Innocent 'til Proven Otherwise. Amy Andrews

back. ‘Relax, the blonde’s mine. The cute friend is yours.’

      Max looked at the other woman. She had a nice face, large eyes, a little snub nose and a bow mouth. Compared to the artfully made-up blonde, she was quite understated. No make-up save some glossy stuff on her lips, no jewellery, no fuss.

      But then there was the hair. A riot of short corkscrew curls, the kind that you couldn’t get at the hairdresser, sprung from her head. They spiralled like spun sugar and reminded him of butterscotch. An errant one flopped down to brush her eyelashes, which she absently blew away as she swished a straw in her glass.

      It was difficult not to notice she also had a great rack.

      And looked about as impressed to be here as he did.

      ‘Cute? What the hell am I going to do with cute?’ he demanded as an image of peeling her bra aside slid unbidden into his brain. It annoyed him further. ‘I don’t need cute,’ he grouched.

      ‘If you ask me—’ Pete grinned ‘—cute is exactly what you need.’

      ‘I’m doing fine,’ he insisted.

      Pete gave his friend an exasperated look. ‘No. You’re not. You’ve been like a bear with a sore head for the last year and a half. You work twelve- and fifteen-hour days, you’ve been through five PAs and the only thing you have to break your killer work schedule is a punishing training regime for your next bloody marathon. Oh, and you haven’t had sex since Tori left.’

      Max grimaced. ‘I should never have told you that.’

      Pete looked into his best friend’s shut-off gaze. He shook his head. ‘You really need to get laid.’

      Max felt his neck muscles tighten further. If he never got involved with another woman, it would be too soon. Celibacy had been working just fine for him.

      He shot his friend a grim look. ‘You do know that going without doesn’t actually kill you, right?’

      Pete looked at the shell of a man before him. He’d never met a zombie but Max was doing a fairly good impression. ‘I would dispute that.’

      Pete glanced back at the blonde, pleased to see she’d spotted him. He smiled at her and she flashed him a dazzler of her own. He turned back to Max. ‘Go and find us somewhere to sit, and remember—when I bring these women over do not tell them you’re a lawyer. People don’t like lawyers.’

      Max gave his friend a belligerent stare. That was easy to say when you had them on tap. ‘They do if they ever get in trouble with the law.’

      Pete sighed. ‘Not so much then either, buddy.’

      Half an hour had passed since Ali had sent Mr Nice packing and things hadn’t got any better. No matter how hard she tried to be cool about picking up men in a bar or going home with a stranger—it just wasn’t her.

      ‘Oh my God, hottie approaching ten o’clock,’ Kat murmured. ‘He has a friend too.’

      Ali glanced in the indicated direction. Yep. He was a hottie. If you were into overt good looks. Having learned the hard way that there was often not a lot of substance behind a pretty face, she wasn’t as thrilled as Kat.

      She couldn’t see his friend. Not that it mattered. She downed the dregs of her third daiquiri. ‘Sorry, Kitty Kat, but I’m done. This just isn’t working for me.’

      ‘No, wait,’ Kat said, grabbing Ali’s hand as it reached for her bag. ‘Okay, fine, don’t have moving-on sex, go home to the apartment and wallow if you want. Just give me another half an hour.’

      Kat glanced up at the rapidly approaching man and Ali followed suit. ‘I want that guy,’ she said. ‘So help a girl out. Just stay for a while, occupy his friend for a bit. I don’t want him to feel like a third wheel. This guy could be the one. I don’t want to put his friends offside from the get-go.’

      Ali rolled her eyes. For as long as she’d known Katarina she’d been searching for the one. God knew she’d been through enough men in this crazy pursuit. She looked at the pleading in her friend’s ridiculously blue eyes. She guessed it wouldn’t kill her to stay a little longer …

      Especially if Kat’s focus was on seducing herself a man rather than finding one for Ali to seduce. She knew how this game went—she’d certainly played it often enough. She knew her role and she knew when to get lost.

      ‘Okay. Thirty minutes.’

      Kat winked. ‘That’s all I need.’

      Pete ushered Ali and Kat over to the low table Max had scored. Four padded seats that looked remarkably like footstools were placed evenly around the table.

      ‘This is Kat and Ali,’ Pete announced to Max, holding Kat’s hand as she lowered herself onto a stool.

      Ali rolled her eyes as she sat herself down unaided.

      ‘And this is Max.’

      ‘Hi, Max,’ Kat said brightly.

      Ali gave an uninterested nod as she stared into her glass and rode the buzz from her fourth daiquiri. It was probably time to stop now.

      Max inclined his head politely. ‘Ladies.’

      The smooth deep baritone of his voice washed over her like a slow sexy saxophone note and pulled Ali out of the buzz even as it added more bubbles to her blood. She looked up despite herself.

      Into two very compelling grey eyes heavily fringed by dark brown lashes. She blinked, surprised by their intensity. By the sadness that lurked in them. By the time she’d widened her gaze to take in all of him a few seconds later, those eyes had totally sucked her in.

      She knew all about eyes like that. Had seen them in the mirror every morning for the last year.

      ‘So,’ Pete said, indicating the daiquiri glasses. ‘Are you ladies celebrating something tonight?’

      ‘More like commiserating.’ Kat grinned and put her arm around Ali’s shoulder. ‘Ali’s ratfink ex married his trollop an hour ago and I brought her here to get resoundingly drunk.’

      ‘Ah, well done.’ Pete smiled, holding up his beer bottle and clinking it with Ali’s glass. ‘It’s the Australian way, after all. Our forefathers would be very proud.’

      ‘Well,’ Kat said, crossing her legs and circling her ankle, ‘she ruled out my first option.’

      ‘Oh?’ Pete asked, mesmerised by the slow rotation of a fire-engine-red stiletto. ‘What was that?’

      ‘Voodoo doll.’

      Max almost choked on his beer as Pete threw back his head and laughed. Max raised an eyebrow at the woman who had been thrust upon him. Pete had been right—she was cute with her little snub nose and that persistently floppy curl.

      It was a shame her olive gaze was so damn serious—it counteracted the cute very effectively. Max would have to be blind not to see the keep out signs.

      ‘Voodoo doll?’ Max queried.

      Ali temporarily lost her train of thought with the combination of his sad eyes and jazz-band voice. Add to that his classic bone structure—pronounced cheekbones, wide jaw—and full mouth bracketed by interesting indents that she guessed were probably dimples were he ever to exercise them, it was hard to find again.

      An interesting three-day growth peppered his jaw. It would have looked designer on Pete but the way Max rubbed at it, a little absently, a little harried, added to his jaded appeal.

      ‘Kat enjoys being dramatic.’ She shrugged, picking up the thread.

      ‘What a coincidence,’ Max said dryly as he glanced at Pete. He looked back at Ali and rolled his eyes. Her mouth twitched into a small smile and he found himself intrigued despite himself.

      Pete ignored his friend. ‘I like it. Maybe we could have done the