Chapter 22 Maxim
MAXIM
Pasta bubbles in a small pot on the stove, the oven warms peppers I spent twenty minutes carefully preparing, and the kitchen knife once again leaves a small groove against my palm as I carefully slice chicken breast into strips.
I haven’t cooked this much in years and suddenly, Hollie’s presence has me spending most of my free time in this kitchen, as limited as it already is.
The other Russians are refusing to play ball on a weapons deal, my father is squeezing every last cent from the Italians, and the Irish are snapping at our heels, trying to weasel their way onto our club scene as if that’s not the very landscape I crafted myself.
As stressful as it is, none of it matters when I’m back here with her.
A woman I shouldn’t be getting close to.
But I can’t help it. Coming home to this place knowing someone is asleep a few doors down brings me a warmth I’ve never experienced before, and it plays on a loop in my mind just like the kiss I stole in the car.
If we hadn’t been interrupted, my hand would have ended up somewhere deeper than just past her waistband.
But a busy life and Hollie working to get back into her own schedule leaves me with limited time to see her, and no time at all to bring up what that kiss meant. Was it something sweet and stolen? Or a treat from her, taunting me because she can read me like a book and knows what I want?
There’s so much to unpack. So I cook and hope the meals I leave her speak loud enough for the words I never get a chance to share.
With the chicken now in thin strips, I add them one by one to a pan with minimal oil, then slather them in an array of spices and ground garlic cloves. While they fry, I check the pasta and double-check the peppers aren’t burning.
I stand with cheeks warm from the gust of air from the oven and flinch ever so slightly.
Hollie stands in the doorway, dressed in the silky top and shorts she’s been wearing ever since Toto brought her clothes from home yesterday. She yawns, rubbing one eye. Several hair strands stick up in an array of directions and when she catches my eye, a brief smile twitches across her lips.
“Was I too loud?” I turn down the heat under the pasta to control the boil. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“You did, but it wasn’t the sound, it was the smell.” She approaches the counter, places both hands on it, and leans over to try and glimpse what I’m cooking. “What are you making?”
“Something my mother used to make when she knew I wouldn’t be home.”
“Because you’d eat it all?”
“No, so I could grab it on my way out and think of her.”
“Hmm. Homey. So, what is it?”
“Just some stuffed peppers. I was making them and was going to set some aside for you when you woke up.”
“How considerate.”
Lifting one shoulder, I return her smile. “I’m full of surprises.”
“So I’m learning.” Hollie perches on the stool and yawns briefly again, sighing. “Can I have some now?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
An amicable silence falls between us while I tend to the chicken. Hollie drums her fingers on the countertop and softly sucks on her teeth. “So…”
“If you want to ask me something, just ask.”
“It’s less an ask and more… I got a new client.”
Was she wary of sharing good news with me? “That’s great news. Toto mentioned you got a last-minute booking from Tiffany yesterday.”
“Does Toto tell you everything?”
“Only when it involves deviation from the normal routes.”
“Why?”
“Routes outside the norm need approval and security.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“Did you think I was letting my wife dart around New York City without the appropriate security measures?”
Hollie purses her lips. “So that’s why Stu was there.”
“Mmhmm.”
“I guess I never really thought about it. What else are you keeping me safe from other than your dear old dad?”
“Word spread quickly of our marriage. Unfortunately, keeping you safe this way came with the price of every enemy I have discovering my weakness.”
“Oh.” She straightens up slightly in her chair. “I never thought of that either.”
“I don’t expect you to.” The chicken flips over. “You’re not a criminal.”
“So I’m your weakness?”
“I’d be a poor host if I married you to save your life from one maniac and lost you to another, don’t you think?”
Hollie chuckles softly and gradually relaxes.
“Tell me about your new client.”
“He’s a fan, apparently. He’s proposing to his girlfriend and the musician previously booked pulled out, so he called Tiffany in a panic and she put him through. He seems nice, but he’s paying me an obscene amount.”
“How much?” As the chicken finishes, I drain the pasta while keeping a close eye on Hollie.
“Fifteen grand.”
“That’s nothing.”
“To you, maybe.” Hollie snorts. “But to me, it’s enough that next year, I can send my parents away on the holiday they always talk about but never take. And maybe get a nicer apartment.”
“You have access to my finances,” I reply, setting the pasta pot back down. “I could pay for both of those.”
“No.”
“No?” I pour the homemade tomato and pesto sauce over the pasta.
“It’s… I’m not in this situation to take advantage of your money. If you want to do something nice with it, consider donating it to those in need. I’m capable of taking care of my own life.”
“You’re shaming me for my lack of charitable deeds?”
Hollie pushes off the counter and laughs. “I’m just saying, people with money like you are never doing the right things with it. It’s all penthouses and yachts, cars and clothes. It’s never charity or helping real people.”
“Charity will be my downfall.”
“How so?” She starts to wander away toward the lounge, examining statues and decorations as she walks.
