It’s Wednesday night and my toes and left ankle are in agony from training. I’ve been overdoing it. The bathtub slowly fills with cold water. The last bag of ice is poured in and it no longer splashes the water, but now settles atop the other cubes. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had an ice bath, but after today, I feel my body needs it. It’s called cold therapy and ever since the first time I’d tried it, after I’d injured my right ankle, I’ve used it to help with circulation and inflammation.
I stare at the cubes and channel my mind to focus on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. Gripping the tub on either side, I slide into the freezing cold water. My breaths become fitful as the cold consumes my senses and wipes away every other thought. I know that all I have to do is channel my attention through the first sixty seconds and then my body will become accustomed to the freezing temperature and my skin will no longer burn.
My phone buzzes on the floor beside me. Luckily the universe has given me a little distraction from the cold. I reach for it and stare at the screen, suddenly reminded of a week ago when I’d received their first text. I’d completely forgotten about it. I had thought it was Max, but now I know he doesn’t have a phone.
Unknown number: I wish I could suck on your tongue.
My fingers type frantically across the display: Not interested, who are you, seriously get lost. My heart beats an erratic cadence. Staring at the text, I decide not to press enter. Nothing is the best response for now. Perhaps whoever it is will lose interest.
Focusing on my breathing, I drop my phone to the floor. When I hear a knock at the door, I’m still panting.
‘Cassidy? You okay?’ My dad’s voice comes through the door.
‘Yeah. I’m just having an ice bath. I’m not dying.’ I laugh breathlessly.
‘You have a visitor.’
It’s Toni.
There is no way in hell I’m getting out of this bath and braving the first sixty seconds again. ‘Okay. I’ll be out in about ten minutes. Entertain him for me or just send him up.’
There is a pause and then, ‘Okay, baby.’
After ten minutes in the bath, my pulse has gone from frantic to steady. When I step out, I wrap a towel around me, no longer feeling cold at all. As always after ice therapy, I feel euphoric. The twinge in my left ankle is much better. It can nearly bare my full weight again. I don’t let it, though. I’ll hobble tonight and let it rest while I’m in bed. Tomorrow I’ll use it cautiously. Dressing in a thigh-length pink silk robe and white knickers, I hobble down the stairs. My feet stumble when I see Max and my dad talking in the living room. Unable to stop smiling, I cover my mouth with my palm instead. I do a little happy dance on the step. Will I ever be cool?
Nope.
I backtrack up the stairs and try to eavesdrop, but I can’t make out words, only the tones. . . They are friendly. Chatty. I smooth my hair out, pinch my cheeks, and squat so I can peer around the wall and observe Max from a distance. He’s on the couch, leaning back with his ankle resting on his knee, completely comfortable in my house. He’s smiling. My tongue lathers my lower lip while I enjoy the perfection of him like a naughty voyeur. He’s beautiful. My dad might have a heart attack when he sees me greet Max in only my robe, but the idea fills me to the brink with excitement.
Act cool.
I take a few steps down and they both focus on me. My eyes anchor on Max as he smirks, dropping his gaze over my body. I bite my lower lip, catching my wide smile in my teeth. I want to run into his arms and kiss him feverishly, but I restrain myself.
My heart pirouettes. ‘Hi, Max.’
‘Hey, little one.’
Dad smiles tightly and wanders towards me, planting a little kiss on my cheek. ‘I’m going to bed. Cassidy, maybe put something more appropriate on for the drive.’
The drive?
I blink at Max, who is looking smug. ‘Okay,’ I murmur.
Dad disappears up the stairs, surprising me. I’m his youngest child. His baby girl. Why is he allowing me to leave at this time of night and go. . . where?
Max gradually stands and moves towards me. His throat pulses as he meets me at the stairs and for the first time, we’re the same height. He takes me all in for a moment, in no hurry to stop his gaze from stripping me bare. ‘You’re staying at my house tonight.’
A smile takes over my face. ‘Okay.’
He chuckles once. ‘You don’t hide anything, do you?’
‘I try. I’m just not very good at it.’
