"And you are obviously Hadley Reese Jones," Uncle Eddie says, studying me with eyes that remind me of Max's, but harder. Even if I knew nothing about him, I would be able to tell at a glance that this is a dangerous man. He looks like the photos I've seen of Max's father from about five or ten years ago, and I know he is the younger brother. He also has a toughness about him that isn't smoothed over with the same veneer of sophistication that Max has, and I presume his father had as well.

This is a man who gets things done, and doesn't spend much time worrying about how people perceive him. I suspect that, unlike Max and his father before him, I won't find Uncle Eddie sitting on charitable boards or attending fundraising galas, mixing in with Miami's elite.

I feel a little shiver run through me despite the hot sun.

"I'm pleased to meet you," I tell him.

"Are you?" He quirks an eyebrow in a gesture that does remind me very much of Max.

He looks like he's about to say something else, but just then Rina summons us in to dinner, clearly delighted that she now has two more mouths to feed.

Angelica sits up. "Is it manicotti?" she asks Rina.

"It is indeed," Rina says.

"Awesome." And right then, Angelica looks much younger than her 21 years. "Hi, Uncle Eddie," she says, and he leans down and kisses her on the forehead.

"Your Uncle Gino sends his regards, and asked me to check in on you," he says, the words sounding innocuous enough, but feeling laced with an undercurrent of meaning.

Angelica just laughs. "Sure he did." She reaches up and Uncle Eddie takes her hand and pulls her to her feet. "I think I had too many of Rina's cranberry Margaritas," she confesses.

"Those will do you in," Uncle Eddie says mildly, handing her the cover-up she had tossed onto a nearby chair and settling it over her shoulders.

"Do you need help getting up to your room to change for dinner?"

"I can manage," she says, swaying slightly but staying on her feet.

Uncle Eddie laughs. "I guess you can. Let's get you inside and if you do need help, Rina can go up with you."

"God, I'm fine. I'm just a little buzzed. Would everyone please stop treating me like a child?"

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Just trying to help. You trip and crack your head open and Gino will not be pleased."

Angelica rolls her eyes.

He walks with her toward the French doors, steadying her arm as they go into the house through the kitchen. As soon as they are out of sight there's this electricity in the air between Max and me. He still looks angry for some reason, but it's more than that now.

"You're drunk, too," Max says, and I don't like the disapproving tone in his voice.

"What do you care if I'm drunk?" I ask him, standing up and gathering my belongings. I have my back to him, bending over to grab my coverup, and I hear his quick intake of breath.

"I care when you're drunk at my home by my pool wearing that sexy little bikini I bought for you in New York, and I'm not here with you," he says. He's standing very close behind me, almost touching, so close that when I straighten up I brush against the fabric of his suit.

"Well, you're with me here now. And you're in my personal space."

"Do you want me out of your space, Hadley?" he asks, and I don't answer. Because of course I don't. I want him close to me even if it makes my heart ache. I can't help it.

He leans his head closer and I can feel his warm breath on my neck when he speaks lowly into my ear. "Here, at my house, when I got home. Right here, lounging on my pool furniture, looking so tempting it's all I can do not to haul you right up to my bedroom and act out a few fantasies that come to mind right now."

Suddenly I can't catch my breath. I turn toward him and his hand slides down over my thong bikini and rests on my hip, making me squirm slightly as my whole body tingles with arousal.

Damn him for having this effect on me.

"Like what?" I ask him, unable to resist finding out what he imagines doing with me, and to me.

He keeps his voice low, pressing me just a little bit closer.

"You know I want to spank that sexy bottom of yours in this bikini. I told you that in New York."

My mouth goes dry.

"So we'd start with that. Then I'd strip you naked and use my tie to secure your wrists to one of the slats on my headboard, and I'd take my time exploring every inch of you with my hands and my mouth. We'd see how many times I can make you come, before I take off my own clothes and take you hard and fast and you scream my name."

"Max . . ."

"I'm not done. I'd untie you then, and while you were still trying to recover from that last orgasm, I'd put you on top of me, straddling me, and stroke your beautiful breasts, pinch those taut nipples while you ride me faster and faster all the way to another climax. And just when you start to come, I'd reach around and smack your sweet bottom again and you'd come even harder."

His voice is still so controlled, while I don't think I could speak at the moment without stumbling over the words. And it's not just the alcohol.

Now his tone gentles, and that's what almost undoes me. "Then I'd hold you in my arms, Hadley, hold you so close against me, and rub your back until you fell asleep. And I'd still be there when you woke up."

"Max. Max, don't do this. I can't stand it." My voice is shaky.

Something changes as he releases me, steps back.

"Then don't come to my house and drink too many Margaritas and lie by my pool in that sexy little bikini and drive me out of my mind with wanting you."

"I didn't mean to. I didn't expect to see you. I thought you were in New York."

"Keeping tabs on me now, Hadley?"

"No," I say, flushing. "It's just that I would never have come here today if I didn't think you were still in New York. Angelica invited me. We're going to your club later."

"Hmm," he says. "We'll see about that."

"You don't get to tell me whether or not I can go to a club, Max."

He laughs. "I do when it's my club."

He has a point.

"Come on," Max says. "Do you think you can make it upstairs and get changed for dinner on your own, or do you want me to help you?"

There's a glint in his eye that makes me think Max "helping" me get changed could go in another direction really fast. A direction I'm way too tempted to go in, but I realize it will only make things worse.

"I'm fine. I'll see you in at dinner."

"You can use my room to change in, Hadley," Max says. "I won't follow you."

I'm relieved and at the same time disappointed.

I head upstairs, stopping in Angelica's room just long enough to grab my bag. I can hear the shower running, and decide that's what I need as well. I find Max's room, and discover that it also has an ensuite bathroom. I close the door and drop my bag on the bed and get undressed.

Max's room has a little more personality - a little more Max - than the apartment he keeps over the club, but it still doesn't feel like it's his home. Maybe like he said to me early on, nothing really feels like home to him. I wonder if this is the room he grew up in. But unlike my old bedroom at my father's house, this one doesn't seem to have any remnants of Max as a child. Not sports trophies on the dresser. No shelf with memorabilia from being a kid.

Of course, he still lives here, at least part time, as an adult, so it makes sense that the room grew and changed with him. My room at my father's house is pretty much like it was the day I left it to head off to college. I never really lived there again as an adult.

I look around, taking in the classic furnishings, the dark blue accent wall, and white trim. The king-size dark wood-frame bed that dominates the room, with its thick navy bedspread and fat white pillows. His headboard does indeed have slats, and I swallow hard.

I open the closet and catch a brief whiff of Max's scent, and breathe it in, then shut the door firmly and head for the shower to wash off the sunblock and sweat, tucking my hair up with a hair tie since I don't want to take the time to wash and dry it and be late for dinner.

I force myself not to have fantasies of Max while I stand in his shower, lathering myself with his body wash. Push out of my mind the first time Max and I had shower sex, and how completely amazing it was.

No. I'm not going to go there. And I'm certainly not going to work myself up into an orgasm here in Max's shower when I have to be downstairs in a few minutes for dinner. One look at my face and he'd know.

As I head down the stairs, freshly showered and wearing the breezy sundress I brought with me in case we wanted to do something casual before getting ready for the club this evening, I hear voices coming from a room to the left of the hallway.

"Don't be stupid, Max," says a male voice I recognize as Uncle Eddie.

"My father left you in charge of certain aspects of the business, Uncle Eddie," Max responds. "He didn't leave you in charge of my personal life."

Are they talking about me?