“No, nothing like that.” Owen frowns. “He doesn’t want that. He actually has steered pretty clear of everything. He’s probably afraid if he gets involved, he’ll run you off, Max.”
“Perceptive,” Maxim intones. “We’ll be fine.”
Millicent pokes her head back in, her cell phone held to her chest. “Sorry, but could I borrow you for a sec, O? The kids want to say goodnight.”
“Of course.” Owen rises and leaves the room, already wearing that smile reserved only for the three people who live under his roof.
The walls push in as soon as I’m alone with Maxim. The air throbs with awareness like smoke filling my lungs, choking me. I allow myself short, shallow breaths so the smell of him doesn’t overwhelm my senses. I grab my bag and head toward the door, deciding not to even speak. At the threshold, though, curiosity gets the better of me and I turn back to face him.
His eyes are waiting for me, intense and hungry. Fully wolf. The naked emotion on his face snatches my breath and my thoughts and my words for a second. It’s familiar. This look hovered above me when he drove into my body with commanding sensuality, but it seems different on this matured version of him. It’s even more dangerous, more appealing.
I clear my throat, needing to break the tension arcing between us. “When did I tell you I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving?”
He frowns and turns down the f
irm, full lips at the corners. “That night at Vuurtoreneiland.”
“Really? I don’t remember. I guess we talked about a lot of things that night.”
It comes back to me, now, though. Both of us leaning forward across the table, pushing in closer, straining to catch each other’s voices, like archeologists digging around in each other’s heads, searching for answers. I wanted so badly to bottle those moments—not to miss a word he said.
“I can’t believe I forgot I told you,” I say, leaning my back against the doorjamb.
“It was a great night.” He chuckles and sits on the edge of the desk. “I think we were both talking a mile a minute, and by the end of the meal, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
My cheeks heat with the memory of our hurried departure. We couldn’t stop touching each other on the ferry back to the city. I confessed my virginity in the moonlight and we sprinted through the streets to reach his house. Everything that followed once we were inside rushes back and I see myself again, spread on his bed, offering myself to him.
“Such a great night,” he repeats, holding my gaze captive. “I think about it all the time.”
Me, too.
It’s an unspoken whisper singeing my heart with its hot breath and secret sentiment. I search for my anger, resentment—anything still lurking around because of the things he didn’t tell me that week, but I can only remember the things he did say. And time folds on itself, blending Kingsman, the young adventurer with a head full of dreams, and Cade, the unimaginably successful man standing in front of me now who brought that young man’s ideas to life. Two men not so different when I think about it. Not different at all. What we had that week, that night, it was true. I think I’ve wanted to run from that because the implication of forgiving Maxim, accepting him back into my life . . .
“You better catch that flight,” I say, turning to walk out the door.
“Nix,” he says from behind me, his voice getting closer. “I’ve been giving you space, but I haven’t given up. I’ve decided to use a different tactic.”
I pause, but don’t turn. “And what tactic is that?”
“Letting you miss me,” he says softly. “Letting you remember what we were like together. Is it working?”
Every single day.
Every single day some memory of our time together disrupts my peace of mind, but I won’t tell him that.
“I’m trying to respect your wishes.” He steps in front of me so we’re facing each other. “To respect your decision and your . . .” He twists his lips and they tighten at the corners. “. . . your relationship, but I told you I would come back when the time was right. I think the time is now. I love my brother and I would support his run, but I wouldn’t be living in this city for him.”
He brushes a knuckle over my cheek and pushes my hair back. “I’m not here for Owen, Nix. I’m here for you.”
“Maxim,” I say, my breath trapped in my throat. “I don’t think—”
“What do I have to do?” he asks, bending so our mouths line up, so the question waits on my lips for an answer. “What does a man like me, used to getting anything he wants, do when the woman he wants more than anything won’t forgive him for a mistake when he was too stupid and too young to know better?”
I close my eyes against the urgency in his stare, dark green like a forest I’d get lost in. My chest heaves as if I’m running, but the only exertion is staying out of his arms; is not throwing myself on top of him and kissing him like it’s been ten years since I had anything as good as what we had. It takes everything to remain still, mute.
I want to tell him there’s no relationship to respect. There’s nothing to forgive, but if I say any of those things, there will be no barrier between us—nothing keeping the wolf from my door. And if he gets in . . .
With swift steps, I make my escape to the elevator, duck in and press the close doors button. I probably won’t see him again until the announcement. When I look up, he stands there, frustration clearly painted on his strong face.