As I rub my hands down the hard grooves of his chest, his muscles twitch beneath my fingertips. I can feel the breath from his lips, the hot sweetness beckoning mine towards them. My skin is suddenly humming with desperation. Desperate to be touched. Desperate to be taken. We stare at each other, eyes heated. My hands find their way into his hair and then suddenly his lips are on mine. His hands are gripping my arse. My legs are around his waist.
The cotton of my knickers presses against his abdomen as he carries me effortlessly up the stairs and into my room.
This is a different experience all together. Here I am, in my house, Konnor and Blesk asleep in the room beside mine. But we are still us, Max and me. When we are together, it’s like the rest of the world fades away.
Every cell in my body is on fire as his kiss consumes me. The door opens and shuts behind us.
He crawls onto the bed with me, caging me beneath his hot, heavy, needy body. My limbs open to accommodate his breadth. I cry out when he slaps my thigh on a growl. He worships my leg, running his hand down to my calf and up to the soft inner flesh of my thigh.
‘You have the sexiest legs,’ he groans between kisses. ‘I need to taste you.’
Nipping and licking his way down to the little divot between my collar bones, he tongues it suggestively. I squeeze my eyes shut, his mouth overwhelming me. I let out a long needy moan, thrust my pelvis up into his abdomen, and rub myself on him shamelessly.
He stops suddenly at my chest and raises a hand to my mouth. ‘Shh.’ He shuffles back up and presses his forehead to mine before looking at me and loosening his grip around my mouth.
My lips part immediately as I breathe hard. ‘Sorry.’
He seems to be gathering his own composure. ‘Don’t ever apologise for those beautiful noises. Just go pack a bag now.’ I slide out from under him slowly, noting the big, defined bulge between his thighs. I smile, loving that I affect him just as strongly as he does me. The urge to climb onto his lap is only held back by my curiosity of seeing his place. . . Of course, knowing that once we’re there, we’ll have all night to continue what we started helps me do as I’m told.
While I’m riffling around trying to find my black yoga pants and favourite pink tee-shirt, Max wanders into my ensuite bathroom. I’m debating what panties to grab, knowing quite well they’ll be seen and touched and taken off by Max Butcher, when he strides out of the ensuite, the door slamming behind him. Taken aback by the noise, I spin to face him.
He looks at me, but his eyes are unreadable. ‘Are you injured?’ he asks tightly.
My mind shuffles information around in confusion for a few moments before realisation dawns. ‘Oh, the ice bath. No. Well, a little. I hurt my ankle today.’
He mashes his teeth together, blinking unnaturally fast. ‘Just your ankle?’
I shift my gaze around. ‘Yeah.’
‘Why the whole bath?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, taking a little step towards him. ‘I’ve always done it that way. It’s good for you.’
‘Who told you that?’ he bites out.
‘Google?’ It comes out sounding like a question in my confusion. ‘What’s wrong?’
He shakes his head, frowning into space. ‘Nothing. Get your shit and let’s go.’
I reach for him, touching his tense cheeks and massaging the lines fixed between his brows. ‘No, Max. What’s this change in mood all about?’
‘It’s nothing. Forget about it.’
‘I think it’s something.’
Sighing, his eyes shut for a split second. ‘I got knocked around a bit when I was a kid.’ His gaze finds me again. ‘Ice baths just remind me of a time I’d rather forget.’
I wonder who knocked him around. Does he mean fights at school? No, knocked around implies someone bigger and stronger had hurt him. God, he means his mother. A heavy weight settles in my belly, making me want to clutch at it. Claw it out. I hate her. Flashes of him and his brothers as children, beaten and soaking in ice baths, invade my mind, and I can’t breathe until they disappear. I shake them away. All of a sudden, I feel as though I’m deceiving him by not telling him I know.
‘Who knocked you around?’ I find myself asking only to wish I hadn’t. As I study his tight forehead and pursed lips, my heart aches something awful. ‘You don’t have to tell-‘
‘My,’ he chokes on the word. ‘Mother. Victoria. She liked to take out her frustrations with Butch on us whenever he fucked around. As time went by, I think she started to enjoy hurting us. I think it became a kind of addiction. She has no power and is surround by powerful men. It’s not an excuse, just a reason.’
