HEAD FIRST

Lana Marchetti smoothed her fingers through her hair. She looked down at her sweater, wondering if she should change. Was it sexy enough? Too sexy? Did it smell? She checked, and decided she was okay.

Her hands fluttered at her sides as she walked back and forth across the living room carpet. She could still hear Max talking quietly to his sister Aurora in the next room. Sweet, strong, handsome Max.

Her body flushed, realizing that he would come back out here soon. He’d say goodnight to his little sister, tuck her in, and then he and Lana would be alone.

Alone. Together. She and Max.

“Relax,” she whispered to herself. “You’re going to get sweaty.”

She’d already made the decision—tonight was the big night. And when she set her mind to something, she always made it happen.

Tonight, she would finally lose her virginity.

Max Bennett just didn’t know it yet.

This was already a lucky night. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of night. Max was here visiting Aurora, and Lana’s parents were out of town, and Lana had finished her finals a few days earlier than expected. Otherwise, her parents would never have consented to Lana and Max being unsupervised in the house together.

Not because of any specific concern on their part. Lana was the typical overachieving good girl. President of her senior class in high school, valedictorian, already committed to a pre-law major now that she was in college. She’d never once gotten caught undressed with a boy, never snuck out. Lana knew she was attractive because people constantly told her. Goodness, so pretty, and smart, too? You must have all the fellows chasing after you. Thanks, Grandma.

But instead of showing interest, guys her age seemed intimidated by her. She’d never even had a boyfriend. Hence her persistent virginal state at nineteen, even with the sex-fest going on around her in her dorm.

Max Bennett? He was a twenty-four-year-old Green Beret, back in West Oaks for leave. Max was also the sexiest, most absurdly masculine man Lana had ever seen. Just looking at him made her so turned on, she thought she’d spontaneously orgasm.

Lana had started out as Aurora Bennett’s babysitter, way back when Lana was just fourteen and Max had first enlisted. Then, the Bennett family hit hard times. It was a long, complicated story, but eventually, little Aurora had ended up living with Lana’s family instead of her own. Which meant that Max came here, to Lana’s house, to visit Aurora whenever he got time off.

Usually, Lana’s parents were around to keep a watchful eye on the sexy soldier in their midst. But at this moment? They’d planned a weekend getaway, thinking Max would be here with his little sister alone.

But what they didn’t know couldn’t possibly concern them.

The door to Aurora’s room snicked closed, and Max emerged from the hallway. There he was, in all his gorgeous glory. Six feet of hardened muscle beneath his T-shirt and cargo pants. Thick, defined biceps, narrow waist. His dark hair was buzzed close to his scalp, which only emphasized the angular bone structure of his face.

Every inch of her skin flushed with wanting him. It was almost painful. But she was nervous, too. There was so much of him. Was he big everywhere?

If she kept having thoughts like that, she’d pass out from a lack of oxygen to the brain.

“Is Aurora asleep?” Lana asked, relieved that she sounded fairly normal.

“Yeah, she went out quick. She was already halfway there when I carried her in. I guess I kept her up later than usual.”

Aurora was thirteen now, a bundle of eye rolls and sarcasm. But she acted much younger around her brother. Aurora saw her own family so rarely that she needed Max to baby her a little.

“She was so excited to spend time with you,” Lana said. “Been looking forward to it for months.”

“I guess it’s good to be missed.” Max smiled, like maybe he knew that Aurora wasn’t the only one happy to see him. His gaze brushed down her body for a brief second, so quick Lana almost didn’t catch it.

Max had never flirted with her before tonight. Never let his eyes linger too long. The last time he’d visited, just six months back, she’d been in high school. And he was ever the upstanding, honorable kind of guy, even though she’d had ample fantasies about him.

But tonight, he’d paid her a lot more attention. Asking Lana questions about college, about his sister’s progress at school. He’d grinned at her in a lopsided way that made her stomach tie itself into knots. Part of her had worried she might have imagined his interest.

But she hadn’t. He’d just been checking her out.

Game on. Let’s do this.

“Should we finish the movie?” Lana asked, hoping he didn’t notice she was a bit breathless. “Aurora’s seen it before, anyway. She won’t mind.”

