Page 37 of Royally Romanov
CHAPTER
EIGHT
The last person Maxim expected to see on his doorstep the following morning was Finley. The police, yes. Finley, not so much. Truth be told, he probably would’ve been less surprised to see Nicholas II himself standing there in the early morning fog.
But it wasn’t the Tsar. It was Finley, wearing the same lovely black dress as the night before when he’d kissed her, and looking like she’d got caught in the rain. Maxim found this wildly erotic for reasons he didn’t care to contemplate.
“Bonjour. This is a pleasant surprise.” He waved her inside.
Gerard trotted into the foyer, as jolly as if Maxim’s flat were made of dog biscuits. Finley followed with noticeably less enthusiasm.
When she turned to face him, her gaze drifted to the buttons on his dress shirt and lingered.
He bit back a smile. “Can I help you, Finley?”
Her porcelain face turned an enticing shade of crimson. She took a deep breath and pointedly redirected her gaze to his face. “I’m not here to sleep with you, in case you were wondering.”
It defied common sense that Maxim would immediately go hard at this blunt announcement, but he did. Harder than granite. “You say the strangest things when you turn up at my door. I rather like it.”
Finley’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh shit, I didn’t actually mean to say that out loud. Sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine. Good to know, actually.”
She blinked. “So youwerewondering if that’s why I’d come back?”
Wondering? No.
Wishing? Yes.
God, yes.
The thought had occurred to him with alarming frequency over the past two days. Thus far, he’d managed to keep his desire in check. He needed Finley too much to take her to bed. Things were already complicated enough without adding sex to the mix. But after the way she’d touched him the night before, the way she’d responded to his kiss, his self-control had taken a serious hit.
She’d opened for him as if she’d been waiting for him her whole life. Maybe she had. Maybe he’d been waiting, too. Maybe his search for his identity wasn’t about the past at all. Perhaps it didn’t matter who he’d been before, and the only thing that did was finding her. Touching her. Claiming her.
It was a ridiculous notion. Intellectually, he knew as much. Unfortunately, his libido was at sharp odds with common sense.
He shifted from one foot to the other, erect to the point of pain. “Did I wonder if you’d come knocking on my door at six in the morning for sex? No. The thought hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Oh. Well... good.” She frowned. If Maxim didn’t know better, he’d have thought she was disappointed.
“Good,” Maxim echoed.
He had the strangest feeling they were both lying through their teeth. Somewhere in the flat, Gerard was probably rolling his eyes.
“Now that we’ve established you’re not here for sex...” His jaw clenched. Damn it. He’d never be able to stop picturing her in his bed now. “... do you care to tell me the reason for this unexpected visit?”
“My handbag—I left it here last night. My house keys are in it and everything else I need to get through the day, basically.”
That explained why she looked like she’d been out all night. Maxim hadn’t noticed her bag lying around, but he’d been preoccupied with his police visit. And the myriad other ways his life was a mess.
If she’d been locked out he wondered why she hadn’t come back sooner. More importantly, he wondered where she’d spent the night.
Don’t go there. It’s none of your concern. No one in this room is remotely interested in sleeping with the other.
Right.
A headache throbbed to life at the back of his skull. “Very well. Let’s try and find it, and you can be on your way.”
