by Jennie Lucas
He hailed a passing black cab. When the cab pulled to the curb, he turned to face her.
“You’re going home,” he said tersely. “Alone.”
He pushed her into the cab, then leaned forward to speak to the driver, giving him Grace’s address and a very large tip with the fare.
“Wait!” Blinking out of her trance, Grace protested, “No. Maksim, please—”
He slammed the door. “Just go.”
“But—”
“Go!” he ordered the cabbie.
The man pressed on the gas. Maksim watched her go. Grace turned around in the back seat to stare at him through the back window. She looked hurt and bewildered.
Then the cab turned a corner, and she was gone.
And for the first time that night, Maksim felt the chill in the air.
Oh my God, he thought suddenly. What had he done? Why had he let her go?
Why had he shown mercy?
He’d always laughed at the word. Mercy. Another name for weakness! And he’d let her go. He’d been weak.
He clawed back his hair. He wanted Grace so badly it hurt. Knowing she was an untouched virgin made him ache, wanting her still more. He wanted to take her in his soft, wide bed, to teach her everything he knew, to fill himself inside her again and again and watch her face slowly shine with the joy of discovery. To take her hard. To take her slow. To take her any way he could get her, and be her first.
Growling a curse that made the doorman’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, Maksim strode into his hotel to his penthouse. He undid his tuxedo tie and tossed it on his desk before he poured himself a short vodka. Every ounce of his body was howling for him to take Grace…take her now…take her hard and deep.
Why had he let her go?
Mercy. Staring down at the swirling clear liquid in his shot glass, Maksim said the word aloud with derision. He gulped the rest of the vodka, but his body still hurt with need for her. He glanced across the room to his vast, empty bed. He could have had her, but he’d let her go.
Tomorrow, he promised himself grimly. Tomorrow he would regain control. He would show no mercy. He would be ruthless.
Virgin or not, Grace would be his.
The next morning Grace stared forlornly out the small window beside her desk at work.
The snow that had made London so magical had melted, turning to rain. And the rest of last night’s magic had melted right along with it.
From their suite of offices on the thirtieth floor, where the Cali-West Energy Corporation had leased space, Grace looked down at the people on the street, far below the other high-rise office buildings of Canary Wharf. The city seemed foggy and sad.
Or maybe that was just her today. Foggy. Sad. With a deep breath, Grace tried to turn her attention back to her computer screen, but her focus on work kept getting interrupted by her painful memories of last night.
She’d sworn she wouldn’t surrender to Maksim.
Then she’d not only surrendered, she’d thrown herself at him—and he’d rejected her!
She rubbed her temples, then tried to straighten her wrinkled beige skirt and oversize brown cardigan. She’d planned to iron them this morning but she hadn’t had time. She’d tossed and turned all night, then fallen asleep around dawn and had nearly slept through her alarm. Now she felt exhausted. Every time she thought about last night, she writhed inside. Her cheeks burned hot with shame.
She’d tried to resist him.
She’d really thought she could.
But then when he’d shown such unexpected gentleness, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of her when he spoke of his family, she’d been helpless to fight him.
But she must have overestimated Maksim’s desire for her. Big surprise there. What did she know about men? He’d wanted her—she was still sure about that. Then he’d changed his mind. One moment he’d been kissing her senseless, peeling her clothes off, his hands roaming all over her as he’d pushed her back against his bed.
The next minute he’d been shoving her into a taxi without so much as a good-night.
She swallowed. The reason for the change was obvious. He’d been turned off by her virginity. What man would want to initiate a twenty-five-year-old virgin?
It was all too horrifying.
Sometime before dawn, she’d gotten up from bed and packed up the Leighton dress and coat and the platinum tiara. She would send them to his penthouse tonight and be done.
Even now she could hardly believe that she’d worn them to a society party, where she’d been lavished with kisses by the most devastating man in the city, probably the world.
She was lucky he’d rejected her, she told herself. She stared blankly at the screen.
She’d thought she was invulnerable, but she’d utterly lost herself in the winter moonlight. He’d stolen her soul away, evaporating it from her body like mist under his power.
The intoxicating force of his touch had done such strange things to her, made her weak inside, made her melt in his arms. She wondered if she’d ever truly loved Alan at all. Because if she had, how could she have surrendered to Maksim?
As if on cue, she heard Alan’s peevish voice. “Where were you last night? I came back early and you weren’t in your apartment.”
She looked up to see him standing over her desk. It was almost ten-thirty and he was just now coming into the office. That was typical. What was unusual was that his pale, handsome features looked irritated as he looked down at her.
“I was out,” she replied shortly. There was not a single detail about last night that she felt like sharing with Alan.
“Did you finish the wedding plans?”
Anger—usually such a foreign emotion—suddenly burned through her. Did he think she had no life of her own? Did he really think after doing his shopping, she would rush to spend her whole night planning his wedding and honeymoon?
The answer was clear as he waited with his arms folded.
Yes.
