Why did I say that? I didn’t actually care about the dog’s mess—okay, I did, and I didn’t want to be the one responsible for it—but more I was out of sorts from the tension between us.

  The night he’d returned home, I’d gone to bed angrier and more hurt than I could ever remember. Now, a week later, I remained hurt, confused…and much to my shock, horny. Until sex with Maxim, I hadn’t considered that I was missing out on anything. But I was, and I was in the part of my cycle when I craved touch. I missed our physical connection and orgasms.

  I missed us, but Maxim was still keeping secrets: though he never said a word about it to me, his documents had arrived from the State Department without him ever having to attend a hearing. Maxim was once again a legal resident, thanks, in part to my agreeing to marry him. I only knew because my daddy called while I was on the way home. My parents realized something was wrong, but I didn’t have it in me to tell them I was sure Maxim and I were veering toward divorce.

  So, I remained silent, not asking about his immigration status, pretending everything was fine when nothing was.

  I was so alone, and I wanted a release to ease the tension that built, built, built in my body.

  I wanted the makeup sex Naomi crowed about. But no. Of course I wasn’t that lucky. Probably because Stella was correct and Maxim hadn’t ever wanted me, not really.

  Damn, I was a mess of negative thoughts and no self-confidence. I hated that I felt that way, but I didn’t know how to pull myself out of the ever-increasing funk.

  Yes, I realized what I was doing, and yes, I knew I needed to use certain therapies to reframe my current mental state. But it was much easier to work on other people’s problems, just like it was much more likely the cobbler would make other kids’ shoes first.

  I’d learned that in school—we were our own worst clients. I probably should start seeing someone about my funk, but I kept putting it off.

  “I’ll call Cormac and get the name of his cleaning service.” Maxim looked up from his book—a thick tome on some European leader I’d never heard about before. He set the book aside with a firm snap of the cover—Maxim only read hardcovers. He’d told me only the wealthy could afford such books in his hometown.

  The man cleaned his own toilets and floors but bought boxes of hardcover books.

  “Never mind. I know you don’t like people in your space.”

  Maxim rose and stretched his arms over his head, his biceps bulging as he twisted, no doubt working out some kinks in his neck from sitting with his head bent over the book. His T-shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his joggers.

  “It isn’t my space. It’s our space. So, what would you prefer?”

  An orgasm. An apology. An explanation for lying to me. A promise you won’t ever do it again. An undying confession of love that puts me at the center of your world…like you’re at the center of mine.

  Even though it freaks me out, even knowing you don’t want kids and I do… Even knowing you only married me to get your Green Card and that excuse is now gone, too.

  I settled on one. “How can I trust that you won’t lie to me again?”

  “Because I won’t.”

  I shook my head. “I need more than a promise, Maxim. You already gave me that.”

  My gaze narrowed on that strip of skin, the color lighter than his arms, the faint dusting of coarse dark hairs, the flex of his belly as he twisted…and caught me ogling.

  “Like what you see?” he rumbled.

  I nodded because I didn’t want to stop petting his gorgeousness with my eyes. “You know you look fantastic.” I crossed my arms over my chest. His gaze dropped to my boobs, so I slid my arms under them and pushed them upward. His nostrils flared. Ah, so he wanted me, too.

  He did that man-thing of pulling off his T-shirt using one arm and my knees turned to water as my thighs clenched. I even moaned, though I bit it off.

  “Now you can see every bit of me that belongs to you and only you,” Maxim said.

  I narrowed my eyes. What was his game?

  He didn’t even try to flex, like some men would as he strolled toward me, all confidence, dripping hotness. Taking one of my hands, he frowned at the chill in my fingers. I’d turned the air conditioner back down to his preferred setting, which always left me cold. He brought my hand to his chest, where he settled my hand in the sparse dark hair that covered his smooth, warm skin before lifting the other and placing that hand next to the first. His nipples pebbled under my palms. My breathing sped up and my core grew warmer, achier.