“I can’t anonymously donate in the way you might expect. Hardly the safest way to maintain a criminal empire.”
“Not much of an empire if some charitable deeds can end your reign.”
Holly starts opening cupboards and drawers, vanishing from my sight while I remove the peppers from the oven and fill them with the chicken. By the time they’re smothered in cheese and under the grill, Hollie’s located a large cardboard box and set it on the couch.
“You have Christmas decorations but you don’t decorate?”
My heart stills faintly in my chest while I watch her open the flaps and remove a blue and silver streamer that holds onto its glossy glint despite not seeing the light of day in years. “Those aren’t mine.”
She pauses and eyes me quizzically. “Then whose are they?”
“My brother’s.”
“You have a brother?” A red and gold streamer follows.
“I did.”
Hollie pauses and her hands lower. “Oh, shit… I’m not desecrating some kind of memory, am I?”
“Not at all. This was his penthouse about ten years ago. We used to decorate it together because my father often put me to work because he was the baby. After he died… I lost the desire.”
“How did he die?”
I can’t answer her and instead return the meal.
The silence drags on long enough that Hollie accepts it, but when I next look up, she’s started taking all the decorations out of the box.
A small Christmas tree rests on the coffee table, a Santa figurine balances against the wall, the streamers are draped over the couch, and she’s using tape to stick them to the walls.
It’s… amusing. And somewhat painful. In ten minutes, she transforms my lounge from the empty, bland pages of the catalog the furniture came from to a room full of color and life.
My heart hurts.
I don’t deserve such treatment, not even in the slightest. Maybe it’s her way of making herself feel at home.
“There,” she declares with her hands on her hips. “Now your place looks like someone actually lives here and not like we’re in a show home. Which, no offense, if minimalist is where your heart lies, then you should have expected this after we were at my parents’ house.
“Ahh, so I’m the fool,” I reply, spooning the pasta into two dishes and one Tupperware container.
“It’s true.”
Hollie moves around the lounge and adds a few more decorations.
There’s a rug with snow-covered boot prints which she unfurls in front of the window (because apparently, Santa would use the balcony to save his back), some white glittering boots to be hung on the wall, a sprig of holly set on the mantel and then mistletoe that she hangs above the door without missing a beat.
Mistletoe.
I turn down the grill and approach Hollie while her back is turned. I’m a foot away when she seemingly senses my presence and her shoulders raise as she turns.
I don’t hesitate.
Under the sprig of mistletoe dangling precariously from the doorframe, I grasp her wrist in one hand and pull her forward. As soon as she’s close, my other arm glides around her waist, and I pull her close and kiss her.
Hollie freezes up against me and squeaks in alarm just long enough for me to realize I’ve made the wrong call. But as I jerk away, heat flushes through my body at the wide, surprised look on her face when our eyes meet.
“Maxim, what are you doing?”
“If you have to ask me that, then I’ve read this situation very wrong indeed. I’m so—”
My words melt into a smothered groan as her lips crash back against my own. Her hand that’s not in my grasp cups my cheek, and she pulls me down to her level while arching her body into mine with a soft, needy whine.
So I didn’t misread things?
Confusion clashes with lust in my gut. She kissed me in the car because she wanted to, because perhaps she shares the same simmering feelings I felt since that night in the bar. And this crazy situation that’s brought us crashing together makes a little more sense when we’re together.
“You’re not mad,” I murmur when the kiss breaks and she gasps for air.
“No,” she whispers, leaning heavily into me.
“You’re…?”
“I don’t know, but if you talk for too long, then I might change my mind ,so…?” She arches one brow.
I don’t need her to tell me twice.
Lowering my haunches, I release Hollie’s wrist in favor of grabbing her by the thighs just under the swell of her ass and sweeping her up into my arms. She squeals in delight, looping both arms around my neck for balance and winding her legs around my waist once she’s high enough.
Keeping her secure with one hand, my other reaches for the oven on the way past to turn it off as Hollie kisses me deeply.
She grinds so hard into me that the heat from her core presses against my abdomen and another spike of lust shoots south to my cock.
Her hands graze through my hair, stroke through my beard, and clasp the sides of my neck, all while she kisses me repeatedly.
I barely make it to my bedroom before my jeans have become too tight and the silky fabric of her sleepwear irritates me.
It stands between me and what I want.
Her.
Releasing her, I drop Hollie onto my bed and she wails softly and lands with a gentle bounce. Her long legs splay open as she lands but just as she tries to close them, I’m over her with my hand cupping her heat and my other grasping the side of her neck.
“Take your clothes off,” I demand softly.
“Make me,” she challenges, propped up on one elbow.
“Are you sure you want me to?” I ask, studying the cheeky glint in her eyes that sparkles deeper against the rosy flush rising in her face.
“If you need help taking my clothes off, then maybe you should walk out of here and leave me to take care of myself,” Hollie remarks.
My pants tighten further and my blood floods with the heat of desire. “I don’t need any help.”