Page 26 of Royally Romanov
CHAPTER
SIX
The hope that had begun to take root in Maxim’s soul at the Tuileries took a serious hit when he opened the door and saw the look on Finley’s face. There was no longer any trace of the lovely pink flush in her cheeks that had made her look so at home among the tulips. She was as pale and stone-faced as theVenus de Milo. And the eyes that had just so recently looked at him with wonder now flashed with anger.
She was royally furious. That much was obvious.
Much less obvious was the reason why.
“Bonnenuit.” He held the door open for her to come inside.
She didn’t move an inch. She simply stared daggers at him and took a deep breath, which drew Maxim’s gaze straight to the lovely swell of cleavage at the neckline of her little black dress. His jaw clenched, and he dragged his attention back to her eyes, glittering like emeralds in the darkness. Actually, now that Maxim thought about it, she was wildly gorgeous when she was angry. An observation he thought best not to mention.
“Don’tbonne nuitme,” she said, arms flailing. That’s when Maxim noticed the slim leather dog leash wrapped around her wrist. He followed it to the chubby pup sitting at her feet. He’d been so struck by the furious beauty of her face—as well as that magnificent décolletage—that he hadn’t even noticed the little French bulldog. It peered up at Maxim and let out a massive yawn. “Just stop it, okay. I know exactly what’s going on here.”
That made one of them. Two, if the dog had been given a heads-up. Somehow Maxim doubted that. The cute, tubby thing looked blissfully clueless.
“Do enlighten me.” Maxim crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, making himself comfortable. Apparently they were going to have this conversation in full view of the entire sixth arrondissement. “Unless of course you’d prefer to come inside to read me the riot act. I’ve opened a nice Bordeaux. It’s been breathing for about an hour so your timing is perfect.”
She rolled her eyes. “I told you to stop.”
He lifted a brow. “Stop what, exactly?”
She sighed mightily. “You can drop the whole charming act. I’m not buying it anymore.”
Anymore.
He stifled a grin. “It’s not an act, I assure you. But it’s nice to know you find me charming.” Or she had. At some point.
“Oh my God, that’s your takeaway from this whole exchange?” Her voice raised an octave, and the bulldog’s huge ears pricked forward. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I know what you’re up to.”
“Finley, I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about. I thought you were coming here to look at my grandmother’s things—at your request, I might add. You’re going to have to fill me in on what’s gotten you so upset.” He took a backward step into the apartment and beckoned her inside.
She lingered for a moment, as if weighing her options. “If I come in, so does Gerard.”
Maxim assumed Gerard was the dog, who Finley apparently had brought along as protection. It was a good thing Maxim’s intentions were honorable, because as guard dogs went, he’d seen better.
“Très bien.” He opened the door wider and muttered under his breath, “I hope Gerard likes Bordeaux.”
Maxim could certainly use a drink. His amusement was quickly turning to frustration. Not knowing the first thing about his own life was getting old. He was still coming to grips with the fact that he couldn’t remember his past, but he’d thought he’d had a decent grasp on the present. He’d thought he and Finley had connected somehow. He’d been wrong, obviously. So very wrong.
Finley bent to unclip Gerard’s leash, and the bulldog immediately ran to Maxim and collapsed, belly-side up, at his feet. Maxim gave the dog a few tummy rubs and managed to refrain from commenting about Gerard’s effectiveness as a bodyguard.
He stood. “I’ll pour the wine, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m not here to drink wine.”
“So you’ve said, but I have a feeling I’m going to need alcohol for this conversation.” He left her standing in the foyer and strode to the kitchen.
She heaved another sigh and followed. Gerard trotted clumsily after her and curled into a sleepy ball on the kitchen floor.
Maxim poured two glasses of wine, trying not to think too hard about how everything in the kitchen seemed brighter with Finley and her little dog inside it. He offered a glass to Finley. When she took it, her fingertips brushed against his and somehow Maxim felt it in every cell of his body.
He released a strained exhale. He shouldn’t be so attracted to her. It complicated things in a way that was sure to be disastrous. “Finley, tell me why you’re so upset.S’il vous plaît.”
She set her wineglass down without taking a sip. “The one-hundred-year anniversary of the Romanov execution is in just a few months.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know. You mentioned that at your signing last night. As I understand it, the anniversary is the inspiration for your exhibit at the Louvre.”
