Page 38 of Royally Romanov
“Merci.” She gave him a polite smile.
The pleasure that had coursed through him with such delicious warmth when he’d opened the door and first caught sight of her began to cool.
Things were moving too quickly. She’d only just gotten here and already she looked like she wanted to bolt right out the door.Say something.
“Can I get you anything?” It wasn’t the cleverest of stalling tactics, but it was something.
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I need to go home and get ready for work.”
He nodded. “Ah, yes. Of course.”
“Don’t you?” She frowned.
“Don’t I what?”
“Don’t you need to get to work? Youareemployed, aren’t you?” Her gaze narrowed.
This was another test, apparently. Maxim could sense it. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was doomed to fail. “In a way.”
“In a way,” she echoed. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that I work at the Bank of France.” He took a deep breath. Best to rip off the bandage. “I’m on leave at the moment, and it’s uncertain whether or not I’ll return.”
“I see,” she said.
What did she see, exactly? He wanted to know, because no matter how long he stared at his reflection in the mirror, he still didn’t have a damned clue.
The question stuck in his throat, though. Probably because deep down, he feared her answer.
“It seems the Bank of France prefers its investment bankers to actually remember their clients before handling large sums of money.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s a valid point.”
“Right.” She nodded.
He could see the wheels spinning in her head. She was wondering what would happen to him if he couldn’t go back to work. How would he live? Hell, he wondered the same thing at times. He’d be fine, though. He’d figure things out, and his way of figuring things out didn’t include making room on his shelves for priceless artifacts from the Louvre.
“Finley, about last night...” He wanted to set the record straight about the police. But before he could say another word, his ringing cell phone cut him off.
Damn it. He sighed, raked a hand through his hair and made no move to reach for the phone in his pocket.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Finley said, latching onto an excuse not to discuss the events of last night.
“No.” He shook his head. “Whoever it is can wait until later.”
“What if it’s the police?” She paused. “Again?”
Touché.
“For the record, the detective wasn’t here to arrest me.” He probably should’ve announced this with a little more finesse, but there wasn’t time. Finley already seemed ready to bolt out the door. He doubted she’d be standing here at all if she hadn’t forgotten her bag.
And if she hadn’t also wanted to make sure he knew how much she didn’t want to have sex with him. That had obviously been a crucial reason for her to come back.
She looked him up and down. “I suppose not, or you’d be in jail right now.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Really, Maxim. You don’t have to explain. It’s none of my business.”
She was right. He didn’t owe her any kind of explanation. He and Finley meant nothing to each other. Maxim still didn’t even know why he remembered her the way he did, why the gentle slope of her neck seemed so familiar or why those gossamer memories were so obviously one-sided.