‘Max.’
‘It’s okay.’ He brushes his fingers through my hair, staring at the strands. ‘She doesn’t hurt us anymore. Can’t.’
‘I saw you at my party,’ I admit, hesitating before adding, ‘With her.’
His eyes are still glued on my hair tangled in his fingers. ‘I know.’
‘What did she want?’
His gaze meets mine. ‘Xander stole her phone, trying to get her attention, but attention from that woman isn’t a good thing, so I’d just said it was me.’
‘Why didn’t you tell your dad what was going on?’
‘Tell him what?’ He laughs with derision. ‘That our mother was beating us up? Do you have any idea what admitting something like that to Luca Butcher would be like?’
I glance at the floor. ‘But he loves you.’
He lifts my chin. ‘He does, but he doesn’t like weakness.’
I feel pin-prickles behind my eyes, beckoning tears to fall. ‘You were just children.’
Looking away from me, his eyes distant, he says, ‘Butch asked what had happened once. So I told him I’d been in a fight at school. He wanted to know what the other kid looked like. I told him unconscious.’ Max smiles, but it lacks warmth. ‘He was proud. That’s the look I’d wanted from him.’
Rising onto my tippy toes, I kiss him softly as a single tear forces its way from the corner of my eye. He has offered me something personal and I never want to take his words for granted as they are rare and hard-earned. ‘Thank you for sharing that with me.’
He points at my half-packed bag, signalling that the conversation is over. I stare at his tempest grey eyes, wanting to tell him all the things in my heart, but in the end, I just lean up and kiss his lips again. He frowns at me, but he’s not mad. I smile at him, hoping he can see in my eyes all the things I want to say.
‘Finish packing,’ he orders.
I laugh a little. ‘Yes, Max.’
With my bags ready to go, we wander to his car. I climb inside and he leans across me to buckle me in. Then we head for Connolly. He concentrates on the traffic. I listen to the music and relax. His big warm hand rests on my thigh and my heart is so full of him, I struggle to feel anything else.
Connolly is about half an hour from Brussman, but they’re both a part of the District. Max’s town was established first and is hard to buy into. The premier families of Western Australia – the Storms, the Butchers, and most of the other old school District families, all live there. Slater is an original District family name, but we never had enough money to buy into Connolly. We do now, though. But we like Brussman.
I turn the music down and twist in my seat to face Max. ‘How did you get my dad to agree to this?’
He smiles, an arrogant and gorgeous curve to his lips. ‘Your dad likes me.’
‘Whatever.’ I blink at him. ‘He didn’t seem to like you last time.’
‘That’s because you were discussing things you shouldn’t and he knew it.’
‘You think he likes you? The man stealing his baby girl away.’
‘Can’t explain it myself. I’d have shot me.’ Max’s hand shifts on the wheel and I notice a new tattoo on his finger. It’s the date of the wedding, I think, in cursive writing. It reminds me of the detailed family tree on both Bronson’s and Max’s backs. I imagine Aurora Butcher will be added to that soon.
I grin at him. ‘Does your car have a name?’
He laughs without restraint. It’s such a beautiful sound. ‘No.’
‘I have a pink Lexus, so my car’s name is Lady. Ya know, like Lady Lexus. . . ‘ I feel my cheeks heat. ‘You think I’m weird.’
‘You are.’
I smile at him as he tries not to smile. ‘Can I name your car?’
He chuckles, shaking his head as if he has no choice. ‘If you have to.’
‘Hmm.’ I click my tongue in contemplation as I peer around for inspiration. It’s spacious and dark inside. It’s masculine and clean. Digital displays glow red and yellow and green. ‘Range Rover. . . Hmm. Oh my gawd! It has to be Romeo, Romeo Range Rover.’
He cringes. ‘Fuck, Cassidy, that’s the worst fucking name.’
‘No. Romeo is the most famous male ballet character in the world! Yes, it has to be Romeo.’
‘I’m not referring to my car as Romeo.’
‘That’s fine.’ I giggle. ‘I will though.’
He glances at me sideways and grins, his dimple showing. ‘The shit I let you get away with.’
