We sat in silence once again, but it was a serene quiet, and I relaxed into it.
“I’m sorry, Maxim. I know you’re not like Dillon or your sister’s killer.”
“Good.”
The delicious pine-and-spice of Maxim’s cologne cradled me as his words filtered through my head as I developed a clearer picture of the man seated next to me. He’d loved his sister; that was obvious. She’d died.
The warmth I’d felt as I inhaled his scent moments before evaporated like smoke in a sharp wind. I stared down at my hands, hating how small the realization made me feel. Maxim had transferred those feelings for his sister toward me.
“Ihaveto find a woman to marry soon,” he said.
“Why?”
He parked the car in the garage and turned in his seat to face me. “I’d love for it to be you. But if you can’t accept me, I need you to say so.”
“I…”
Maxim opened his car door. “Let’s go inside.”
He said that as if he hadn’t just dropped a huge emotional bomb on me. I trailed into the house behind him and thought about making dinner.
Cooking soothed me. I loved the textures and variety of tastes. My mama was a utilitarian cook. She’d make up easy meals with simple or no spices that would last days, like big batches of chili or baked chicken. But I’d always been adventurous and liked to try new things, which was how I ended up being the house’s main cook by the time I hit middle school.
Maxim laid his wallet, keys, and phone in a wooden box next to the fancy coffee maker, and I set my purse and messenger bag on one of the barstools.
By then, Maxim had pulled out some fish and vegetables, so I washed my hands and got to work on finding the best herbs I’d seen in one of his crisper drawers.
We made dinner together in companionable silence, but my mind continued to skitter over his comment. Hehadto get married. Why? Hewantedto marry me. Why?
My mind whirled and whipped around like a tornado through a wheatfield.
When we settled at the table to eat, Maxim inhaled deeply, a look of pleasure on his face. “I can cook, but it usually doesn’t smell this good.” He took a tentative bite and the blissful expression returned. He chewed slowly and swallowed. “Or taste like that. Another reason I choose you, Ida Jane.”
I was flattered and flustered so I dropped my gaze and dug into my meal. Afterward, Maxim refused to let me clean up—a joy I rarely got. Millie was anti-kitchen. She barely knew how to use a coffee pot or tea kettle and much preferred to order her meals. And at my parents’ house, everyone helped with the dishes. We had to because there were so many.
I took the time to wander Maxim’s living space. Sure, I’d been there before, but I wanted to get a better sense of the man. Much to my shock, I was considering his proposal. My mind kept pointing out all the reasons this couldn’t and wouldn’t work between us. But I felt the tug of attraction—how could I not? It was like a vibrating wire and each time we came into closer contact, the wire vibrated stronger, lasted longer.
Maxim meant something to me. A lot, actually. But I’d dated Dillon for years and had only recently come to understand what a terrible person he was. A lot of my hesitation was because I didn’t believe in my ability to pick a good man. Keelie and Millie both seemed to think Maxim was a good one. While their opinion went a long way for me, I was still frightened I’d make another colossal mistake. Marriage was much more difficult to unravel than dating or even living together.
Maxim had no photos of his parents—he’d told me there weren’t many of them, but I still found the lack of connection sad. Instead of the single photo of Maxim with his teammates, there were now two. The entire team, dressed in their street clothes, grinning at the camera. Cormac stood next to Keelie andheld a small boy.
This child was adorable, and by the excitement on his face, it was clear he was living out one of his dreams.
Maxim had a sentimental streak. Everything I learned about this man made me fall for him faster. And harder.
No,no. I wasn’t ready to fall for a man—anyman, even one seemingly as perfect as Maxim. I still needed to process the fallout of my life with Dillon.
“You seem preoccupied,” he said.
“I’m thinking.”
He stepped up behind me and kneaded my shoulders. I moaned softly as tension melted from my achy muscles. I trembled against him as he trailed his lips from the dip between my neck and shoulder before turning me so he could kiss my collarbone then upward to capture my lips. Kissing Maxim was better than I hoped: warm, plush lips, luscious flavor. I groaned, feeling it to my toes, when he slid his tongue into my mouth and teased mine.
Pheromones saturated the surrounding air, pronounced with need. Maxim cupped my nape while he slid his free hand down my side. He slowly…languidly…dragged his palm along the swell of my breast to the indent of my waist and around to cup my booty. His fingers flexed into the flesh.
“That’swhy.”
It took me a moment, but I realized he was answering my question as to why he wanted to marry me.