Clenching her hands under her desk, she took a deep breath. It wasn’t enough that she came into work before dawn while he never bothered to arrive before ten. It wasn’t enough that she’d spent the past three hours frantically writing his speech for a charity event that afternoon, a speech he’d insisted for weeks that he would write himself—until she’d found the task waiting in her inbox that morning.
“Look at these!” The front desk receptionist appeared with an enormous arrangement of exquisite long-stemmed white calla lilies, which she set on Grace’s desk. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”
“Oh, thank you,” Alan said with a smile and a wink, immediately reaching for the card. “I can’t imagine who—”
“Oh no, Mr. Barrington,” the receptionist said with a giggle. “They’re for Miss Cannon.”
“For me?” Grace exclaimed in shock.
“For you?” Alan said with equal shock. “What…who?”
Drawing the card from the envelope, Grace silently read a single line written in a rough, sharp hand.
“Last night you dazzled me like the sun in winter. Waiting outside now for the bright burn of dawn—M.”
Happiness soared through Grace.
She hadn’t made a fool of herself after all! Maksim hadn’t been disgusted with her for being a virgin! He’d just sent her away in the taxi because…
Because he wanted more than just a one-night stand? Because he was trying to protect her and take things slow?
It was the only possible reason.
And he already wanted to see her again! She suddenly felt like tap-dancing beneath her desk.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the heady scent of lilies. Maksim thought she was worth such extravagant beauty.
And for the first time in forever so did she.
“Well?” the receptionist asked slyly. “Who’s the prince charming, Grace?”
“Yes,” Alan demanded. “Who?”
She looked up at her boss and saw him with utterly new eyes. She’d suddenly had enough.
Straightening in her chair, she gave a dismissive laugh.
“For heaven’s sake, Alan, I’m your secretary, not your wife. Why do you care who sends me flowers?”
“I don’t,” he stammered, clearly surprised. “I just want to make sure that you devote the proper time and energy to your work.”
“You mean the time I’ve spent buying gifts for your various girlfriends?” she said coolly. “Or do you mean the time I’ve worked for you around the clock without pay?”
The receptionist gasped a laugh. At Alan’s dirty look, she gulped and scurried away.
He looked back at Grace. “Look here, Gracie…”
She leaned her elbows against her desk. “Or maybe you mean the times I’ve asked you for a pay raise.” She thrummed her pen thoughtfully against her cheek. “All the times you put me off and said we’d talk about it later. When I was promoted to your executive assistant. When I moved to London with you.”
He swallowed, licking his lips as he attempted a weak smile. “You know how valuable you are to me—how much I need you!”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.”
He leaned over her desk. “Is this because of Francesca? Because you don’t need to feel jealous,” he whispered urgently. “Our engagement isn’t real.”
“You bought her lingerie!” she gasped.
He gave a bitter laugh. “I thought it was real. She set me straight last night when I suggested an elopement. That’s why I asked if you’d started the wedding plans yet—you don’t need to bother. She only agreed to a fake engagement to make some other man jealous. She has no interest in marrying me—or sleeping with me either.” He clenched his jaw. “But as long as I play along with her, she’ll make sure her father doesn’t know, and the merger will still go through.”
Francesca was trying to make some other man jealous?
Grace suddenly feared she knew who that man might be. And she didn’t like it one bit.
“So don’t give up on me.” Alan gave her his old charming, Hugh Grant smile. “In a few months, it will all be over. Things can go back to how they were. Just be patient. I’m asking you, Grace. Wait for me.”
Looking into his smiling eyes, Grace sucked in her breath.
Oh my God.
He’d known.
All this time she’d thought he was clueless about her feelings. But he’d known about her crush all along. He’d used her own feelings against her. Used her for free work. Used her for a nice ego boost or a snog when it suited him.
“Well? What do you say?”
“I’m sorry,” she said evenly.
And she was. Sorry that she’d given him all her time and energy. Sorry she’d thrown away better opportunities with both hands, while pretending he was the solution to all her problems!
With a sympathetic smile, he leaned against her desk. “Sorry you have to wait?”
“I’m sorry, but things have to change.” She slowly rose from her desk. “I’m dating someone else. And if you want me to remain your secretary, it’s going to cost you.”
He gaped at her. “Where else would you go?”
“I’ve had another job offer.”
“From whom?”
“That’s irrelevant,” she said. “Since I had to move from Los Angeles, my mother’s had trouble paying her mortgage. I need ten thousand dollars to stay working for you. Call it a retroactive raise.”
“Ten thousand?” he gasped. “Dollars? Are you joking?”
“And effective immediately,” she continued sweetly, “I expect a raise in pay commensurate with the increased cost-of-living expenses in London.”
“Grace!”
“So what do you say?” She paused. “Shall I stay and finish writing your speech for the charity event this afternoon? Or shall I clean out my desk?”
He stared at her.
“Stay,” he muttered. “Finish the speech. You’ll get your raise with your next paycheck.”
“And my bonus?”
“Ten thousand dollars? That will take longer.”
“You have until Christmas Eve.”