There was that grin again. “We can. Sure.”

They sat on the couch in the living room, leaving a couple of feet between them. As if Aurora was still sitting there as a buffer.

Lana started up the movie again. It was a superhero adventure, a DVD that belonged to her dad, but she was actually enjoying it. It turned out that watching men in capes jump around New York City was a pretty good time.

But she was watching the man beside her instead of the movie. Max took up her peripheral vision. The cushions compressed beneath him, his legs spread wide as he relaxed. She’d been smelling him all night, a woodsy combination of pine soap and spicy aftershave, but sitting this close to him was like being surrounded by a dense forest. She inhaled deeply, thinking of the last picture he’d sent Aurora of him in his camo gear. Mmmm.

Max’s arm dropped into the no-man’s-land in between them. Her eyes fixed on this new invasion into her territory, and the last thing she wanted to do was retreat.

Did he want to get closer to her? When was she going to get up the nerve to make some kind of a move? Or maybe she should just wait to see what he did first. She didn’t want to seem too eager. What if he didn’t like that?

Max picked up the remote and hit pause on the movie. She jumped a little, turning to look at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just thinking about something Rory said earlier. She mentioned some kid’s been bothering her at school? She told me she didn’t want me to talk to the principal, but what do you think?” His look of anxiety was sweet.

Lana found her voice. “She was getting bullied by another girl. The same thing happened to me at her age. My mom had a conference with her teacher, and it seems to be getting better. I’ve been checking in with her about it. She’s been great, otherwise, so I don’t think you need to worry.”

He seemed contemplative. “You know her really well. Better than I do.”

“You can’t help being gone.”

“Yeah, I know that, but I still stress about how she’s doing. It’s a relief that she has you watching out for her.”

Her insides warmed with pleasure at his attention. Lana turned to face him more directly and tucked one knee beneath her on the cushion. “My parents and I love having her here. Aurora makes me crack up every single day. And I always wanted a sister.”

Oh my God, no. Why did you call her a sister? He’s her brother. And that would make you… Ew. No. Take it back.

“I just mean, Aurora’s amazing.”

“She’s definitely special.” Max lifted his fingers and nudged Lana’s knee. “I’m grateful she has you in her life.”

Lana took a moment to respond, still focused on the fact that he’d touched her. “I’m grateful for that, too.”

“Just wish my own parents made an appearance around here more often. Rory said it’s been a few months since she’s seen them.”

Lana nodded sadly.

He bobbed the remote in his hands. But he didn’t turn the movie back on. “You must be a lot busier now than you used to be, with school and all.”

“Yeah, I’m not around as much. If the commute wasn’t so long, I would just live at home.” She was going to college in Los Angeles, a sea of traffic away from West Oaks, though not so far in miles. “But I get back here multiple times a week. We always have Friday night dinner together, and I talk to Aurora on the phone pretty much every single day.” Just in case he worried that Aurora didn’t have enough support.

But Max didn’t take up the subject of his sister again. Instead, he kept asking Lana about herself. Which was something else he’d never done much before.

“You have time for yourself too, right? You must have a boyfriend or something.”

“Oh, no,” she stammered. “No boyfriends. Or anything else. I mean, I would like a boyfriend, theoretically. I like boys. Er, men. I like men.” Someone please stop me. Help.

Max frowned, tilting his head. But his frown still looked like a smile. He perused the length of her again, but more slowly this time. His gaze might’ve been a blow torch for the way it was setting her on fire.

“Trust me, Lana. The guys like you back.”

Her face flushed.

“Have you just not found the right one?”

She’d had plenty of dates, but they never seemed to go anywhere. “I’m not really sure what guys want.” That bit of truth had just slipped out. But she was curious what he’d say in response.

“Men are pretty predictable.” Max laughed, turning away. Like he was embarrassed. “It can’t be that hard to figure out what they’re after.”

She crossed her arms. Was he laughing at her? “I want the same thing.”

His eyebrow arched, and his focus moved slowly back to her. “Do you, now?”

“So, I guess the problem is me.”

Why did she ever think this would work? Why would a man like Max want her? She could write an essay analyzing a Hemingway short story in her sleep. She could outline an entire mock trial argument on her bus ride to class. But when it came to sex, she was utterly hopeless.

