet jeans as Abby dry rode his crotch.

Moaning, Max dragged up her filmy shirt and shoved her breast into his mouth. A nipple covered in lace puckered as he sucked. He pulled the delicate fabric down and ran his tongue around the taut nipple. God, it was so damn beautiful.

He nipped and she whimpered. He was going to shoot his wad, in this truck, just by sucking on Abby’s breast. What the hell was he doing? Losing control, that was what he was fucking doing. Pull back, buddy. Pull the hell back. With one last lick he drew away.

“You’re amazing.” His voice was husky with need. “But I’m not taking you up against a steering wheel in broad daylight, at least not the first time I have you.”

She kissed him, then shot a wry grin as she climbed back into her seat. “It wouldn’t have got that far, honey. I’m so not that easy.”

Max burst into laughter. “Well Miss Prissy, it’s getting damn cold, and I can see goose bumps. Besides, you can’t just run through the mall in your wet tee. Most of the men—including me—wouldn’t get a damn thing done. You’ll have to wear my jacket.”

***

The shopping part of the date was fun. What was not to love? Abby wore a large Arc’teryx coat that smelled deliciously like sexy male. The owner of the said jacket grinned as he held up a box of cake mix.

“C’mon, Abs. I love red velvet cake.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not on your life, buddy. If I make you a red velvet it will be free of that artificial red dye crap—not to mention all those preservatives.”

“Now, now. Don’t be a cake mix snob. I’m sure you’ve stashed away some of these babies in the past.”

“You cheeky bugger. I bake my cakes from scratch!”

Max laughed. “Did you just call me a cheeky bugger?” He pretended to be offended.

“Did you just accuse me of being a fraud baker?” Abby shot back while looking for cocoa powder, shoving the shopping cart at him.

“Well,” he said as he walked backwards, “I’ve only tasted just a teeny, tiny slice of a cake you’ve made. I would need to do more sampling, to make up my mind.”

Abby raised her brow. “Make up your mind?”

“On whether you have mixes stashed away somewhere, or if I’m tasting the real thing…made with actual butter and all that.”

Hiding a smile, Abby asked. “And just how many of these cake slices would you need, to make up your mind?”

Max pretended to think. “I’m thinking…at least ten.”

“Ten!” Abby snorted.

“Well, there’s chocolate, red velvet, Black Forest, Boston, carrot cake—”

“You lost me at carrot cake.” Abby wrinkled her nose.

“What the hell is wrong with carrot cake?”

“Yuk! Buy yourself a ready-made version because I ain’t making it, buddy. Oh, and if you want me to bake you ten whole cakes, then get ready for me to put your lardy ass to work in my yard because it’ll take months to shift all that sugar.”

“You’re a funny girl.”

“A funny girl who hates carrot cake,” she shot back.

Max’s broad smile made Abby feel all warm and gooey inside—those dimples were way too sexy. It felt good to laugh with someone. Abby hadn’t done that in a long, long while.