I'm wearing the thin sleeveless silk blouse that was under my suit jacket, and I feel my breasts tingle at the thought of Max making me come in the front seat of his sports car while he drives fast along the coastal road.

Max glances down at my nipples pressing against the thin silk then back up at my face and gives that little half smile that drives me crazy. "I see you're thinking about my suggestion."

"Don't be ridiculous."

I think he's just kidding, but he might not be.

He leans closer and speaks in a low voice. "There's nothing ridiculous about sliding my hand up the inside of your thigh and stroking you over and under your panties, all the way to an orgasm." He has my hand now, and is massaging the palm slowly with the pad of his thumb. His touch, along with his description of what he's suggesting, is making my center throb.

"If you don't want that, Hadley, all you have to do is say no."

I don't say no because I want it. I want it so bad.

So instead I pull my hand away and pick up the menu.

"I'm thinking about trying the grouper sandwich," I say.

Max just grins. "Sounds good." When the server comes to our table we order two grouper sandwiches - a Florida specialty - and an appetizer of coconut shrimp and calamari. My wine glass is empty and Max refills it. I take a long gulp of my ice water instead and stare at him.

"I think you might be trying to get me drunk."

"Then you better tell me now if you don't want any funny business in the car on the way back."

"Ha ha. I'm not planning to get drunk, and just in case there's any doubt, whatever happens in the car doesn't change anything."

"I know," Max says, his tone suddenly serious. "I still want to touch you, even if it's the last time."

"I wish things were different."

"They are what they are," Max says, and I'm not imagining the sadness in his voice.

Our appetizers come out super fast, and I try to focus on the crispy coconut shrimp and the mild, slightly sweet taste of the calamari.

"I didn't realize how hungry I was until now," I tell Max. "By the way, how's Angelica? Was Gino mad at her?" I have a picture in my mind of him ordering her back on a plane immediately with Vincenzo to return to New York.

"I think he was so relieved that she's safe that he couldn't get too angry. She really does have him wrapped around her little finger."

"Really?" I scoff. "Except for that little detail of him deciding who she's supposed to marry."

"There is that," Max says.

"What happens if she really does insist that she's in love with the Columbian artist and refuses to go along with Gino's plans?"

"He can always just kill Benadicto. That would solve the problem."

I stare at him, the coconut shrimp in my hand forgotten.

"Hadley, I'm kidding," Max says, then pauses until the shrimp resumes its trip to my mouth.

"He'd probably just break his legs," Max says, and I choke on a piece of the shrimp and start coughing.

"Are you okay?"

I nod, and grab my water and wash the shrimp down.

"You say you're joking, but I'm afraid you're not," I tell him.

"Seriously," Max says, "I don't think Gino would do anything to harm Benadicto. Not only is he an important part of our . . . joint venture with the gallery, but more importantly, Angel would never forgive Gino if he hurt him. The artist could be replaced, but Angel's love for her Uncle Gino is something that matters a lot to him."

He pauses, considers. "Plus, Vincenzo would never carry out an order to hurt someone Angel cares about."

"Vincenzo? Why?" It's hard for me to imagine the cold-eyed hitman having feelings for anyone.

"He's been around, protecting her for Gino, since she was a baby. In a way, he thinks of her and Gino as family. It's more than just a job for him, which is why Gino trusts him more than anyone else."

"Does Vincenzo have any family of his own?"

"No one he's ever mentioned."

Our entrees arrive and I dig into my grouper sandwich while I watch a sailboat go by. It's close enough that I can see the family onboard - the father at the helm, the mother working the lines, and two kids by the side of the boat looking down at something in the water, and then disappearing back into the small cabin.

I sigh.

"What is it?" Max asks.

"Oh, nothing. I was just watching that family on the sailboat and thinking how simple and easy their life seems. Just out for an evening sail."

"Maybe. Or they could be on the verge of divorce, and the boat is about to be repossessed by the finance company."

"Way to spoil the mood," I tell him.

"Your mood seemed to be sadness."

"Not really. I'm just wondering if life will ever be that simple for me."

"You mean marriage, two kids and a dog, and a lazy evening on the water?"

"Was there a dog? I didn't see one."

"There should be." Max picks up one of what the menu described as the restaurant's signature sweet potato fries with honey butter sauce and pops it in his mouth. "If that's what you want in life, Hadley, it's not that hard to achieve."

"It's impossible," I tell him. "Because I want it with you."

"I'm never going to be that guy, Hadley."

"I know."

We finish off the meal with Cuban coffee and a thick wedge of key lime pie that we share.

While we're quiet, my mind drifts back to the issue at the law firm, and my confusion over whether it really was Dylan who tampered with the files, or if the threat is coming from another direction altogether. I wish I knew the answer. Part of me wants Max to go have a conversation with Dylan, and part of me thinks that would only make matters worse.

If Max did threaten him, would he go running to the FBI? And why has he been so interested in Max's business all along? Is it just leverage to make me look bad so he can solidify his own position in the firm, or is the reason something darker?

I'm still thinking about all of this when we get in the car.

"Hadley," Max says, "you look as stressed as when I picked you up."

"I just can't get my mind off the files being deleted, and whether Dylan is responsible."

The tires crunch as Max drives the car over the shelled parking lot and back out on to the highway. When he gets there, he turns the opposite direction from Miami.

"Where are we going now?"