Lana started to get up, but Max’s large hand rested on her shoulder, gently lowering her back down.

“Look, I think the issue is that guys aren’t sure what you want. Everyone expects a guy to make the first move, and that can be nerve-racking. Especially when they aren’t sure if it’ll be welcome.”

Her brows drew together as she considered his words. “So, they’re afraid of getting rejected? It’s an ego thing?”

“Not exactly. Not always. They don’t want to get slapped in the face. But much worse would be if they misread a situation and made a girl do something when she’s not ready.”

Was Max talking about the guys she normally dated, the guys she met in class?

Or was he talking about himself?

She planned her next words carefully. “How do I let a guy know that I’m interested in…” She swallowed. “In him?”

“There are plenty of ways.” His voice had gone low and husky. He was staring down at the remote control in his hands. “You could just tell him. Or better yet, show him.”

Her heart raced. Her chest was tight, and she struggled to breathe, as if she’d just run a mile. Her nerves couldn’t take much more of this.

But he’d essentially just told her that nothing would happen if she didn’t move first. Which implied that he did want her to make a move. On him.

She’d been captain of the chess club in high school. Because, of course she had. Making the first move had never been a problem then. In her intro political science class, she never hesitated to raise her hand.

Max switched the movie back on. Villains in bright costumes resumed their rampage through Manhattan. He seemed to be absorbed in the story, but a muscle in his jaw kept pulsing. That arm remained on the couch cushion, just inches away from her.

Lana rubbed her hands against her jeans. Okay. You want to finally lose your V-card? Then woman up. Here goes nothing.

She reached over and rested her hand on his arm.

The explosions and shouting continued on the screen, but Max had gone still.

Lana brushed her fingertips along the inside of his forearm, tracing the sinewy veins and muscles. She couldn’t help licking her lips. How could a few inches of arm be so sexy? The way the muscle flared out at the elbow, then back in near his wrist. The strength that must be contained in that one small area alone.

Maybe she had an arm fetish.

Or perhaps it was just a Max Bennett fetish.

She laced her fingers between his. Max clasped hers firmly back, which was exactly the encouragement she needed.

Lana got up onto her knees and leaned over to kiss his neck. The woodsy scent of him was intoxicating. So manly, with some indefinable quality underneath that made desire throb at her core. Her lips moved to his chin, enjoying the friction of his stubble.

A moan came from deep inside his chest. It was a desperate sound. And she had brought that out of him.

Max’s nostrils flared as he looked over at her. What she saw in those dark irises took her breath.

Hunger. Pure and simple. Like he wanted to devour her and all his control went into restraining himself.

Yes, she wanted to shout. Don’t hold back. Take me. Have me.

In one movement, he scooped her up and pulled her toward him. Not quite in his lap but balanced on his thigh. He dipped his head, and his mouth met her collarbone with surprising gentleness. His tongue slipped out, tasting her skin.

“Do you like that?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she choked out. Yes, yes, yes. Was it possible to die from sexual tension? Because her brain was short-circuiting. Her hands found his chest. Beneath the fabric of his T-shirt, he was a wall of hot muscle. She felt his heart beating under her palm.

“Tell me what you want,” he said. “I need to be sure. I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you.”

Finally, his mouth claimed hers.

Lana paced across the carpet in her office. Her morning had started off so well. She was a couple of weeks out from her next trial, and she’d almost gotten her prep work under control.

Then she’d checked her email and found the little present that the defense attorney had dropped off during the night.

She pressed the handset of her phone against her ear. “What the hell is this piece of trash you just filed?”

“I assume that’s a rhetorical question,” Paxton Wayfair said. “You’re the one who concealed important evidence from my client.”

Lana wanted to throw something. She looked around at her paper-strewn desk and cluttered bookshelves. She managed to restrain herself, if only because she wanted her anger to leave some kind of mark. In her messy office, nobody would even notice.

“Your client is a cold-blooded murderer,” she said.

“So says the corrupt prosecutor and her lapdog investigator. I’m going to prove you’re both liars.”

Lana clenched her fist. The cordless phone creaked under the pressure.

