by Jennie Lucas
It was not Maksim’s responsibility to do the due diligence of others and reveal any truth against his own best interests. He looked out for himself. He assumed others did the same. Only a fool would blindly trust the word of another.
But that was business. Lying in his personal life—that was something new.
And swearing on his honor…
His neck broke out in a sweat to think of it. He’d never looked into a woman’s face and lied against his honor. It made him feel…cheap.
I had no choice, he told himself fiercely. She gave me no choice. And this wasn’t personal. It was business.
Wasn’t it?
If he’d told Grace the truth, it would have ended everything. And he was getting so close. He could feel her weakening by the moment.
Seducing her away from Barrington was the best thing that could happen to her, he told himself. The man was obviously using her own feelings against her, working her like a slave without pay.
And it wasn’t as if she were an innocent. No, her kisses were too perfect for that. She’d kissed Maksim slowly, sensually, holding herself back with such restraint. As if she’d been born to enflame a man’s senses and make him crazed out of his mind with longing until he would do or say anything to possess her.
Even lie against his honor.
He took Grace’s hand in his own. “I gave my driver the night off,” he said. “I thought we’d walk.”
“All right,” she whispered, never taking her eyes from him.
Snow whitened the sidewalk, covering patches of slippery ice beneath. He held her arm tightly as they walked past the pubgoers enjoying last call, making sure she didn’t slip and wasn’t accosted by some drunken lad seeking a beauty for his bed.
Grace was all his.
Maksim could see their breath joined in swirling white puffs of air, illuminated by the moon in the winter night. He looked at her as they walked down the snowy street toward the southern edge of Trafalgar Square.
She looked so beautiful, he thought, lit up like an angel in front of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Her light blond hair tumbled down her shoulders, looking like spun silver and gold in the frosted moonlight. The diamond tiara sparkled in her hair, making her a spun-sugar princess. No. There was a layer of grief, of steel, beneath the sweetness. She was no helpless pink princess. No. She was a Valkyrie, from a Gothic northern land.
Her shoulders were set squarely, her hands pushed into the pockets of her long black coat that whipped behind her like a regal cape; and yet there was a softer side to her as she leaned up against him, her tender pink lips pressed together, as if she were trying to hold herself back. As if she were trying not to think.
“Thank you for bringing me to your sister’s party,” she said softly. “I’d forgotten what it was like to be around friends.”
He felt another pang of an unpleasant emotion perilously close to guilt. It had been ruthless of him to take her to the party. But he’d wanted to see Dariya on her birthday. And, he admitted quietly to himself, he’d known it would lower Grace’s defenses to meet his family. She would think she could trust him. Another lie.
The only thing that wasn’t a lie: he wanted her.
“Are you, Maksim?”
He focused on her. “Am I what?”
She looked up at him as he led her by Charing Cross station. “Are you my friend?”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He felt her shiver beneath the brush of his lips against her skin. “No,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not your friend, Grace.”
They passed down a slender street full of restaurants and pubs, crowds of young people and a few Chelsea football fans in blue-and-white scarves celebrating loudly over a pint. He took her hand and led her down to the embankment by the river. As they walked, they passed a dark garden.
“I don’t want your friendship,” he said. “I want you in my bed.”
The intimacy of his words, as they passed the quiet darkness of the park drenched in crystalline moonlight, was perfect. She looked up at him, her mouth a round O. A mouth made for kissing. A mouth he wanted to feel under his.
Right now.
But as he stopped, leaning down to kiss her, she suddenly turned away, her pale cheeks the color of roses in the moonlight.
“Did you learn to flirt like that in Russia?” she whispered. She gave a sharp, awkward laugh and started walking again. “You have some skills.”
So his beauty wished to wait? He would be patient. “I grew up here.”
Her eyes went wide. “London?”
“And other places.” He shrugged. “We moved around. My father couldn’t keep a job. We were poor. Then he died.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “My father died five years ago, too. Cancer.” She swallowed, looked away. “My mother has yet to recover. She almost never leaves the house. That’s why…” She looked away.
“Why what?”
She turned back, blinking hard.
“I’m sorry I misjudged you,” she said. “Thinking you’d never known what it was like to struggle or suffer just because you’re a prince.”
“Yes, a prince,” he said acidly. “Distantly in line to a throne that, if you haven’t noticed, stopped ruling Russia nearly a hundred years ago.”
“But still…”
“Prince of nothing and nowhere,” he said harshly. “Money is all that matters. Only money.”
“Oh, Maksim.” Tears filled her eyes as Grace shook her head. “Money isn’t the only thing that matters. It’s the way you love people. The way you take care of them.”
“And you take care of them with money.”
“No. Like your sister said, she didn’t need more expensive things, she wanted you. Your time and—”
“A lovely sentiment,” he said sardonically. “But my sister is too young to remember how we nearly starved and froze to death the winter we lived in Philadelphia. After that, I made sure I could support us. I made sure no one and nothing could ever threaten my mother and sister again.”
