Читать книгу A Champagne Christmas: The Christmas Love-Child / The Christmas Night Miracle / The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle - Кэрол Мортимер, Catherine Spencer - Страница 11

DECEIT was part of the art of war.

The truth could be a flexible thing in Maksim’s opinion. Stretching it correctly was partly how he’d built a vast empire out of nothing. As a teenager, he’d gotten investors by pretending to already have them. He’d deceived competitors, making them believe deals were finished when they weren’t. He’d bought commodities cheap and sold them high because he knew information that others didn’t. Information he’d ruthlessly kept to himself.

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 street-lights 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.

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.