“But we could avoid all this unpleasantness if you’d offer my client a deal. He’d be willing to plead to receipt of stolen property. One year of probation should do it.”

“How do you sleep at night, you son of a—”

“Temper, temper, counselor. The judge already warned you to be civil to me.”

Lana hung up on him. The plastic handset slammed so hard into the cradle she wondered if she’d broken it. The District Attorney’s Office still had old phones from the early two-thousands. Glamorous, it was not.

Usually, she kept a cooler head. She saved her ire for interviewing suspects in an interrogation room whenever she was called upon to work with the local police department. But this case felt personal for her in a lot of ways.

Lana was the Assistant District Attorney for West Oaks County, California, a picturesque seaside enclave on the outskirts of the Los Angeles metro area. They only had a few violent crimes a year. But in a couple of weeks, wealthy playboy Ryan Hearst would go on trial for the murder of Heather Barnes, a local teenage girl, back in 1998. The girl’s death had gone unsolved for decades, thwarting every attempt to find a new lead, until Lana herself started working on the case in her spare time.

She’d asked her old friend Max Bennett to help investigate.

Since he’d left the army, Max had started Bennett Security, the top private security company in their region. Moonlighting as an investigator wasn’t his daily gig. But she and Max had known each other forever, and they’d worked together on a handful of cases before.

Then, Max had found evidence to blow the Barnes case wide open. Hearst’s arrest came shortly after. Lana had been looking forward to prosecuting that scumbag for a long time.

Of course, Hearst hired thousand-dollar-an-hour attorneys from Los Angeles to defend him. Paxton Wayfair, the man she’d just hung up on, was the worst of the lot.

And now this, right on the eve of trial. Wayfair had accused her of personal misconduct.

An inappropriate intimate relationship with her so-called investigator, Max Bennett, the motion had said.

Wayfair didn’t know how comical that accusation really was.

The phone rang again, and Lana grabbed it. “If you think I’m even going to consider offering a plea—” she began, belatedly noticing the caller ID.

Wayfair’s name wasn’t there. Instead, it said, Unknown number.

She heard heavy breathing on the line.

Not again. She was so sick of this.

“I don’t know who you are, or if you work for Wayfair. I don’t really care. But if you think you can intimidate me with these pathetic tactics, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Still, the person on the other end of the line said nothing. Only breathed.

A chill ran down her body, straight into her feet.

Lana had to be tough as a litigator, especially as a woman who wasn’t even thirty yet. But these calls unnerved her. The guy—it had to be a guy—had called five times in the last month. Always when she was alone at work.

Never said a word, just breathed fast. Panting.

Disgust flashed through her, making her stomach curdle. “Why don’t you come to my office next time. Do your little creeper act in person. I’ll shove my fist down your throat, you mouth-breathing mother—”

Then she noticed that her door had just opened. Max Bennett stood there, hand on the doorknob, his eyes widening.

“Um, so, put me on your do-not-call list,” she choked out, and hung up.

Max came fully into the room and closed the door. “Who was that?”

“Telemarketer? Or maybe a prank call.” She sat down, gripping the chair to hide the shaking in her hands. “Who knows.”

“A prank call? People still do those?”

“Apparently so.”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She didn’t want him to know about the calls. Max had an overprotective streak as long as the Pacific Coast Highway.

Once, she might’ve welcomed that kind of attention from Max. Now, it was way too complicated.

Besides, the creeper probably worked for Paxton Wayfair. She wasn’t going to let Wayfair get under her skin. “What can I do for you?”

Max didn’t usually come all the way to the District Attorney’s Office. They conferenced by phone or at his plush company headquarters.

“You texted? Said there was an emergency?"

“Right. Of course, I did. Sit down.” If only so she didn’t have to keep staring at his long legs and trim stomach in that tailored suit. She’d thought he looked good in his army fatigues, but businessman Max was somehow even hotter.

He took a seat across from her. Her government office was a sad comparison to Max’s fancy one across town, with its big computer screens, glass walls and ocean views. Yet the man looked gorgeous, even amidst tacky outdated furniture. Max looked good everywhere.

Her life would be so much easier if she could stop noticing that.

“Hearst’s lawyers have filed a new motion. They want to keep you from testifying about the evidence you found, plus disqualify me as the prosecutor. All based on ‘newly discovered evidence,’ or so Paxton Wayfair claims.”