Leaning across the centre console, I lightly poke his dimple and then relax into a sigh. ‘You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.’
It’s nearly 10:00 p.m. when we roll onto his driveway and I get my first glimpse of Casa Butcher. Most of the houses in Connolly have boom gates at the entrance, but the Butcher’s three-story mansion is obnoxiously close to the road, almost daring people to invade their privacy. Streetlamps light the house up on all sides. It’s fully rendered in white and has steep, sharp walls and a modernist look with clean lines and simple shapes. It’s a new build on an old block.
The garage door rises, and we pull in alongside five other vehicles.
I blink at Max, a proud smile tugging at my lips. ‘Did you design this house, Max?’
He pulls up the handbrake. ‘Yes.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ I gaze at him for a moment as he twists the keys from the ignition. In my mind I say, ‘You’re beautiful.’
Max helps me out of the car. I wobble slightly on my bad ankle and his eyes drop to watch me quietly coddling it.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. Ignoring my assurance, he swoops me up and I automatically wrap my arms around his neck. He stares straight ahead, his expression intense.
‘I can walk,’ I press.
‘There are three flights of stairs, little one.’
We enter from behind the kitchen. He carries me through the dining room and towards the foyer.
My eyes widen when I see two guards at his front door. Embarrassed I’m being carried like an invalid, I hide my face in Max’s shoulder.
‘This is Cassidy,’ Max says, so I turn to acknowledge them with a sheepish smile.
One of them smiles politely at me before looking at Max. ‘Xander’s not home yet.’
‘Hmm.’ Max stops at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Is Carter watching him?’
‘Yes,’ the man says with a quick nod.
‘Good.’ Max carries me up the staircase to the second floor and then the third.
As we continue through the house, I notice that the fixed décor is always black, white, and a beautiful red wood. It’s simple and masculine and Max.
I look out through the vast windows and over the top of rooves, spotting the moon glowing large just above the skyline. I count the doors as we pass by them in the hallway. Five. We bump into Bronson, shirtless, wearing only boxers with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. His eyes light up when they meet mine and he fist pumps the air as if re-enacting the closing scene from The Breakfast Club.
I run hot. ‘Stop it, Bronson.’
‘I can’t help it.’ He saunters off down the hallway towards one of the other doors.
I look at Max, who sighs, seemingly exasperated by his brother. ‘Why is he so excited?’ I ask.
Max shakes his head. ‘I’ve never had a girl here before.’
My jaw drops open. Then I curl my lips together to stop from smiling and tense my body to stop from jigging. ‘Never?’
‘No.’ He shrugs. ‘Why would I bring a girl back here?’
‘Ah, to hang out with her?’
‘Yeah. Why would I want to do that? I fuck them at their house so I can leave.’
‘Max, that’s horrible.’
‘Don’t act surprised,’ he exhales as he walks me into his room. He lowers my feet to the ground and kicks the door shut. ‘I did the same to you once.’
My mind drifts to the first time he came to my house. He’d disappeared out the window. The second time, he’d tried to ditch me after we’d dressed, but I’d shamelessly begged him to stay. Now though, I’m shuffling nervously in his hotel-style room on sacred ground no other girl has touched.
My eyes bounce around his personal space. ‘So this is where the Max Butcher sleeps.’ I giggle nervously.
Stop being nervous.
It’s Max.
My Max.
His room is neat and mature with sweeping windows that display Connolly from above. There’s a rack of dumbbells in one corner and a boxing bag hanging from the ceiling beside it. A sixty-inch wall-mounted television is hooked up to a PlayStation and an Xbox. The walls are exposed brick, which adds an extra level of masculinity to the space. I like it.
After hobbling over to his large bed, I slowly pivot to face him. I rise onto my toes, scooting backwards along the mattress. As I flex my fingers over the soft black sheets, my breathing labours. Max is staring at me from across the room. My pulse kicks up a notch at the sight of his heated glare. It’s serious and menacing. The phrase, ‘I do like to chase and eat little animals’ comes to mind.
I press my knees together. ‘So you’ve never had sex in this bed?’
He smirks. ‘I’m about to.’