“You protected your family.” Her eyes suddenly glittered, and her hands clenched into fists before she stuck them in the pockets of her designer coat. “I should have stayed in California,” she said softly. “I never should have left my mother alone.”
A hard lump rose in Maksim’s throat. “Being with the people you love doesn’t always save them. I made my first million when I was twenty, but it couldn’t save my mother from dying.”
“Oh, no,” she said softly. “What happened?”
“Brain aneurysm. She died without warning. I…I couldn’t save her.”
He stopped, choking on the words. He had never spoken about his mother’s death to anyone—not even Dariya, who’d been barely nine when it had happened.
Maksim waited for Grace to expose the weakness in his argument. To point out that, by his own admission, money was indeed not everything in life.
Instead she reached up to stroke his cheek. The first time she’d deliberately touched him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “You took care of your family. You protected them. You tried to save your mother. You did everything you could.”
A tremble went through him, and he involuntarily turned his face into her caress. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.
“You’re a special woman, Grace Cannon,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve never met your equal.”
She gave a short laugh and looked away. The streetlights shone a plaintive blurry light on the dark, swift river beneath the bare trees of the embankment. “I’m not special. I’m completely ordinary.”
“You’re special.”
“It’s the clothes.”
“It’s the woman inside them.” He looked down at her. “Grace. You are just like your name. Grace.” His eyes narrowed. “And did you say your middle name is Diana?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“Your mother believed in fairy tales.”
; “Yes.” She shook her head. “But her two favorite princesses didn’t live happily ever after, did they?”
“What about you, solnishka mayo?” he whispered. His eyes drifted to her lips. “Do you believe in fairy tales?”
She briefly closed her eyes. “I used to believe in them. I used to believe with all my heart.”
“And now?”
Their gazes locked, held in the moonlight. Her pupils dilated as she looked down at his lips, then licked her own.
An invitation no man could resist.
Taking her in his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers. Kissing her was heaven. He was intoxicated by the taste of her. The feel of her. His whole body tightened and he drew back to stroke her face, looking down into her eyes. “Tonight,” he said hoarsely. “Tonight you must be mine.”
He saw her dreamy expression suddenly change to shock. She shook her head hard, as if clearing the cobwebs from her mind.
She hesitated, licking her lips. Then she pulled away from him. “Please. Don’t.”
He reached for her. “Grace—”
“I can’t,” she whispered, backing away from his reach. “Please don’t.”
As she blindly stepped back, he saw her ankle twist, saw one of her shoes slide on the black ice beneath the snow. He heard the snap of one high heel. Saw her stumble back—
He caught her before she could fall. He cradled her against his chest. She looked up at him with an intake of breath. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart. She was so light she seemed to weigh nothing at all. That damned diamond tiara probably weighed more than she did, he thought. And as he looked down into her eyes, he felt dizzy for a reason he couldn’t explain. As if he were the one in danger of falling.
A flash of fire burned through him as he felt her tremble in his arms. And he knew that nothing on earth would prevent him from possessing her tonight.
Grace would be his.
Without a word he carried her toward his hotel. As they were about to turn near Savoy Hill, he paused in a nearby alley to lean her against the rough wall and kiss her, hot and demanding. She was all woman, he thought, warm and pliant and willing…but with an elegant hesitation and restraint that heated his blood. He wanted nothing more than to take her against this wall, to fill her up, to slide inside her and thrust deeply until she screamed his name.
“Don’t deny me, Grace,” he whispered against her skin after he’d kissed her. “Don’t deny us what we both want.”
The dreamy look had returned to her eyes. “You’re right,” she said so softly he almost couldn’t hear it. “I can’t fight you.”
She was looking up at him with desire, yes. But also something else. Faith? Trust? Pushing that disquieting thought away, he carried her around the corner toward his hotel. But when he saw the brightly lit porte-cochère of his luxury hotel, he hesitated again in spite of himself.
He wanted her so badly that his whole body hurt from it. But he also had a sour taste in his mouth. Because of guilt? Because he’d lied? He’d lied to get revenge against Barrington. To win back the merger. To possibly take back Francesca.
But most of all…he’d lied to get Grace in his bed.
She’s no innocent virgin, he told himself again. And she wanted him as he wanted her. Maksim had nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing at all.
The doorman saluted respectfully, pretending he didn’t see the captive woman in Maksim’s arms. “Good evening, Your Highness.”
“Good evening,” Maksim replied shortly.
He carried Grace straight to the waiting elevator and upstairs to his penthouse. He would make her moan with pleasure, he told himself fiercely. He was so hard with need he couldn’t imagine letting her go now.
He couldn’t.
Damn it, he wouldn’t!
He unlocked his door with one hand then kicked it wide, carrying her over the threshold like a bride. He walked past the stark black-and-white furniture, the black leather sofa, the large flat-screen television above the fireplace.
