“That too.”
He laughs softly.
The sound relaxes me, easing away another bit of tension I didn’t know I had.
He lowers his head until his forehead rests lightly against mine. “You don’t have to run from me, Maggie.”
The rough gentleness in his voice surprises me, and my breath stutters. Men like Alexei aren’t supposed to sound gentle enough to undo a woman from the inside out. My chest tightens. That tenderness feels even more treacherous than the attraction. The chemistry is already intense, but the tenderness underneath it leaves me completely off balance. I slowly look up at him.
“Alexei…”
His hand slides along my waist, his fingertips grazing the zipper of my dress.
“Tell me to stop.”
I should. Instead, I whisper, “You already know I’m not gonna do that.”
His mouth curves against mine before he kisses me slowly, deep enough to scatter every coherent thought in my head. By the time he backs me toward the bed, I’m kissing him right back with absolutely no dignity left whatsoever.
Morning sunlight slips through the curtains as his hands move over me. The room feels warm, hazy, and far too intimate for someone I barely know, which would probably concern me more if I weren’t currently melting beneath his mouth.
“Maggie,” he murmurs against my skin, and the sound of my name in his accent does deeply irresponsible things to me.
I laugh against his lips when he kisses the corner of my mouth again.
“What?” he asks quietly.
“You’re gonna ruin me for every man in Georgia.”
His gaze darkens. “Just Georgia?”
Mercy.
He says just two words, and I forget everything else. The room fades into heat, tangled sheets, and the slow touch of his hand. And after, when I’m curled against his chest trying to remember basic motor function, Alexei brushes his fingers through my hair while my heartbeat gradually returns to normal.
I stare at the ceiling. “Well,” I murmur. “That escalated quickly.”
His chest moves beneath my cheek with amusement. “Yes.”
“That was your condition?”
“It seemed fair.”
I snort softly. “Russian men are unbelievable.”
“Yet you continue spending time with one.”
He has a point.
By the time Viktor stops the car in front of my apartment, my nerves are a mess. I pause, looking up at the brick building with its lit windows and narrow balconies. Mrs. Carlisle’s plants on the second floor need watering again. Someone left a bicycletipped over by the entrance. The old security light above the front doors keeps blinking on and off like it’s fighting for its life. Everything looks completely normal.
Meanwhile, I just spent the night in a mansion with a Russian billionaire whose voice does sinful things to my nervous system. Honestly, I’m in trouble.
Viktor climbs out before I can reach for the door handle. He opens my door with the same serious expression he’s worn the entire drive.
“Thank you,” I tell him as I step onto the sidewalk.
“You’re welcome, Miss Hayes.”
