Chapter 8
MAKSIM
She gapes when I pull up outside the townhouse. The street is lined with dark sedans and American flags. It’s a politician’s street, the sort of place where a single room would cost more than her apartment.
She turns to me. “We’re staying here?” Then she seems annoyed at herself for the starry-eyed routine. “Not that it makes any of this any better.”
“Of course not.”
I should tell her about watching her, obsessing over her, her gorgeous wavy hair and the fierceness with which she treats her patients, her protective energy over Joel, her laughing with anyone who’s willing to spend a moment on warmth instead of misery.
But I remember how she cried in my arms, the pain in each sob. It woke something inside me, something I didn’t know existed anymore. Humanity, pity, affection.
We walk into the townhouse together. It’s large, with tall ceilings and comfortable furniture, but not much decoration.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” she says, giving me a look.
I grin. I love how she’s able to joke her way through the darkness, even if I can tell this is tough for her.
“Why, thank you,” I reply.
“Go and clean your hand,” she says.
“It’s just a graze.”
“Humor me.”
I lift my hand, smirking again. “I’m not the medical professional.”
She rolls her eyes. “Have you got a first-aid kit around here?”
I lead her into the kitchen and reach under the sink. She sits me at the table, then sits in the chair beside mine. When a strand of her hair comes loose, she places the first-aid kit aside and pulls her ponytail loose in frustration.
I stare in awe, my body stirring, my heart doing the same. She looks beautiful. Her face is framed by subtle soft curls.
“What?” she says, laughing awkwardly.
“Just… you.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Just give me your hand.”
I put my hand on the table. She scoots the chair over so she’s closer. When her leg touches mine, a surge of heat shoots through me. I do my best not to let it show, but my body goes tight everywhere.
She cleans up the cut then puts a Band-Aid on it, a simple thing. But it leaves me feeling like I’m floating.
“I need to call my mom,” she says. “I was supposed to be swinging by tonight.”
I glance at the clock. “It’s almost ten.”
“I know, and I’ve got work at six.”
“Damn, Lia. That’s too much.”
She shrugs. “I can’t afford to think of it like that. It’s just what I have to do.”
It shouldn’t be, I almost growl. But it’s not my place to stand between her and her mother. It’s my place to stand between her and the rest of the world.
She takes out her cell and presses call.
“Hungry?” I ask, standing and walking to the fridge.
“Maybe a sandwich or something?”
I bow, shocked at how playful I’m being for once. I’m never like this. “Your wish is my command…”
She looks at me, shocked, as though she has any idea about how dark I really am.
As I make two meat and cheese sandwiches, she talks with her mother.
It’s basic chit-chat, but I get the sense that Lia is the grown-up in this relationship.
She talks warmly, masking her tiredness, asking if her mother has eaten, showered, and how she’s spent her day.
“She’s been through a lot,” Lia says, once the call is over and I carry over the plates.
“I’m sure she has.”
“Don’t look at me like that, then,” she murmurs, then takes a big bite of her sandwich.
I take an even bigger bite of mine. She meets my eye, grinning, then takes another bite, filling her mouth. I chuckle, muffled by the sandwich, and do the same. We eat our sandwiches like that, in the semi-lit room, surreal and smiling and disconnected from just how insane this situation is.
My cell phone goes off. It’s Anton.
“Yeah?” I say, answering.
“He’s a loyal bastard, I’ll give him that. I’ll keep working on him, though don’t expect anything tonight.”
“And the other thing?”
Meaning… the protection on Evelyn’s property.
“Everything’s in place. Three cars is a lot though, boss.”
“It’s what I’ve ordered.”
“Yes,” he says, then hangs up.
“Your mother is safe,” I tell Lia.
She shakes her head slowly. “I still can’t believe this is my life. Am I going to have fresh things for tomorrow?”
I nod, standing. “My men are packing up your place as we speak.”
“Wait.” She stands, her chair scraping loudly across the floor. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I don’t live here, Lia. This is one of my safe houses.”
“Oh.” She lowers her gaze, then quickly waves a hand as if annoyed at displaying her hurt. “Yeah, obviously. But there’s something else.” She walks around the table and stares up at me. “Who are you, Maksim?”
I almost groan. But her expression is raw. I’d feel cruel telling her to back off.
“We collect and protect information for powerful clients, mostly politicians. In this town, gossip can be worth millions. We’re the information brokers. And things can get ugly. The man who trashed your place and sent men after you is Conrad Vale. He’s another man in my profession.”
“Whoa,” she murmurs. “What sort of information?”
“It depends,” I tell her. “Unpleasant things. Things that are valuable to a politician’s rivals. Things people want kept in the dark. Affairs. Fraud. Things like that.” I grit my teeth. “But I’ve already said too much.”
“Thanks for sharing something.” She smiles with a surreal energy. “Should I walk you out?”
I chuckle. Another miracle. “You’re too kind,” I say dryly.
“I like to treat my guests kindly when they’re in my home,” she replies in a haughty tone.
She walks ahead of me. The animal in me can’t help but notice her clothes clinging to her. My hand twitches as I imagine gliding it between her thick thighs, squeezing, feeling her thickness, her curviness.
At the door, she fiddles with the lock, then turns to me, exasperated.
“It must be stuck,” I say, leaning forward.
I fix it, then realize she’s pressed against the door and me. She looks up at me, licks her lips. Her eyes tell me more than words ever could. I lean down, moving closer, feel her breath on my face and neck. She makes a soft, breathy noise that goes past my heart, my brain, and right to my soul.
I lean closer, closer. My lips are almost brushing against hers when she turns her head.
“Maksim,” she says breathily, and I don’t know if she’s telling me to back off or just do it, kiss her. She puts her hand on my chest and gently pushes. “Please.”
I take her wrist, hold it, and press her hand more firmly against my chest so I can feel her heat through my shirt.
I know I could kiss her now. Maybe even tear her clothes off and reveal every perfect inch of her thick body. Kiss her ample breasts, make her sigh with relief that, for a while, so she doesn’t have to worry about anything else.
I want to take her. Hard. Over and over.
But I also know she might regret it. She’s pushing me away for a reason.
Stepping back, I give her a moment to move aside.
Once I’m in my car, I call around to make sure the security detail is going to be positioned in front of and behind the townhouse. There isn’t much need, but I’m not going to risk it. Even Conrad wouldn’t be stupid enough to stage a hit here.
Lia: Thank you for not pushing.
Maksim: It took every ounce of willpower I have. Though next time, I don’t know if I’ll be as strong.
I sit in the car, waiting for her response.
I should go home and rest for another day in the trenches.
But there’s something oddly peaceful about texting, like we can share things we wouldn’t say in person.
Maybe, at the age of forty-five, I’m going through a stage most people lived through in their teens.
Lia: Maybe next time I won’t want you to.
Maksim: Now you’re playing with fire, Lia.
She sends back a line of flame emojis. I sense she doesn’t want to delve too deeply into this conversation. But the emojis are right. I’m hot for her, burning, far more obsessed than I have any right to be.
But dammit. I do have the right. I’m the Bratva boss for the whole of Washington DC. I turn men into cowards with just a look. I may kill the next man who dares to follow her, stalk her, or even think about hurting her.
It turns out I’m not like the others. I’m trembling with my desire to run up the stairs, kick open the door, drag her to bed, and show her she wants me as badly as I want her.
Instead, I start the car and drive away.
Lia: Thank you for being honest with me.
My gut tightens.
Honest… when she has no clue I’ve been digitally stalking her for months. What a goddamn joke.