Who Gets To Marry Max?. Neesa Hart

she switched on the overhead light. A mistake, that, she mused. The single light bulb made his expression more fierce. Gathering her calm, she met his gaze. “Uncle Philip—”

      Max cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I know. Philip’s sick. He asked you to stand in. You haven’t answered my question, though. I want to know why you agreed.”

      “I’d do anything for him. He was very worried that he—”

      “Couldn’t be here.” Max moved a step closer. “You told me. But Philip told me that you almost never supervise parties yourself. You leave that to your assistant.” His eyebrows drew closer together. “Kelly—” She could almost see the gears turning in his brain.

      “Lars,” Sidney supplied.

      Max’s nod was short. “That’s right. You run the business and assist your clients with event planning, but she handles the events on site. Isn’t that right?”

      “Uh—”

      He nodded. “It’s right. So I want to know why you made an exception in my case.”

      “Well, I—”

      “Why did you decide that this particular event needed your personal touch?”

      Gritting her teeth in frustration, she resisted the urge to tell him it was rude to interrupt. “I knew uncle Philip was particularly worried about not being here, and that he’d rest easier if he knew I was.”

      He frowned. “Is that what he told you?”

      “Not in so many words, but he was very agitated about missing this event.”

      Max watched her through a narrow-lidded gaze. “Is that the only reason?”

      She swallowed. “What other reasons would there be?”

      He raised one hand to rest it on her shoulder. The slight pressure of his fingers eased her closer to him. “I don’t know, Sidney. You tell me.”

      Her breathing turned shallow. He couldn’t possibly know the effect he was having on her—the effect he always had on her. By design, she saw him rarely. Most of what she knew about Max, she knew from her uncle. She stayed out of his way whenever possible simply because he had this ability to melt her bones. “Max, I—”

      His fingers tightened. “Damn it,” he whispered.

      “What’s the matter with you?”

      “Damn it,” he said again.

      “Max—?”

      His eyes drifted momentarily shut. When they opened again, she saw the resolve in them. “I want you to stay here this weekend.”

      Sidney blinked. Oh, Lord. Not that. “Excuse me?”

      “You heard me. I want you to stay here.”

      Vintage Max, she mused. No explanations. No commonsense argument. Direct, and straight to the point. What Max wanted, he was used to getting. She’d been afraid of this when she’d spoken to her uncle. Max had a lot riding on this weekend. He’d want to make sure someone was covering for Philip. He couldn’t know that three uninterrupted days with him would shrink her into a bowl of nerves. “I don’t think—”

      “There are twenty bedrooms in this place, not including the guest quarters where Philip usually stays when we’re out here. You could have the apartment to yourself.”

      “Really, I—”

      “Your staff is going to stay, aren’t they?”

      She reached for her patience. “Not all of them. Only the few that I’ll need for early morning. You have an ample household staff to cover whatever happens during the night. You won’t need any extra help until your guests start moving around tomorrow.”

      “I want you to stay.”

      She stifled a groan. “I know you—”

      He leaned closer to her and said, with a soft insistence that curled her toes, “I’m serious.”

      She couldn’t decide what he meant by that. “I can see that.”

      “Philip would stay.”

      “It’s Phillip’s job to stay.”

      “He won’t like it if you leave.”

      She recognized the lightning-fast change in strategy. He wasn’t getting his way by bullying her, so he’d switched to guilt as a maneuvering tactic. “He doesn’t like being sick, either, but he is. I had planned to stay with him tonight.”

      Max eased his hand down her arm to cup her elbow. There was something oddly intimate about the slight heat of his fingers seeping through her jacket. “I appreciate your concern about Philip. I’ll send someone over to take care of him.”

      Sidney felt herself losing ground. “I really feel I should check on him myself.”

      “He told you to stay here, didn’t he?”

      The man was too insightful, that was his problem—and he was making it her problem. Philip had argued with her for nearly an hour. Somehow, Max knew it, and didn’t hesitate to use the knowledge to his advantage. “I think you can understand why Philip would want—”

      “Didn’t he?” Max prompted.

      She squelched a sigh of irritation. Max knew Philip well. “Yes.”

      Philip had worked for the Loden family for forty years. Two days after Max’s birth, he’d been promoted to senior butler. And he considered the care and tending of Max Loden his life’s work. When Sidney had informed him that she planned to leave her assistant in charge overnight, Philip had pushed himself up in his sickbed and given her a sound lecture on the importance of personal service. Sidney had no answer for that. She certainly couldn’t explain that she was sure to be wearing her heart on her sleeve by the end of the weekend.

      “Then what’s the problem?” Max persisted.

      Sidney frowned at him. “Uncle Philip doesn’t run my life, you know?”

      “He runs mine pretty well.”

      “And he can’t right now. He needs someone, and I want to be there for him.”

      “By driving home at two o’clock in the morning? Do you have any idea what kind of people are on the road at that hour?”

      “Overworked caterers who are being harassed by their clients?”

      His scowl darkened his features. “Drunks and criminals.”

      “I’ll be careful.”

      He uttered a mild curse. “It’ll be almost four when you get there. You’ll get three hours sleep, and then drive back out here tomorrow. That’s inefficient and foolish.”

      Blunt as usual, she thought irritably. “There’s more to life than efficiency, you know.”

      His expression told her he thought that was ludicrous, and barely resisted the urge to tell her so. He shook his head instead. “What are you going to be worth to me tomorrow night, or the night after, if you’re exhausted?”

      “I assure you, you won’t have any complaints.”

      “I know I won’t if you stay here.”

      “Why are we arguing about this?”

      “Because you aren’t giving me my way.” He reached for the wall phone. “I’m going to send Charlie to your house to pick up your clothes.”

      Sidney recognized the name of one of Max’s chauffeurs. “Max—”

      He ignored the warning note in her voice. “Really,” he said. “I left Charlie in town with the limo. It’s a stretch. I never use the damned thing. Too pretentious, and parking’s impossible.” He punched a couple