Chapter 8 Grace #2
There’s Maxim, dressed in nothing but gray sweatpants at the cooker totally engrossed in what he’s doing.
The kitchen’s huge, all stainless steel, it looks more like a restaurant kitchen than someone’s home.
I take a moment to savor his tanned skin, which is covered in a light sheen of sweat from the heat of the cooktop.
Then I notice the scars and lines across his back.
Did he get them from killing someone? Shaking those thoughts from my mind my eyes fall further down to his tight ass filling out the sweats.
“You hungry?” Maxim asks.
His question makes me jump and pulls me from my appreciation of his fine body. How did he know I was here?
He looks over his shoulder as he turns the bacon in the frying pan.
“Yes,” I say, shaking the thoughts from my mind. They shouldn’t be there at all.
I take a seat at the island bench and watch as he moves confidently around the kitchen. Not only can he kill people, but he cooks as well.
“Would you like a juice? There’s some freshly squeezed orange in the fridge.” He tilts his head toward the fridge.
I get up from the island and head toward the industrial-sized fridge. Opening it, I noticed it’s filled with fruit and vegetables as well as leftover pasta, meat, and cheese.
I pull out the large jug. “Would you like one?”
“Yes, thanks. Glasses are in the top cupboard.”
I reach up and grab two, then pour us some juice.
When Maxim turns around again, he sets down the bacon, eggs, and croissants on to a tray.
Then I notice the scratch marks across his chest.
“Did I do that?”
He looks down at his chest. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “You were lost between two worlds. You didn’t know who I was. It’s no big deal.”
Maybe it isn’t, considering all the scars he has on his body.
“Would you like a coffee?” he asks.
I shake my head. Never been a big coffee drinker.
“I thought we could eat breakfast by the pool this morning.”
I raise a brow at him. “I’m allowed outside?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Yes, of course.”
“You’re not worried I’m going to try and escape again?” I ask, teasing him.
“If you could wait to escape till after I’ve eaten, I’d much appreciate it.”
“We’re joking about my escape now?”
“Seems like we’ve evolved.” He grins, holding the door open for me.
I duck through and head straight outside near the kitchen garden which is filled with vegetables. We follow the path through the gardens toward the pool area. He places the plates down on the table underneath the navy umbrella.
The sun is beating down upon us, even though it’s still early in the morning.
“If you want to go for a swim today, I’ve organized some bathers
for you.”
Things have changed overnight. And if I’m honest, I could do with the exercise. “Thank you, the pool does look inviting.”
He bites into his croissant, and I watch as the pastry falls down his bare chest.
My eyes follow each flake, and I could seriously lick up every one of them. I shake my head. What the hell is happening to me? I take a bite into one of the pastries trying to wash away my dirty thoughts. Damn it, this tastes delicious and I start to make appreciative noises.
“If I knew the way to a woman’s heart was through her stomach. I may have cooked women breakfast more often.” He chuckles, giving me a flirty smile before his eyes dip to my lip where I lick away some pastry flakes before they fall to my chest.
I realize I’m not wearing a bra under the thin T-shirt and my nipples are probably saluting him. I can’t move to cover them without making it obvious. Instead, I pretend to brush the crumbs off my chest and place my arms in front while I eat.
“Pretty sure those women aren’t thinking of food in the mornings with you.”
That wasn’t supposed to come out of my mouth. I was concentrating on trying to cover myself that I forgot to filter my brain-to-mouth situation.
“Really? And what do you think they have in mind, then?” he asks, resting his elbows on the table.
Is Maxim really flirting with me? “Do you really need your ego stroked so early in the morning?” I say with a nervous chuckle.
“Usually, I like other things stroked in the morning, but I’ll take my ego for today,” he says, giving me a wink before taking another bite of croissant.
Don’t flirt with him. Yes, flirt with him, remember men are simple, they want one thing, and you want one thing, too, freedom.
My inner voice is right, this isn’t a date.
You didn’t just spend a magical night having this man do every dirty thing imaginable to you.
He kidnapped you for a dangerous man. Once he’s done with you, he will hand you over to that monster.
No, he promised he would protect me. Probably lies.
I look away from my breakfast as my inner monologues fight with each other. I stare out over the impressive vineyards. I can feel Maxim watching me, he’s noticed my sudden change. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything, and we continue enjoying breakfast.
“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” he says eventually breaking the silence.
“I’ve always wanted to visit Italy,” I confess.
“Maybe one day I might be lucky enough to show it to you.”
I turn and look at him.
