Maxim’s lids lowered and his nostrils flared before he refocused on his home. My shoulders relaxed.
“Too much, but I wanted to be near my teammates. They are my family.” He shrugged. I wondered why he’d do that—why he considered these men his family and not the one he’d left behind in Saint Petersburg. There went my therapist’s brain, trying to uncover and unpack someone else’s pain points so I didn’t have to focus on my own.
Not that I had many. My parents loved me. They’d showered me with affection, teaching me to understand right from wrong, mostly through the natural consequences of my actions.
But I’d never felt I fit in my family of large, lumbering football players; instead, I’d sought attention through flouncing and dramatics. I winced. Millie had been more correct than I wanted to admit.
Maxim had moved to the fridge and started to pull out food: grapes, some wedges of cheese, high-end sparkling water.
“How’d you know I didn’t eat much?”
His ears turned red as he glanced at me. “I paid attention.”
My pleased smile burst across my face. “To me.”
“There was another tiny blond at the party?” he teased. “Maybe it was her I talked and laughed with all evening.”
“Shove it, Dolov.” I enjoyed his chuckle. “Now, I’m pretty good in the kitchen. Since you’re letting me stay here, I’m happy to cook for you.”
He turned back toward me, his posture a bit stiff, but his eyes filled with a fierce yearning. “Marry me.”
I caught my breath—from the words, yes, but also from that penetrating look. He was serious. “W-what?” I squeaked.
“You cook. You’re beautiful. You like my sense of humor. You might be the only person.”
“You’re joking.” But my palms began to sweat. My first marriage proposal and it was for a laugh…in the fanciest kitchen I’d ever been in, made by a professional hockey player.
Part of me wanted to cry and part wanted to scream.
He scratched the side of his head. “If I wasn’t?” he asked.
I stared at him, open-mouthed for another long minute before I broke the spell by reaching into my purse that still dangled from my arm and grabbing my phone.
“I…I need to get home. Thanks for going to the police with me, and I appreciate you checking in and all, but this…I can’t…that’s crazy talk, Maxim.”
I pulled out my phone and opened the rideshare app. Maxim’s larger hand engulfed both my hand and the phone. His skin was warm, callused, his fingers thick. He didn’t have any of those weird hairs on his knuckles or hands, so I watched the play of tendons as he flipped my hand over and took the phone from me.
I gave it to him. Willingly, too enthralled by the zinging in my chest and belly to fight further. His touch electrified me. Desire bubbled from my fluttering belly into my chest, a warm feeling—like settling into a hot bath.
I loved it. I hated it. I reverted to my behavior with my brothers and lunged for my phone, snarling, intent on proving my independence—from Maxim’s dominating presence but, more so, from my emotional response to him.
Maxim held it above my head and peered at me. When I continued to lunge, he bent his knees and used his free hand to lower my chin from the phone-prize to his face.
I picked up one of the grapes he’d gotten out and tossed it at him. It pinged off of his cheek as he flinched back and rolled to the ground.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered.
“Older. Brothers,” I sang, grabbing another grape.
Instead of picking me up like my brothers would have done, Maxim slid between me and the counter, effectively blocking me from my ammunition.
“Look at me, Ida Jane.”
Once I did, I stilled, shocked by the need shining from his expression. It wasn’t sexual—not the same desire that had stirred so brazenly through my veins since our first meeting. Maybethatlust I could have fought against. But no—his need was visceral from his soul, and as filled with concern as it was awareness.
We stood in his kitchen, my chest heaving, his gaze burning into my soul, and I knew—even then, I felt it—the realization that my life would never be the same.
“Please, don’t go. Don’t make me worry about you again tonight, as I have since we met.” He touched my cheek, despondency seeping into his expression. He returned his gaze to meet mine.