  I pressed my hands tighter against his skin, reveling in his body heat, and tipped my head back to meet his smoldering gaze. When I tried to step back, he snagged his arm low around my hips while his other clamped both of my hands to his chest.

  “Don’t. I’ve missed you.” He gently pressed his growing bulge into the soft give of my belly. I whimpered and my core clenched, too empty, needy.

  He rocked again and my head fell back, mouth open. I couldn’t help it—Maxim Dolov seemed to have a short-circuit switch when it came to my libido.

  He leaned forward, his nose rubbing along the sensitive skin on my jaw. “You smell good. Always. You are so soft. Your voice is sweet and brings me joy.”

  “That’s not true. You’re barely ever in the same room as me.”

  “Because you’re upset with me.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be upset if you’d been honest—”

  “I promised to be faithful to you, and I have been. Just you, krasivaya. Always. I promise again.”

  He rocked against me again. He aimed his next hip pump lower, as he lifted my hips with ridiculous ease. When he rubbed against my clit, my eyes rolled back and I wrapped my legs around his hips, causing him to chuckle.

  “So gorgeous,” he murmured. “You’re right where you belong.”

  “Gloating isn’t becoming,” I chastised.

  “Maybe not. But it’s fun. Nearly as fun as dry humping you.”

  I couldn’t argue with that because I was growing wetter by the second. “Maxim.”

  “What do you need, Ida Jane?” He trailed kisses across my cheek, toward my mouth. “Tell me what you exactly need, and I’ll give it to you.”

  I hated that I loved when he did this to me—forcing me to talk dirty. I preferred to remain safely inhibited, but Maxim forced me to use my words…and my lips and my tongue. He made me vulnerable as well as naked. Damn him!

  He thrust forward, and I writhed, wanting more friction, wanting him inside me. My skin pebbled with goosebumps as I struggled to contain the emotions.

  He swiveled his hips.

  “You! I want you. I…I…”

  “—can have me once we actually talk about what’s really bothering you.”

  I gasped, flinging my closed eyes open. Hurt and frustration warred inside me. “Is this all a game to you? Because you don’t like to lose?”

  I sobbed, falling back into old habits I’d used with my brothers growing up. I struggled against him, and Maxim grunted.

  “No. Be still. Ida Jane. Fuck!”

  He grimaced as one of my flails caused discomfort…I hoped to his dick. I was horny and hurt, and livid that he’d use my desire for him to get his way.

  “Put me down,” I snapped. Sobs hit me harder.

  This wasn’t like the sparse tears I cried to get my way with my brothers. This was big…huge…a tidal wave of emotion I could no longer outrun.

  He set me down immediately. That should have mollified me, but all it did was make me angrier that the sweet, luscious friction was gone. I scowled as I backed away. Blade chuffed, coming to my side.

  “We’re going on a walk,” I said.

  “Ida Jane—”

  “Do not Ida Jane me. You need to think about what you’re playing at, Maxim.” I dashed at the tears that sprang to my eyes. I drew myself up, leveled my chin and swallowed.

  Time to face this head-on. At least part of the problem. I wasn’t ready to bare my full soul…not when Maxim hadn’t told me he loved me. Or that he wanted a full life with me. But I could be honest about this.

  “I won’t let you manipulate me into doing something just because you want it—with no regard for my feelings. If you want to have a conversation, we can do that, but do not use sex to get me to talk. If you want to spread me out on your bed—”

  “Our bed,” he growled. “It’s our bed, and you should sleep in it every night. With me. That’s where you belong.”

  I snapped my mouth shut, unsure how to respond to that. It was…alpha-hole delicious, as Millie would say, but did I actually want that level of controlling male in my life?

  I’d run headlong into Maxim’s arms even though I knew I hadn’t fully processed Dillon’s machinations.

  It wasn’t even about the photos of Maxim with other women. Once I’d calmed down enough to ask Maxim for them, I’d seen that his hair was different, and he looked younger, just as he’d said. There were multiple other athletes in those photos, and they weren’t his current teammates. I knew he’d told me the truth…when confronted. It was the fact that he hadn’t told me initially that worried me.