He ground his teeth. “Fine. Would you perhaps like to take the rest of the afternoon off, as well?” he suggested acidly.
“Yes, thank you.” She smiled at him. “I’ll go as soon as I’m done with your lovely speech.”
Alan tightened his jaw, then turned away. “Fine.”
She almost felt sorry for him as she watched his hunched shoulders as he returned to his office and slammed the door. Almost.
Getting one afternoon off wasn’t even close to all the hours she’d worked for free over the past two years, but…Maksim was outside at this very moment, waiting for her. Grace’s feet tapped excitedly as she polished the last few paragraphs of the speech, making sure it was perfect before she e-mailed Alan the finished copy. Her spirits were soaring as she put on her old coat and came triumphantly out of the building.
She found Maksim waiting for her at the curb in an ultra-expensive, black Bugatti Veyron.
“Thank God,” he said with a dark gleam in his eye as she climbed into the car. “It was agony waiting for you.”
“It was twenty minutes.”
He put on dark sunglasses. “I’m not a patient man.”
She laughed aloud, happier than she’d been for years. “Thanks for the flowers,” she said. “They really lifted employee morale. I just got a raise from my boss.”
“You lift my morale, solnishka mayo,” he growled. He reached over to change gears, and his hand accidentally brushed her thigh. “Ready to celebrate?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“So am I,” he said, looking down at her steadily in a way that made her feel hot all over. Then he gunned the thousand-horsepower motor, and the Bugatti flew like a black raven through the mist and rain.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GRACE took a deep breath as she stood on the terrace of Maksim’s Dartmoor estate, staring out at the snow-dusted fields. They’d left the London rain far behind. Here the moors were wide and haunted beneath the last rays of fading red sun. A thick white mist was blowing in from the sea.
Tears fell unheeded down Grace’s cold cheeks. The sound of her mother’s happy crying still echoed in her ears as she tucked her cell phone back into her bag.
She’d done it. She’d told her mother that she would save the house from foreclosure. Now Grace would make sure her family never worried about money again. She took another deep breath, grateful beyond words that she’d found her strength. That she’d found herself.
Thanks to Maksim.
Maksim, who’d treated Grace like a princess. She’d never have imagined that any man, let alone someone so handsome and powerful and rich beyond belief, would treat her that way.
Now Grace realized she should accept nothing less. She would never settle again.
She wanted the fairy tale.
She turned from the wide terrace overlooking the carefully tended classical garden and returned through the back door of his eighteenth-century country house. Maksim was waiting.
The inside of the house was every bit as Gothic and misty as the moors outside. Perhaps because the fifty rooms had no furniture—just white translucent curtains that seemed to move against the windows even when they were closed, twisting eerily in an invisible draft that no human skin could feel.
She’d called her mother outside on the terrace, where the cell phone reception was better, and where she could have privacy. She didn’t want Maksim to know how desperate she’d been for money. She didn’t want him to think of her as someone who needed saving.
She’d been proud to save herself.
She wanted Maksim as her equal. As her friend. As her…lover? She could barely move her lips to form the word, but there it was. Her secret.
She wanted him as her lover.
She wanted him for the fire he sparked inside her. For the way he’d somehow made her become the woman she’d always dreamed she could be. For the dreams suddenly coming
true around her, like roses blooming full and red amid the breathless hush of winter.
Grace walked back through the empty salon. Painted cherubs looked down at her from the two-hundred-year-old painting soaring high above the enormous chandelier.
This house was beautiful, large…and lonely.
No one lived here, Maksim had told her. He’d bought it to use as his weekend escape, but he’d been too busy with work to bother visiting. The caretaker and his elderly wife, who resided in a nearby cottage, were the only ones who’d entered the estate for the last several years.
Until now.
The house seemed happy to finally have company, she thought, then nearly laughed at her own ridiculous thought. The house was happy?
What was it about houses that made people so batty?
Grace wiped her eyes as she approached the dining room. She felt like an idiot for crying because she was happy, but as foolish as it sounded, she felt as if her family—as long as they had their home—could survive and be strong.
She entered the dining room, then stopped in shock.
The room was dark, lit by the fire in the marble fireplace—and by dozens of white pillar candles of various sizes and shapes on the floor.
Maksim was lighting the last candle as she entered. He was darkly handsome, wearing a black shirt and black pants. He looked up at her, then straightened as the expression on his handsome face changed to concern.
“You were crying,” he demanded.
“Houses,” she sniffled, looking with wonder at all the candles. “They don’t make a family, except they do, don’t they?”
He frowned. “You’re not making any sense.”
Laughing through her tears, she shook her head. “I’m just happy. I needed money for my house. Thanks to the raise, I’ll have it.”
“Good,” he growled. “About time you moved out of Barrington’s basement.”
He’d misunderstood her, but she didn’t correct him. Moving out of Alan’s house was a good idea, and as soon as her family’s home was secure, that was exactly what she intended to do.
Blowing out the match and tossing it aside, he put his arms around her. “Now leave his office and come work for me.”
