Born To Be More

Date night

Raine

After the meeting with Caine, I’m shattered—mentally fried and emotionally buzzing. My brain is full of agents, contracts, campaigns, and branding jargon. And now? I have to go home and get ready for dinner with Max.

Because apparently, I’m a "celebrity" now.

Caine said it so casually—You're the new It Girl, Raine. Get used to the attention.

The idea of paparazzi and press makes my stomach tighten, but he assured me a security team will be assigned to me. I just have to choose one.

No pressure, right?

The town car pulls up outside my building, and I slip inside like I’ve done it all my life. It's weirdly fancy—but okay, I can see the appeal. At least I get to take in the New York chaos without hyperventilating behind a steering wheel.

Up the lift, into the apartment—God, I love this place.

I dump the stack of folders Caine gave me onto the coffee table and head straight for the bathroom. That tub is calling me. Honestly, if it were a man, it’d be doing the slow finger curl and whispering, Get in, gorgeous.

I laugh to myself, grab my phone and the spa bubbles, and start filling the tub. The steam rises as I strip off and slide in with a sigh so deep it feels like my bones just exhaled.

Heaven. Actual heaven.

I tilt my head back, scrolling through emails, sipping the last of my coffee. That’s when the message app pings.

Max Wolf.

Please don’t let this be a cancellation. Please don’t tell me he’s bailing.

Max Wolf: "I’m looking forward to seeing you this evening, Angel."

I read the message and can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

Angel: "Ditto, Mr. Wolf."

Max Wolf: "Ditto? No ‘I can’t wait to see you too, Max?’"

Angel: "Bath time—typing with one hand."

Max Wolf: "Where’s the other hand, Angel?"

Angel: "That’s my business ;)"

Max Wolf: "Tease. I’ll see you soon."

I bite my lip, grinning, before lifting my foot just above the bubbles and snapping a playful photo—just my toes peeking out in the foam—and send it off to him.

Angel: [photo]

Max Wolf: "I like games, Angel. And I really like you ;)"

Okay, so I definitely like him too. His voice. His eyes. The way his shirt hugs that unfairly perfect body. And those lips? Pure trouble.

My heart beats faster as heat pools in my core. Even thinking about him gets my whole body humming. I sink deeper into the warm water, letting my hand glide over my skin, imagining Max’s hands instead of mine. His mouth. His growl. The way his presence alone makes me ache.

I close my eyes and let the fantasy swirl around me, teasing, tempting. If he affects me this much just by texting, I’m scared to find out what dinner will lead to.

Raine

Shit! Time’s ticking. By the time I drag myself out of the bath, I’m in full panic mode. I throw on a belted shirt dress and twist my hair up into a messy bun. A little makeup, a few pieces of jewelry, and done. Not perfect, but presentable.

I grab a glass of cider and settle at the coffee table, flipping through the assistant selections Caine compiled for me. Where do I even start? Do I want a male assistant? A female? A robot with a coffee addiction like me?

I start making piles—shortlist, definite no, and hell no—when a knock sounds at the door.

My heart stutters.

I practically float toward it, feeling that same intense pull I always seem to get when Max is near. I open the door and damn near melt on the spot.

Max stands there like some cruel test of willpower, holding a few shopping bags and wearing the hell out of a pair of jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt. He looks dangerously good. Like, "hall pass" good.

I just stand there staring. Ugh. i***t.

“When you’re done checking me out, Angel, I’d really love to come in and put these bags down,” he says with a slow smirk.

I chuckle and step aside. “Of course, come in, Max.”

He leans in, kisses my cheek as he passes, and I swear my knees threaten to give out on the spot.

Raine

“Would you like a drink?” I ask as Max sets the bags down on the kitchen bench.

“That would be great, Angel.” He turns toward me, his eyes soft but hungry. “Come here.”

He reaches for my hand, and I step into his space without even thinking. My heart’s beating way too fast.