The curtains had been left open. Below, he could see the dark Thames beneath moving lights of the barges, and steady traffic across the bridges. He saw the gleaming buildings of the city across the river and, to the far left, the brilliantly illuminated dome of St. Paul’s.
A fittingly celestial image for the heavenly things Maksim intended to do to Grace. He couldn’t even make it to the bedroom before he started kissing her.
In answer, her lips moved against his with gentle hesitation, a light tease that made him plunder her mouth with greater desire. Her kiss was like nothing he’d ever known before. Women had always kissed him so eagerly and desperately, matching his fire or surpassing it. Her unusual restraint fired his blood, increasing his need until he panted from it.
Still kissing her, he set her down on the big white bed. He paused to look down at her. Her blond hair was mussed and tousled. Her eyes were deep pools of blue green, like clear pools of mountain water from newly melted snow.
He trembled as he reached down to touch her, stroking down her neck to the soft silk of her teal dress, down the valley between her breasts to her flat belly. She was so soft and warm. So beautiful from her rose-pink lips to her unpolished nails. He leaned over her, brushing blond tendrils from her face to kiss her cheeks, her neck, her throat. Finally kissing her mouth, he teased her tongue with his as he cupped his hands over her full breasts. Discovering that she wasn’t wearing a bra, that those high, firm breasts were unassisted by fabric or padding and were all her, he nearly gasped. He touched her in wonder and felt her nipples pebble and harden beneath his fingers. It was too much for him.
Lowering his head, he suckled her through the silk.
She gave a small hushed cry, arching involuntarily against his mouth. Wanting more, he roughly pulled down the neckline and tasted her flesh. She fell back against the bed with a shudder, exhaling her breath in a little mewling sound that made him harden to painful intensity. Lying on top of her, wrapping his hands possessively around her naked breasts, he suckled her more forcefully, not letting her go even as she twisted beneath him. His body was hard against hers. Feeling her beneath him, he wanted nothing more than to pull up her cocktail dress, unbutton his pants and push all the way inside her with one hard, deep thrust.
The thought made him groan aloud.
He shoved her dress up to her hips, revealing simple white cotton panties. Even that surprised him, compared to the lacy, tarty panties his lovers typically wore to entice him. The simplicity was just like Grace, and revealed the perfection of her curvy hips, her creamy thighs. She didn’t need to even try to seduce, to drive any man mad with need…
“Stop,” she suddenly whispered. “Please stop.”
He realized he’d already pushed up her dress to her waist and had started to unbutton his pants. Damn it to hell, after promising himself he would take his time and make her explode with pleasure, had he really been planning to fill her with one thrust, to roughly and savagely take her body like an animal?
Yes.
What the hell was this sweet insanity? She caused him to lose control. No woman had ever done that before.
“I’m sorry,” Maksim said roughly, pulling away. His hands shook with the difficulty of holding himself back. “I didn’t mean to go so fast.”
“You’re not.” She licked her swollen, bruised lips. “I’m just…new to this.”
He looked at her with a sudden frown. “How new?”
Propping herself up on her elbows, she admitted, “Completely new.”
He sucked in his breath.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin?”
Her cheeks went red. “Don’t say that word!”
“How else would you describe it?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I’d describe it as being helplessly infatuated with a boss who’s barely noticed I’m alive, except for one kiss.”
“He kissed you?” he demanded. The ferocity of his sudden jealousy surprised Maksim. He’d never felt
jealous before, not even when Francesca had delivered her little ultimatum and taken off with another man as promised. But then, Maksim’s claim on Francesca had always been territorial. His possession of Grace felt…personal.
Very personal.
She looked at him, surprised. “Why are you so upset?”
Yes, why? “Because…because it’s sexual harassment,” he stammered furiously. “He’s your boss. It’s illegal!”
“Sexual harassment?” Grace laughed, then shook her head with a tearful little hiccup. “One drunken kiss before he passed out on the office couch? Then he met Francesca, who I’m sure is perfect at everything. That’s why I wanted you to know,” she said in a rush. “In case…in case I’m not so perfect. I’m sure I’m very clumsy.”
Clumsy?
That explained her restraint. Her hesitation. She was a virgin. A shudder of hard desire went through him when he thought about how close he’d been to just ripping off her clothes and brutally taking her.
“Maksim, please. The fact that I’m—that word—doesn’t mean anything,” she pleaded. “It truly doesn’t.”
Clenching his jaw, he shook his head.
“You’re wrong.”
She was a virgin. She was doubly innocent.
He couldn’t use her in his vicious power play.
He’d been prepared for anything but this. He could fight anything…but this.
Her naive faith had conquered the would-be conqueror.
“Maksim, nothing has changed between us.” As she timidly reached for him, he grabbed her wrist.
“No, Grace. No.”
He pulled her up from the bed and straightened her clothes. He wrapped her coat around her shoulders. Within two minutes he’d led her down the elevator, through the hotel lobby and out onto the street.
“Where are you taking me?” Grace whispered.
