Page 34 of Royally Romanov
Although, she couldn’t deny the crazy notion was getting easier and easier to believe.
He had hemophilia. How was that possible? Hemophilia was incredibly rare. It was also hereditary, which weakened her resolve all the more.
He can’t be Anastasia’s grandson. He just can’t.
Gerard grunted again, and this time it was followed by a sharp bark. Clearly the dog was annoyed. Finley couldn’t blame him. She was annoyed, too, mainly at herself. Kissing Maxim had messed with her head.
It also had quite an effect on a few other body parts she’d rather not dwell on. There was something very wrong with her. Clearly.
“Come on, Gerard. Let’s go somewhere warm and dry.” She gave the dog’s leash a gentle tug and headed down the gently sloping hill that lead toward Rue de la Bûcherie.
Puddles had already begun to pool on the cobblestoned walkways. At this rate, Finley’s ballerina flats would be ruined by the time she got to Shakespeare and Company. Whoever had come up with the misguided notion that Paris in the rain was the epitome of romance needed to have their head examined.
The bookstore was unusually quiet when she finally got there, even for the last half hour before closing. Apparently she was the only one foolish enough to be walking the city streets on such a wet night.
“Finley.” Scott looked down at her from his perch atop a library ladder near the corner where the beat poets were shelved. “You’re drenched.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” She bent and released Gerard from his leash. He gave himself a good shake before making a beeline for the dog bed tucked behind the register. Finley winced. “Sorry. I think we just soaked the entryway.”
“T’inquiète.”No worries. “It was wet before you got here.”
Scott climbed down, and Finley busied herself with trying to look like she hadn’t come straight from a make-out session with the very man he’d warned her about.
Obviously she failed, because as soon as Scott was on eye-level with her, he frowned. “Something’s wrong.”
“No, it’s not.” A lie of colossal proportions.
“Are you sure? Because you seem a little...”Unhinged? Mortified? On the verge ofcareer-ending self-sabotage?Scott’s gaze narrowed. “... excited.”
Excited... as inaroused? Guilty as charged.
God, she wanted to die.
She took a deep breath and willed herself to stop thinking about Maxim’s warm, bare chest. Or the way he’d kissed her. Or the way he’d whispered her name with the aching grace and reverence of a prayer. “I just left Maxim Laurent’s flat.”
Way to maintain some sense of discretion, Finley. Not that discretion mattered where Scott was concerned. He was her friend. Besides, she obviously needed someone to stop her where Maxim was concerned since she apparently couldn’t seem to control herself.
A muscle flexed in Scott’s jaw. His gaze darkened. “Did he hurt you? Because if he did...”
She held up a hand. “Stop. Of course he didn’t.”
“Then why are you stumbling in here looking like you’ve been wandering the streets of Paris in a daze?”
Maybe because he just kissed me within an inch of my life.She swallowed. “Because I left my handbag behind and now I’m locked out of my apartment.”
“So?” Scott shrugged. “If Monsieur Laurent is so harmless, why don’t you just go back and get your bag?”
“It’s complicated.”
Scott studied her so intently that she was certain he was trying to peer inside her head. Thank goodness that was impossible. He sighed. “Sit down. I’ll get us some espresso. Then you’re telling me everything.”
Everything?
Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
“Okay.” She moved a pile of books from the wooden chair opposite the cash register and sank into it.
Given her “excited” state, Finley nearly turned down the espresso. She didn’t need to feel any more keyed up than she already did. But the espresso smelled heavenly in the way that only good, rich European coffee could. Plus she was shivering in her dampened clothes, and a good caffeine fix might clear her head.
