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He shifted again, reaching for something behind him. He pulled out a brown paper bag that had the distinct shape of a wine bottle.
“Here.” He handed it to me, but I didn’t take it right away.
“What’s this?”
He rolled his eyes at me in that infuriating way. “It’s wine.”
Irritation prickled my spine. “Yeah, I can see that. Why do you have wine?”
He shrugged. “I thought I scared you back there. I figured I’d bring it as an apology. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not,” I promised, reaching for the bottle.
Before I could take it from him, his long fingers deftly unscrewed the cap with a definitive clicking noise.
“There. Now you know it’s not poisoned.” One corner of his lips twitched, and the light danced over his eyes.
“That’s not funny,” I retorted, waiting for the shudder of residual fear at his reference to my time in his basement. But the signs of terror didn’t come. All I felt was that hot, prickling irritation, and before I could think better of it, I snatched the bottle and took a swig of the wine in an act of defiance.
You don’t scare me.
The heated needling sensation melted into a flood of warmth at the rich flavor of the pinot noir. It was smooth, fruity, and comforting. Not as nice as my favorite vintage that I kept in my wine rack, but close enough.
I lowered the bottle and briefly unsheathed it from the paper bag to inspect the label. My tastebuds had been right: pinot noir.
“How did you know I like pinot?”
His expression went carefully blank, and he shrugged again. “Educated guess.”
Oh. He’d been in my apartment. He’d probably gone through my things, looking for nonexistent evidence to use against my father.
The shudder of revulsion finally rolled through my body. I hated that he’d violated the privacy of my home, the place where I was supposed to find strength and independence.
He snagged the bottle from my hand, lifted it to his lips, and took a long gulp. His throat worked as he swallowed, drinking way too fast.
“Hey.” I placed my fingers on his wrist to direct the bottle away from his mouth. “Don’t get drunk. I need to talk to you.”
He lowered the wine with a grimace. “This isn’t nearly strong enough to make me drunk.”
I snatched the wine from him, moving it safely away from his grasp. I set it on the step on my opposite side, ensuring it wasn’t within easy reach. I needed him to focus.
“About tonight,” I began, settling back into calm purpose. “You can’t keep stalking my dad like this. I know I said it didn’t matter to me, but it does. You’re going to get caught. Especially if you do something as stupid as attacking Mikhail Ivanov’s son in plain view of event security. If my father had already been outside, he would’ve gone ballistic.”
Max’s jaw tightened, taking on the harsh line I was starting to recognize all too well: he was pissed that I’d supposedly put myself in danger. “But he wasn’t outside, was he, Bambi? You were standing there with the son of a Russian oligarch, with no regard for your safety. Nikolai is dangerous. You shouldn’t be anywhere near him.”
“That’s funny,” I said coolly. “He said the same thing about you.”
“Of course he did,” Max bit back. “That’s because I am dangerous. You just don’t want to believe it.”
The hot prickling of my annoyance spread from my spine all the way to my fingers and toes. His matching irritation rolled off him and collided with mine. Sparks pinged over my skin, making every inch of my body come alive.
“Yes, I get it. You’re so menacing and brooding.” I gave him an eye roll of my own. “You would’ve torn Niko apart. That doesn’t mean you pose a threat to me. I understand that now.”
“Niko?” His voice deepened to something dark and rough. “You’re close with that monster?”
I scoffed. “He’s just a man, Max. An obscenely wealthy but normal man. And no, we’re not close. I only met him tonight.” Something clicked into place in my mind. “Wait, you hate him because he’s Russian? Is that what this is about? Your prejudice?”
“It’s not prejudice,” he growled. “You just don’t want to know the truth. And I don’t want you to know it, either. I told you not to keep digging into your father’s case against my family, and I meant it. Why was Niko getting close to you tonight? Does his family know about your little investigation?”
My cheeks flamed with something indefinable. Anger? Embarrassment?
“He was asking me out before you came and shoved him away,” I retorted. “Is that so hard to believe? That he’s interested in me like a normal guy is interested in a girl? This isn’t some conspiracy, Max.”
“Of course it’s not hard to believe,” he snapped back, as though I’d offended him somehow. “You’re beautiful and intelligent, and your father is the mayor of New York. That’s why it’s so convenient for his father to task him with keeping an eye on you.”
