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CHAPTER EIGHT
MAISY was almost done feeling sorry for herself, but her shoulder was starting to ache and it was making her tetchy. She told herself all she wanted was to crawl into bed—her own bed. But that wasn’t what she had signed up for. She had Kostya to bathe and read to and put to bed, and then it would be time to front up to entertain the man who put diamonds around the neck of Tara Mills. Mr Don’t Make It A Big Deal.
But it was a big deal. She just knew she wasn’t going to be able to get past the knowledge of all those other women. Not because of who they were—each individual blurred into one glossy, silicone-enhanced mass—but because it made no sense at all why he was with her now.
She kicked off her heels and padded barefoot to the nursery. It was after six, and Kostya was fractious after his long and exciting day. He babbled about ponies and kept mentioning another boy, one of Maria’s grandsons, but mainly he talked about ‘Alessi’, who was clearly a big hit. As he should be, Maisy thought wearily as she ran his bath and collected the assortment of plastic toys he required.
He was splashing and Maisy was wilting when Alexei put in his appearance, hair damp, freshly shaved, smelling faintly of luxury cologne and male skin. Maisy was suddenly immensely grateful she had spent her afternoon being doused in oils and potions that gave her hair and skin a gleaming intensity her sinking spirits did not match.
The immediate rapport between man and boy sent her into the corner, perching on the washing hamper, whilst Alexei conducted the Royal Navy in the bathtub.
‘I’ll put him to bed,’ Alexei assured her over his shoulder. ‘Go and fix yourself up and I’ll fetch you for dinner.’
Fix yourself up. Maisy eyed the soap dish. Could she crack his skull with it if she applied enough force?
‘Maisy?’
‘I heard,’ she said, not bothering to disguise the irritation in her voice.
What in the hell was wrong with her now? Alexei watched as she leaned down to kiss Kostya’s downy curls, her ringlets sliding forward. She was very sweet with him. He found himself leaning forward as Kostya reached up and tugged on one of her curls and held on.
Alexei saw a flash of the old Maisy, laughing a little as she detached herself from Kostya’s tenacious grip. He hadn’t fully realised she had gone until she’d laughed, her expression softening.
It threw him. He’d been so busy justifying his own behaviour he’d forgotten this sweetness, this warmth that had drawn him in to begin with. He wanted this Maisy back—the one who had greeted him at his bedroom door in just his shirt; the one who had wrapped her arms around him this morning in the garden.
If Kostya wasn’t here he’d have her stripped and gasping under him on the bathroom tiles, all arguments and all anxieties over how she’d fit in his life erased by mind-blowing sex. But mind-blowing sex wasn’t going to fix the problem with Maisy, because the problem was the mind-blowing sex. She had blindsided him this morning. Last night he’d planned a practised seduction, a little recreational sex with a pretty girl. He could actually pinpoint the moment it had stopped being familiar territory and started being something entirely new: when she’d leaned into his car and told him she wasn’t going to do as he told her and powered off with that pram, a swing in her hips. She said no at every turn, to a man who rarely if ever heard the word and when he did, manoeuvred his way around it. She’d been defying him ever since, going her own way even when it left her trapped on a terrace or spending money she probably didn’t have on lingerie to seduce him.
So he’d sent Carlo to her with that credit card. He’d arranged a bank account for her. He’d done all he could to force her to conform to the stereotype he’d constructed to handle the women in his life. To neutralise relationships.
If he’d planned to push her away he couldn’t have done any better.
He caught hold of her hand as she straightened up and she looked startled. He pressed his lips to her palm. It was a gesture designed to reassure her, but her eyes just flared wide—as if she thought he was going to launch himself at her here and now.
Irritation at the gulf between his expectations and her experience must have made itself known in his expression, because she jerked her hand free as if he’d scalded her.
Releasing a deep sigh, Alexei said, ‘It shouldn’t be this hard, dushka.’
Maisy tried not to load his words with meaning, but as she dressed she couldn’t douse the suspicion that she’d managed this afternoon to severely damage whatever connection they’d had in bed that morning.
She stood in front of the mirror, checking herself from all angles in her heels and her new underwear. The image in the mirror was disconcerting. A taller, voluptuous, sex kitten Maisy. The one she’d known existed deep in her fantasy life but who had never been given the kit to play dress-up in and come into being. She hadn’t really bought this underwear for him, she realized. It was for herself. To make her feel confident.