  My heart was too battered to take another hit, yet I couldn’t stop loving Maxim even though I wanted to.

  Chapter 22

  Maxim

  She still wasn’t wearing her wedding band, and that bothered me like jock itch and athlete’s foot all rolled into one terrible irritation. Part of my ritual each time I returned to the house was to kiss her ring finger, then her lips. Sometimes, she was sleeping and didn’t know. When I’d checked on her that night I returned from our last away game as she slept upstairs, I’d been upset, but when I’d noted she still wasn’t wearing her ring, I’d been gutted.

  We were in a battle of wills I didn’t want to win but didn’t know how to lose without losing Ida Jane.

  I headed down to my gym and turned up my music—Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5—and began with my lats. Sure, other guys liked rap or even listened to metal with their workouts, but I preferred orchestral pieces. That probably had something to do with being able to catch the faintest hints of the music when I was a child. The symphony in St. Petersburg was a grand building with stately architecture and well-dressed people. The music had always sounded like wealth, prestige—what I’d aspired to.

  I moved on to some triceps exercises, baring my teeth at the mirror. What the hell was I going to do? How did we bridge this ever-growing chasm between us?

  Trust.

  That’s what this all pivoted on. Ida Jane didn’t trust me. I’d demolished it by not telling her the full truth when I had the chance. She’d learned about it in the worst way from the worst person, and she was understandably hurt.

  Having her come to my games, picking her up from work, showing her that she was safe here—all those were important to building and maintaining respect, but those actions didn’t address the underlying issue I’d created by not trusting her with the parts of me I wasn’t proud of. I’d noted her withdrawal when I told her how glad I was neither of us wanted kids. Told her. Not asked her for her thoughts. That had left her primed to believe the worst of me when the envelope was handed to her less than an hour later.

  And now, Ida Jane didn’t—couldn’t—trust me to see her, to know her, to accept her as she was.

  I set down the weight, my forehead dripping and my muscles tight yet jittery. What if I’d broken us fundamentally? That was a distinct possibility—especially since her father texted me this evening before she arrived home, letting me know that his baby girl wasn’t happy.

  With a long sigh, I headed up the steps to the first floor. Ida Jane wasn’t there. Concern hit my gut and gushed upward, fizzing out like a volcanic eruption. I tore out of the house, my panting heightened as I considered all the terrible things that could have happened to her because I’d been too pushy, too impatient.

  I bolted down the driveway and into the road, gasping—and skidded to a stop so quickly I almost fell on my ass. Ida Jane stood across the street on the sidewalk, her head tilted back as she smiled up at Stol.

  My hands fisted as I mentally prepared to murder the flirting SOB. And then I was going to…

  I sucked in a deep calming breath that did nothing to ease the tension in my muscles or the pounding at the base of my skull. Ida Jane was safe. Stol wasn’t touching her. They were talking. Just talking. Not every interaction was a precursor to the woman I cared most for in this life to end up dead.

  Get a grip, Maxim.

  But I couldn’t. I was too keyed up, first from my argument with Ida Jane and now from the images of Ida Jane laughing with Stol…when she couldn’t be happy with me.

  Ida Jane

  Stol glanced over my shoulder, his expression going from laughter to an intense frown. “Uh oh.”

  I turned and then gawked. Maxim stalked back up the driveway toward the house, his shoulders bunched, his gait stiff.

  “I think you broke him,” Stol said.

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  Stol clucked his tongue. “He is so worked up over you.”

  I snorted. Stol dropped a half-smile that was just plain adorable. No wonder Millie was half in love with the man. Not that she’d admit it. In fact, she’d avoided any mention of him at all the last few times we’d spoken, but I’d pushed and pushed.

  She’d promised she’d tell him about the baby. I’d need to make sure she had. Maxim was right—Stol deserved to know.