He glances down. “You have lovely toes,” he murmurs with a chuckle.

“You liked the pic I sent then?” I grin.

“I would’ve liked to see more, Angel,” he replies, voice dropping an octave. “But for now... I’ll take a kiss.”

He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his fingers grazing the back of my neck. The moment his hand settles there, I melt forward—and then he kisses me.

Hard.

His lips crash against mine in an urgent, claiming kiss that steals every breath from my lungs. I gasp and his tongue slides in, finding mine, deepening the kiss in a way that sets my entire body on fire. He tastes like caramel and mint and everything sinful.

I run my hands across his chest, feeling solid muscle under soft fabric, and lick at his bottom lip, completely drunk on him.

Mine.

The whisper is soft—so soft I almost miss it. But it wasn’t me. It came from inside me, and it felt... other.

What the actual f**k?

Before I can even process it, Max deepens the kiss, one hand gripping my ass, the other anchoring me to him as his hard length presses against my belly.

I’m burning. Inside and out.

I pull back slightly, sucking in air, and he eases up immediately but doesn’t let go. He threads his fingers with mine and leads me toward the kitchen.

“Mmm,” he hums, eyes dragging over me again like a caress. “I’ll get the drinks, Angel. You go sit down and catch your breath.”

His smile is wicked—and way too pleased with himself.

“So, how was your first day of work?” Max asks, as if he didn’t just kiss the soul out of me minutes ago. His voice is casual, unaffected, like that kiss didn’t just detonate between us.

He pulls a cider from the bag and lifts it toward me in silent question. I nod, still trying to remember how to breathe. He pours, then grabs a beer for himself and starts unloading ingredients onto the counter.

“It was hectic,” I say, still breathless and trying not to stare at the way his shirt stretches across his back. “I have to choose an assistant, an agent, and a security team. Can you believe that? Today felt like I was living someone else's life—it was... overwhelming.”

He nods, focused as he lays out the ingredients like a damn professional. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to melt into the floor. I’m burning up, still hearing that mine voice in my head, and I seriously need to change my panties.

Max looks over at me then, expression soft but knowing. “Angel, I’ll make dinner. You sit and tell me everything. We’ll figure it out together.”

Why does that simple offer make my chest ache?

So I talk. I tell him everything—the surprise media ambush, the HR whirlwind, the poster on the wall. He listens, hands busy slicing and seasoning, eyes flicking up to me now and then like I’m the only thing in the room.

“They had a full-size, floor-to-ceiling poster of me,” I say, throwing my hands up. “In a bikini. On the beach. With the words Coming Soon stamped across it like some kind of movie release!”

He smirks. “Coming soon, huh? Oh Angel, I really hope that’s true.”

My face ignites.

“Max!” I glare, swatting his arm. “You keep saying things like that and I’m going to spend the whole night looking like a damn beetroot.”

He chuckles—dark and rich—as he slides the stuffed chicken breasts into the oven. “Worth it,” he murmurs.

I cut vegetables for a salad, trying to steady myself, while he layers thin potato slices into a ramekin with some kind of creamy, cheesy mixture. He’s focused, confident, annoyingly sexy while doing something as simple as cooking.

“Let’s go sit in the lounge for a while,” he says after wiping his hands. His voice is gentle now, like he’s reading the storm I’m trying to hide.

We sit in the living area with soft music playing in the background, talking about our families. Max listens intently as I share stories about my childhood, college days, and past work. It’s almost unnerving how focused he is—like I’m the only sound in the room he can hear. When I mention my old charity gigs, he smiles and nods like he already knew I had that kind of heart.

He helps me sort through the assistant applications again, leaning in close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body next to mine. His scent—clean, masculine, addictive—wraps around me like a blanket I never want to escape. He casually culls a few more applicants, mostly men, from the stack and tosses them into the ‘no’ pile.

I raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Not a fan of male assistants?”