"Nowhere," he says, and reaches over and puts his hand on my knee.

"Max."

His hand squeezes my knee lightly, then slides just a little up the inside of my leg.

Suddenly I'm not thinking about the law firm and Dylan.

I'm not thinking at all.

"We're taking the long way back. So I can take my time getting your mind off your worries."

"You were so mad at me for not calling you right away when I heard from Angelica. I'm sorry."

"I know. It was just the thought of someone grabbing you to get to me. But don't think about that now. Just lean back and relax."

I do what he says, shifting my seat back as much as you can in the snazzy sports car, and closing my eyes. I still want to touch you, even if it's the last time.

The last thing I should be doing is what I'm doing right now. All I have to do is say stop and he'll turn the car around and take me back to my grandparents' house right now. Being this intimate with Max just makes it harder to accept that we don't have a future together. But I can't help myself. And if this is that last time he'll ever touch me, then why should I deny myself?

Max has a Miami station on the radio that plays nothing but smooth jazz and I feel like it's seeping into my pores, filling my brain, and pushing out everything but the sound of the music and feel of his hand gently caressing my leg, moving gradually higher.

Every stroke of his fingers sets my nerves on fire. I can't stand it. I reach for his hand, try to pull it higher to the spot that aches for his touch.

He glances over and grins at me. "Hmm umm, none of that," he says, pulling his hand loose. "Put your hands on the sides of the seat and keep them there."

"Max."

"Do it."

I sigh in frustration, but do what he says, and he starts over with his hand resting on my knee. I have no control here. I just have to relax and let him take his time.

And he does. His fingers trace tiny patterns on my skin, making me shiver, as he again works his way slowly up the inside of my thigh.

"Don't think about anything, Hadley, but me touching you." His voice is low, seductive.

The powerful thrum of the engine mimics the sound of waves pounding against the wet sand along the beach, accompanied by the low sexy sound of a saxophone. I close my eyes again and let myself drift.

Then I jolt in my seat as his fingers brush over my panties, stroking me through the thin silk. I have to grip the seat tightly to keep myself from reaching for his hand, pressing it closer. Because if I do, I know he'll just start over again at my knee and I think I'll lose my mind.

I love and hate the way he's teasing me with his touch.

All I can do is arch toward him, but he maddeningly controls the pace, shifting his hand to stroke the sensitive skin at the tops of my inner thighs, then briefly caressing me though my panties again, alternating until I'm trembling on the edge.

"Are those one of the lacy panties I bought you?" he asks, and it takes me a moment to register the words through the haze of sensations.

"Yes," I manage to gasp. I'm so close, so close, but he knows exactly how to keep me trembling on the edge without going over.

He slips one finger under the edge of the panties and touches my clit, and I almost come right then. But his hand moves away, back down my thigh, all the way to that sensitive spot on the back of my knee,

"Take them off. Right now."

I lift my hips off the seat slightly and slide my panties down.

"All the way off," Max tells me.

I slip my panties over my knees and down to my ankles, then lift my feet free of them. My heart is pounding and I want to come so bad I can't breathe.

"Pull your skirt up out of the way."

When I do, Max starts again, behind my knee, and makes the slow journey up my leg until - finally - he's stroking me exactly where my body has been desperate for his touch. And this time he doesn't stop until I can't hold back any longer.

"Come for me, Hadley," he says, increasing the pressure directly on my clit. "Come for me hard."

And I do, screaming his name as we fly down the road next to the beach, as the sun dips below the horizon and the red and orange hues spill over the water.

He cups me, and I press against his hand, wringing out the last sharp spears of pleasure before my entire body goes limp.

Max's eyes are on the road, but his hand is still between my legs.

"Again," he says, when I've barely regained my breath.

"What? I can't come again," I tell him.

Max does that half smile that always melts me.

"Want to bet?"

* * *

By the time Max finishes the second round I'm so relaxed and sated I actually doze off in the passenger seat of his car.

I'm happily settled into a dream about Max and me on a sailboat, drifting through calm waters, when I'm pulled out of it by Max gently shaking my shoulder.

"What?" I'm groggy, still half stuck in the dream world.

"Don't look back," he says, "but a car just pulled out behind us. It could be trouble."

"Trouble?"

"I drove along the coast for awhile, then turned around and doubled back to head toward Miami. About a half mile after I passed the restaurant again, they pulled out behind us."

I frown. "Are you sure they're not just-"

"They didn't turn off a side road, Hadley. They were waiting behind a line of Palmetto trees. They must have set up while we were in the restaurant, and didn't realize we'd already left and gone the other direction."

Max presses the accelerator and I look over at the speedometer and see the arrow swing past 80 miles per hour.

"What kind of car is it?"

"A black SUV."

"FBI?"

"I don't think so."

"What do they want?"

My question is answered when there's a thud as the front bumper of the SUV hits the rear side of Max's car. They're trying to force us off the road. Max pushes the gas pedal to the floor and we lurch forward. I turn and look through the back windshield. We're putting some distance between them and us.

"They won't be able to catch us. Not in this car," Max says. "Put your head down but keep your seatbelt on in case we flip."

"In case we . . ." Fear creeps up my spine, immobilizing me.

"I said keep your head down," Max says, reaching over to shove me down further in the seat. Then he reaches over me and opens the glove compartment, and pulls out a gun.