  “Seriously. He can hardly see straight. And he smiles. Well, when the two of you are getting along. It’s weird and kind of scary. The rookie nearly pissed his pants when Maxim joked with him a couple of weeks ago.”

  Before the gala.

  I shook my head. “Maxim’s…”

  “Intense. Broody. From what I can tell, a Russian, through and through.”

  I dropped my hand into Blade’s fur. “He’s never said he love—cares about me. Or even that he wants to stay married.” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with Stol. Wait.

  Why had Stol been outside on a muggy evening? “You were waiting for me,” I gasped.

  “Yeah, I was. A total creeper move, I know, but, again, he’s so tied up in you, he can’t really think straight. It’s affecting his game, and Maxim has always been one of the most solid guys on the team. The playoffs start this week and—”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Is that really why you’re here?”

  Stol shuffled his feet. “No. Millie told me she’s pregnant.”

  I sighed. “Finally.”

  “I don’t know what she wants from me. She said she’d do it all herself…” He swallowed, his expression troubled and eyes shadowed. “I hate that idea. I—I want the chance to be a father to my kid.”

  “Then tell her that.”

  Why did everyone else’s problems appear so easy to fix? I sucked in a breath, realizing I needed to take my own advice. My insecurities kept me from being totally vulnerable with Maxim, so in a way, I wasn’t being honest either.

  Dread settled in my midsection. I wasn’t sure I could do it.

  “Yeah. Yeah. I will. But put in a good word for me, okay? Tell her I haven’t been fuc—er, messing around since she left. I really like her, Ida Jane. I want to see what we can be. For us, but for the baby, too.”

  I laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “I have and I will again. Millie’s…been hurt.”

  “So have most of us,” Stol responded, his frustration evident.

  I sucked in a breath, knowing Millie would rail against me for this, but Stol was still interested, even though her lack of communication upset him. “No, she’s been hurt.”

  His expression shifted as understanding dawned. He shut his eyes briefly.

  “She doesn’t do relationships. Not anymore.”

  “Because of her ex who hurt her.” Anguish rippled across his expression. “I’m going crazy here, trying not to imagine all the worst-case scenarios.”

  Much as I wanted to allay Stol’s worries, I’d already said more than Millie would like. “It’s not my story to tell, but she’s slow to trust. She thought she knew him.”

  Actually, that sounded a lot like my relationship with Dillon. I frowned.

  “And, just speaking for me, when you think you know someone, and they hurt you…” I raised my hand to my healed cheek. “Then, you wonder if the problem is really you. You worry your instincts are bad—if any of the decisions you make are right.”

  Stol tilted his head, thoughtful. “She’s afraid of herself.”

  That reverberated deep in my heart. “Yeah. She’s afraid.” I’m afraid. “To love you.” Like I’m terrified to love Maxim. I quit pretending I was talking about Millie and him. “Because if something bad happens, if Maxim doesn’t love me, then I was right. I’m not a good judge of character. I’m not worthy of love.”

  Stol shifted his feet. “I get your point.”

  I shook my head with a little laugh that was more of a release of tension. “Don’t chase her, don’t even contact her, unless you mean to be there for her as she works through…all this.”

  “I hear ya.” He nodded. “Okay. Let me walk you home,” he said.

  We were almost at the gate when Stol said, “Maxim would do just about anything for his team. We’re his family. But here’s the thing: he won’t give up you for us. He won’t even come to our typical barbecues or whatever unless you agree to join. He even bought you that killer dog.”

  I shielded my fur baby’s ears. “Blade isn’t a killer.”

  Stol shook his head, clearly having reached his limit. “If you’d just actually see what he’s doing.”

  He’s showing me that he cares for me—not just saying the words I’m desperate to hear.

  I hadn’t been paying enough attention because I was too wrapped up in the past and the worry of being hurt again, being played the fool again.

  Stol heaved a sigh. “I know I shouldn’t get involved, but Maxim never asks for anything—ever. And he asked us for advice, which tells me how serious he is about making this thing between you work.”

 

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