He just grins, no shame in his eyes. “They wouldn’t last five minutes around you, Angel.”

God help me, that shouldn’t sound so hot.

We move on to the agent shortlist, and he doesn’t hesitate. He picks up one profile and holds it out to me. “I know him, Angel. He’s a good friend—honest, loyal, and protective. He’ll make sure you’re looked after at work. I trust this guy—and I don’t say that lightly.”

I look up and find him watching me. There’s something in his gaze—more than lust, more than admiration. It holds weight, purpose. I feel it in my chest, heavy and warm.

“Max,” I whisper, unsure what I’m asking for—reassurance, understanding, or maybe just another second in that gaze.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine in a kiss so soft it steals the air from my lungs. It’s slow and warm and full of promise. And just like that, I’m on fire again.

I pull away before I do something insane like straddle him right there on the couch and beg. My body is buzzing, nerves vibrating under skin. I stumble toward the kitchen, muttering something about needing ice.

“Angel?” Max calls gently. “Are you okay?”

I turn back, flustered and frustrated. “I don’t know, Max. Every time you’re near me, my body turns into some kind of... melting mess. I keep hearing these whispers in my head—like... like I’m not alone in here. It’s weird and intense and—”

“Rainey,” he cuts in softly, stepping closer, his eyes glowing with something ancient. “We’re drawn to each other. There’s a reason for it. I’ll explain everything on Saturday. Will you come with me? Somewhere quiet—just us?”

I blink at him, breath hitching. “Sure, Max. I mean... I don’t really understand what’s happening, but at this point, it feels like I’ve been living outside the bounds of normal since I got on that plane.” I chuckle nervously, but he smiles like it means something to him.

Max checks on dinner, then plates it like a damn Michelin-starred chef. He sets it down in front of me and I blink at the presentation.

“This looks incredible,” I say honestly. “You sure you’re not moonlighting at a five-star?”

He smirks, proud but playful. “Only for you.”

I look down at the beautifully arranged food, then back up at the man who just might be the most dangerous distraction I’ve ever encountered. And I don't even care.

Dinner was perfect. The chicken was succulent and tender—he really is a great cook. I load the dishes into the dishwasher while he leans against the counter, watching me like I'm dessert.

Back in the lounge, we settle into the couch, casual and warm, the air between us humming with unspoken things.

"Angel," Max says, voice low, "I own a security business. Will you let me take care of your team?"

I raise an eyebrow, lips twitching. "Are you on the list the agency compiled for me?"

He smirks. "Well, I damn well should be."

He stalks over to the pile of profiles I left on the coffee table, rifling through them with dramatic flair—each one tossed to the floor like a failed audition. “Uh huh. Here we are.” He holds up a profile with his name and logo printed at the top.

“Pop it there,” I say, pointing to the table, “and I’ll take it into consideration.”

He places it down slowly, dramatically, then turns to me with a wicked gleam in his eye. Before I can blink, he lunges.

“Max!” I squeal as he tackles me onto the plush rug, his body pinning mine. I shriek and laugh as his fingers find my sides, tickling mercilessly. “Stop! You savage!”

“You’re lucky I like cheeky,” he growls into my neck, the sound vibrating against my skin.

I gasp when his lips press into the hollow below my ear, then slide down to kiss along my throat. My giggles dissolve into a shaky sigh as I feel the hard press of his c**k against my center, separated only by two thin layers of fabric.

My whole body arches beneath him on instinct, responding before my brain can catch up. Kootchie, the dirty traitor, is practically screaming take him now—and honestly? I’m right there with her.

My fingers slide up his back, gripping the fabric of his shirt. “Max…” I whisper, breathless, uncertain whether I want to beg him to stop or demand he never does.

His eyes find mine, burning dark with restraint. “Tell me to stop, Angel,” he murmurs. “And I will.”

But I don’t. I can’t.

Because everything inside me is screaming for more.