Page 42 of Royally Romanov
CHAPTER
NINE
Seconds after Finley left, Maxim’s cell phone chirped, signaling a new voice mail.
He’d forgotten about the earlier call. He’d forgotten anything and everything except the welcoming warmth of Finley’s lips, the beautiful shock of her skin against his. He wanted her so much it hurt.
He’d wanted her from the moment they met. Longer than that, if the dreams counted. He wanted her with a fierceness that made him ache inside. And he welcomed that ache. Craved it. Because when he was with Finley, things made sense.
Easy now. It’s just lust.
He was lying to himself, and he knew it. What he felt for Finley was far more complex than lust. But at the moment, he needed the comfort of the lie.
She’d left.
Again.
And this time, he was certain she wasn’t coming back.
Kissing her again probably hadn’t been his wisest idea. He hadn’t intended to do it. Not so soon, anyway. He needed her... for reasons that had nothing to do with the timeless way she made him ache. She knew more about the Romanov dynasty than anyone else in Paris. And for reasons he still didn’t quite understand, she seemed to want to help him.
HeneededFinley. Which made wanting her all the more complicated.
If she hadn’t gone on and on about how much she didn’t want to sleep with him, he probably could have controlled himself.
Possibly.
He jammed a hand through his hair, and his voice mail alert chimed again. Maxim pulled the phone from his pocket and pressed play, expecting to hear Gregory’s voice. He almost hoped it was Detective Durand’s instead. Arguing with the detective would’ve at least been an effective distraction. He’d welcome pretty much anything that would keep his mind off how badly he’d botched things with Finley.
The message wasn’t from Detective Durand, though. Nor was it from Gregory. It was from the same priest who’d called a few days before. Last time, the clergyman had only left a name and a number. Maxim had assumed he’d been calling on behalf of his church, seeking donations. He hadn’t bothered returning the call.
Clearly he should have.
“Monsieur Laurent, this is Father Kozlov. It’s been on my heart to call and check on you since you failed to show up for our scheduled appointment last week. Perhaps it slipped your mind, but you were so insistent when you called. I got the impression our meeting was of great importance to you. I pray this message finds you well.”
The phone went silent in Maxim’s hand.
He stared at it for a beat, then replayed the message. Several times. He listened to it four times in a row, struggling to make sense of what the priest said.
Sometime before his attack, Maxim had made an appointment with a priest. An important appointment, apparently. He had no idea what the appointment could have been about, save for one important clue—the priest’s name.
Kozlov.
Surely the fact that he’d scheduled a meeting with a Russian priest wasn’t a coincidence. Whatever he’d wanted to discuss with Father Kozlov had something to do with the Romanovs. It had to.
But what?
FINLEY CONSIDERED IT Aminor victory when she managed to get to work less than fifteen minutes late.
Every other assistant curator in the department was already bent over some rare artifact when she walked in the door. Madame Dubois raised an accusatory brow and made a grand show of checking her watch for the time. Her tardiness hadn’t gone unnoticed. But on some level, Finley still felt like she deserved a medal or something.
She’d never been a minute late to work in her life. More importantly, she’d kissed Maxim Laurent—twice—and managed not to fall into bed with him.Quelmiracle.
Way to exercise some self-control. I didn’t sleep with the latest perpetrator of an Anastasia hoax. I only made out with him a few times.
She felt guilty even looking at the blue velvet boxes stamped with the House of Fabergé seal and lined up neatly on her desk. Each box contained one of the original Imperial Easter eggs that had once belonged to the Tsar and his family. The eggs were insured for more than $30 million each, but how could anyone place a dollar amount on such a thing?
Those eggs were made up of more than gold, silver, diamonds, and other precious stones. They were symbols of a lost era. They were all that was left of the Romanov dynasty, a time of breathtaking, opulent romance that ended in unspeakable tragedy.
