Maximum Risk by Ruth Cardello Page A

much easier when he wasn’t close enough to imagine the feel of his lips on hers. “Hello, Max.”
    He stepped closer. “A pleasure to see you again, Tara.” He held out a chair for her. “It’s a shame Madison won’t be joining us for dinner.”
    Tara sat and flushed when one of his hands brushed against her bare back after he pushed her chair in. The touch might have been accidental, but she doubted it. “Yes, it is.”
    Maddy checked the time on her phone, voiced a hasty goodbye to both of them, and rushed off. Tara took the napkin off her plate and laid it across her lap, giving herself an inner pep talk as she did. There was no reason why she couldn’t be professional with Max. She squared her shoulders and looked across the table at Max who had settled in the seat across from her. The table was small enough for couples to hold hands easily and speak softly to each other. Not that we’ll be doing any of that. “So, are you in New York for business?”
    A playful light flashed in Max’s eyes. “A project of sorts.”
    A waiter came over and took their drink order. Once they were alone again there was an awkwardly long silence that Tara eventually broke. “I’m not going to apologize for what I wrote to you.”
    “I’d be disappointed if you did.”
    “Your gift was insulting. It felt like you were trying to buy me.”
    “I was.” There it was again, that twinkle in his eye, suggesting a private joke between the two of them.
    She refused to bend. “That’s disgusting.”
    His lips curled with a hint of a smile. “No, that’s realistic. People say money doesn’t matter, but stand between them and a dollar and you’ll see their true colors.”
    Tara smoothed the napkin on her lap. “You won’t get an argument about that from me. People suck.”
    Max threw his head back and laughed. “I did not expect you to say that. I thought for sure you would lecture me on sounding jaded.”
    Tara shrugged and said dryly, “No, eighty percent of people are assholes. Possibly eighty-five.”
    Their conversation was briefly interrupted by the arrival of their drinks. When the waiter asked for their order, Max deferred to Tara. Without thinking, Tara ordered as she normally did in a new restaurant. “Could you bring me two dishes? The most popular and the least requested on the menu.”
    Without missing a beat, Max requested the same. Once they were alone again, he said, “If I can tell you why you ordered the way you did, what would you give me?”
    “Are we betting on how well you know me? Because I’d say so far the odds are against you being correct.”
    “So, make it interesting. If I’m wrong, what would you want from me?” His voice was deep and filled Tara’s mind with a multitude of things she’d like to ask him for, but none of them were appropriate for why she was there that evening. She couldn’t forget that. The spark between them, although fun to flirt with, could not lead to anything else.
    “Okay. If you’re wrong, I get to ask you five questions about your family, and you have to answer them.”
    “My family?”
    Is now a bad time to tell you I’m being paid to ask you? “Maddy talks about all of you so much, I’m curious.”
    “Agreed. And if I’m right, you’ll owe me a kiss before the night is over.”
    Heat spread up Tara’s neck and warmed her cheeks. “No.”
    He leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear, and whispered, “I didn’t take you for a chicken.”
    Tara pulled away from him and smoothed her napkin on her lap. “I’m not afraid to kiss you. I told you, you’re not my type.”
    He sat back, smiling, and waited.
    Oh, he’s so smug.
    And, thankfully, most likely wrong.
    Tara laid her hands flat on the table in front of her. “Fine. Five questions if you lose. One kiss if you win. Now, wow me with your insight into why I ordered the way I did.”
    Max rubbed a thumb across his chin. “You’ve heard wonderful things about Richard’s talent, but you’re