He seems serious.
No.
He can’t give me hope.
There’s no future being made here, not while I’m still his captive and not while I don’t know if he is still giving me to Dmitri.
After breakfast, a package arrives for me, and it’s the swimwear Maxim had ordered.
Does this man have a stylist on call because how the hell does he know my size and what I like?
There’s a gorgeous black one-piece with a deep V which shows off my cleavage, and another in red, which seems very Pamela Anderson-esque.
I decide on the black set, which has a matching sarong and flip flops in the package also, he’s thought of everything.
I head down to the pool where Maxim is lying on one of the lounge chairs in nothing but a pair of black shorts.
His impressive body is on display as he lays back looking relaxed, his hands behind his head exposing his large biceps.
Long black lashes caress his cheeks. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, and dark stubble lines his square jaw.
The man is a damn supermodel. He could have made it on any of the runways in Europe or the covers of magazines instead of spending his days killing people working for the world’s underbelly.
I’m unsure if I should take the lounge beside him or the other one on the other side.
“I won’t bite, Wildcat.” Maxim chuckles as he continues lying there with his eyes closed.
How did he know I was there? His eyes were closed the entire time.
With my brows pulled together, I walk over to the lounge beside him, shake out my towel, and place it over the lounge.
Then I undo my sarong, fold it up, and place it beside me before kicking off my flip flops and leaving them under the chair.
“Does it fit?” Maxim asks.
His deep voice makes me jump. “Does what fit?” I turn and ask him.
A lazy smirk falls across his face as those dark opens open and zero in on me intensely. There’s a slight quirk to his left brow as he stares at me. His eyes trail down over my body which lights every nerve on fire.
I hate how my body reacts to this man. Guess I should be happy after everything I’ve been through that there’s a part of me inside that is still attracted to men, that still wants the touch of one. Or is it just this one?
“Your swimsuit?” he says his eyes dipping to the deep V at the front. His tongue slides out and wets his lips as his eyes move up to my face.
“I’m going to cool off,” I mumble overcome with the need to throw myself at him, especially with the hunger I see dancing across those dark eyes.
I dive into the pool and the refreshing water slides over my heated skin.
Closing my eyes, I let the water wash away everything that’s happened to me, and when I break through the surface, I’ll be brand new.
When I break through to the surface and open my eyes everything is still the same.
The sins of another are still tattooed across my skin.
I’m still a little bird in a cage that’s made of invisible lines.
“You feel better?” Maxim asks. His deep, accented voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s sitting up now on the lounge and staring at me. How does this man make ordinary conversations flirty?
“I do.” I grin before pushing my feet off the bottom and begin swimming to the other end of the large rectangle pool.
My arms ache with each stroke through the cool water, but I don’t stop.
There’s a tiny sense of freedom I’m getting from doing laps up and down the pool.
As if by some miracle, if I keep pushing myself maybe when I stop, I’ll be back in Ibiza with my family and this entire nightmare will be over.
Not sure how long I’ve been swimming but eventually I stop, and when I raise my hand to touch the end of the pool, there’s a large body in my way.
Pulling up short, I stop and wipe my face. “You scared me,” I tell him.
“Never thought you were going to stop.”
“Neither did I,” I agree as my chest heaves from exhaustion.
“Do you feel better?”
I squint my eyes and hold up my hand to my brow thanks to the bright sun blazing down on us. “I do.”
“It’s the reason I come out here every morning and swim. There’s something about the methodical beat of placing one hand in front of the other. It soothes the chaotic soul,” Maxim explains.
Maybe he’s right. It’s the first time in I don’t know how long that my mind shut off for those moments. The continual being on edge, jumping at every movement and sound, and the constant state of anxiety I’ve been living in for months is exhausting.
“I feel rejuvenated,” I tell him.
“Good.”
“Is it, really?” I question him.
“Of course, it is, it’s what I want.”
I don’t understand this man. I want to ask him why, but we are interrupted by a waiter bringing out food.
“Looks like lunch is ready,” he grins before reaching out and grabbing me. He pulls me through the water, and I bounce off his chest. Then strong hands wrap around my waist, and the next thing I know he is lifting me out of the water and my butt hits the warm tiles.
Maxim slides in between my legs and looks up at me. “I’m hungry, are you?”
Is there a double meaning to that question?
Why is this man confusing the hell out of me? This should be easy. I’m his captive. He’s, my captor. Those are the rules I understand but this … this game of flirtation, caring, and dare I say friendship, I don’t get.