“At least he doesn’t do things half-assed. What is this new evidence?”

“He claims that you and I are…” She averted her eyes. Lana had thought she’d been through enough courtroom confrontations that she couldn’t get flustered anymore. But this subject was proving her wrong.

“Sleeping together,” she finished. “And that I seduced you into framing his client, all so that I could make a name for myself as a prosecutor.”

Max sputtered a laugh. “Us? That’s…” His face was turning red.

“Completely ridiculous. I know.”

“Why would anyone even think that?” His voice had gone strangely high-pitched, which might’ve been funny in other circumstances. Usually, Max had the kind of smooth baritone that made men listen and women dampen their panties. “You and I, we’re…practically family.”

The muscle in her jaw tightened. “Just what I was going to say.” Which was a bald-faced lie. Whatever she felt for Max, it wasn’t familial. But he, on the other hand, seemed horrified by the very idea of them as lovers.

You didn’t used to feel that way, she said silently.

She and Max did have a history, as much as he clearly wished to forget it. An ancient history. It was not something they talked about. Ever.

“You don’t think the judge will buy it, do you?” Max asked. “She already denied their last motion to suppress the evidence.”

“This new motion is baseless. But I’m worried the judge will grant a hearing, which will only give it oxygen.” Judge Vaughn couldn’t decide to scratch her own butt without holding a hearing about it first. “I’m sure Wayfair just wants to make me squirm. And waste my time. I don’t have an army of junior associates doing trial prep for me, unlike him.”

All she had was her second chair, Trevor Allen. He was helpful and good with victims, but Trevor wasn’t exactly headed for the Supreme Court.

She rested her forehead in her hands.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked for Max’s help with the case. If she’d found some other investigator to nail Ryan Hearst, this wouldn’t be happening.

“How can I help? Should I kick Wayfair’s ass?”

Lana sighed, lifting her head. “Sign an affidavit that Wayfair’s accusations are pure make-believe?” It was a written statement under oath that she could attach to her opposition brief. Hopefully, Judge Vaughn would be satisfied, and that would be the end of it.

“Of course.”

She typed up a quick statement and printed it for his signature. After they’d finished, he said, “If the Judge does grant a hearing, when will it happen?”

“Probably in the next few days? It’ll be fast, otherwise we’ll have to move the trial date.”

“Just tell me the day and a time. I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

She ignored the flutter in her chest. As usual, he was clean shaven, his dark hair expertly cut, no doubt at an expensive salon on Ocean Lane. If only she could see him as some kind of unofficial sibling or cousin, the way he now seemed to think of her.

If only she could forget what they’d once shared.

“I really appreciate your time.” Lana kept her tone professional. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble thwarting Wayfair’s latest stunt, and you’ll be back on track in no time. Since I’m here, should we talk about my testimony for the trial itself, too? I thought you had a few more things you wanted to go over since our last prep session.”

She made a show of organizing a stack of papers on her desk, even though she would probably need a dumpster to work her way through all this mess. Literally and figuratively.

“Not now. I have to go speak to the victim’s sister. I need to prepare her if she hears about Wayfair’s motion. Whenever there’s something unexpected with the case, she gets understandably upset.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“I’ve got it.” But she appreciated his offer. Her annoyance at him faded. As it always did. “I’ll call you when I have an update.”

“What about dinner tonight?”

She looked up, her eyes meeting his dark ones. “What?”

“We could do trial prep over dinner later. Since you’re busy now.” He just shrugged, like his suggestion meant nothing. Like she and Max had dinner together alone all the time. Just a couple of old friends, drinking wine outside work hours, with no Aurora or anybody else to provide a buffer. No awkwardness.

No awkwardness at all.

“Actually, scratch that, I just remembered I have a prior obligation.” He stood, digging his hands into his pockets. “Another time. Let me know about the hearing?”

“Right. I will.” She put on her best poker face until he left.

They might’ve grown up in the same neighborhood in West Oaks and shared a certain history. But it was far wiser—both for her career, and her heart—to hold Max Bennett at arm’s length.

HEAD FIRST will release on Kindle and print in late May 2022!