Page 49 of Royally Romanov
Her cheeks turned that captivating shade of pink that Maxim loved so much. She glared at Scott. “What did you say to him?”
“Relax,ma chéri. Maxim and I were just having a little chat.” Scott returned to his place behind the register.
Finley’s gaze flitted between him and Maxim. “That’s what scares me.”
“As it should.” Maxim winked at her.
He knew he shouldn’t flirt, but he couldn’t quite make himself stop.
Nor did he want to.
“Why did I think meeting here would be a good idea?” she muttered to the ceiling. Then she aimed a death stare at Scott. “Do not answer that.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Je suisinnocent. Besides, I’ve got work to do in the back. So I’ll leave you two to yourbusiness.”
Finley’s face went a slightly brighter shade of pink at Scott’s exaggerated emphasis on the wordbusiness. Maxim pretended not to notice.
With Scott gone, the room suddenly seemed smaller, swollen with innuendo and the extreme effort it took for Maxim not to bend and kiss her cheek. Or better yet, to gather her hair in his hands and run his lips in a lazy trail down the side of her neck.
“Thank you for meeting me here tonight.” At her words, Maxim managed to drag his gaze away from her neck and look her in the eyes, pausing only briefly to notice the way she was nervously nibbling at her bottom lip.
“You’re most welcome, although I’ll admit I’m curious as to why you wanted to see me.”
Gerard began to wiggle in Finley’s arms, so she put him down. He trotted back to his bed where he spun three circles before settling down for another nap.
Without the dog to hold on to, Finley seemed even more nervous. She crossed her arms, then promptly uncrossed them. Was it Maxim’s imagination, or was her gaze focused squarely on his chest?
She blinked and refocused on his face. “My boss ordered me to return your photograph.”
Maxim got the distinct impression that this wasn’t good news. He also couldn’t help but notice that despite her announcement, Finley made no move to actually return the picture. She just stood there looking like she was trying to decide whether to slide her hands up his shirt and kiss him again or to run away.
Maxim was greatly in favor of the first option. “I see.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. She wants me to give it back to you because it’s real. The girl in the photograph—the one you say is your grandmother—is the Grand Duchess Anastasia. The research department at the Louvre confirmed it.”
Maxim grew very still.
Behind Finley, through the bookshop’s front window he could see Point Zero in the distance. He could see the bell tower of Notre Dame glowing like a beacon of hope over the banks of the river Seine. On the sacred ground of that holy place, he’d been beaten and left for dead.
Was this why? Was it because he’d found out he was a Romanov?
It had to be.
“Are you telling me I’m the last of the Tsar’s direct line?” If Finley thought so, it had to be true. “But how? You told me that wasn’t possible. Anastasia died in 1918.”
“I don’t know what the truth is anymore, Maxim.” She shook her head and her luminous eyes grew shiny with unshed tears. He’d made her cry. Marvelous. Maybe he was better off not knowing exactly who he was. All signs had certainly indicated that was the case. “If my boss finds out that I told you the photograph is authentic, I’ll be fired. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you.”
Yet here she stood.
The pain that had been Maxim’s constant companion since his attack gathered at the front of his skull and throbbed to life. He couldn’t let her do this. Not anymore.
If his connection to the Romanovs was what had made him a target, that meant she could be in danger now, too.
The truth could hurt her. It likely already had.
He couldn’t let that happen. No fucking way. His life had spun out of control lately. He’d almost died. He’d lost his memory. The police blamed him for his own attack. He couldn’t change any of those things, but he could control this. He could protect Finley.
He could, and he would.
