Maisy was making sure she looked him in the eye. He needed to understand when it came to Kostya she wouldn’t let him steamroll her. But then he smiled that lazy big cat smile that made her tingle down to her toes and suspect they weren’t talking about Kostya at all. She did her best to ignore the tingling.
‘I don’t think now is a good time for haircuts.’
Alexei sat up, the movement so abrupt Maisy almost jumped. He was sitting so close to where she was hunkered down she could have reached out and brushed the back of her hand along his lightly bristled jaw. She blushed at the thought.
‘I spoke to a child psychologist on Monday,’ he responded.
Right. Child psychologist. Good. Maisy moistened her lips. ‘Maybe we can talk about it later,’ she said jerkily, trying not to read too much into his close proximity. ‘Kostya might be little but he has big ears.’ She struggled to inject some normality into her voice, which seemed to have dropped an octave. ‘Besides, it’s the three Bs: bathtime, booktime, bedtime.’
Alexei could have punched the air in a victory salute. She was feeling him: the pink in her cheeks, the glitter in those cinnamon eyes. She was just a little nervous. Or it could be anticipation. He had no idea. She wasn’t putting out obvious ‘come and get me’ signals, just little indicators she couldn’t control.
‘I can do that,’ he replied, surging to his feet. Time to get this train on the tracks. He scooped up Kostya, who shrieked with excitement.
‘No, no, you’ll overstimulate him.’ Maisy sighed as she clambered to her feet. She was feeling distinctly unlike herself. Her skin was prickling with awareness and she couldn’t seem to get in enough air. Instinctively she stumbled back to avoid brushing against Alexei as he moved with Kostya, shoving her hands in her jeans’ back pockets to disguise their trembling.
Overstimulation was in the air, Alexei reflected ruefully, looking down at her. Damn, she was sexy. He tried not to let his gaze drift south of her pretty mouth. It was very uncool. But he was enjoying that too—the sheer craziness of what was going on.
He followed her upstairs to the nursery, admiring the swing of her round, shapely bottom, knowing absolutely he was going to end tonight with his hands right there and Maisy’s glorious red-gold ringlets spread over his pillow. The certainty stayed with him as he went through the bedtime routine. Maisy kept taking peeks at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. He could read women’s sexual arousal and he could feel Maisy’s deep down to his bones. She just needed a little gentle handling and direction.
‘Will you have dinner with me?’ he said as Maisy grappled with Kostya’s nappy, and she gave him a wry look. Her nervousness had evaporated under the stress of managing a two-year-old and she was getting mouthy with him. He liked that too.
‘Is that an excuse to get out of here whilst the going’s good?’
‘I can handle a nappy, Maisy.’
‘The question is, will you in the future? Or are you going to hire a dozen people to do the job for you?’
The criticism went home. Maisy observed his slight tensing and was glad. It showed he did have an understanding of what Kostya needed. The fact that he was here now, helping her, had gone a long way to calming her fears. She had also managed not to touch him, ogle him, or say anything that could be misconstrued. In fact, she had behaved like a completely sexless plant.
Perfect.
‘Dinner, Maisy?’ he repeated.
‘I usually eat in the dining room at seven,’ she said. ‘Will you join me then?’
Alexei dealt her a look of combined disbelief and complete amusement.
‘I think, dushka, we can do better than that.’
Dinner.
Maisy covered her hot face with her hands. She was going to sleep with him. Maybe. It was good to be clear about these things. She wouldn’t think about next week or the month after or the year after that. She would just go for it and damn the consequences. Other women did it all the time.
She was a modern girl. She knew what was on offer.
She was kidding herself.
Maisy groaned and flopped onto her bed. Beside her lay the two outfits she couldn’t decide between. Her one cocktail dress looked too formal and insubstantial, and clearly said, Take me now. I’m not even wearing a bra. Definitely not suitable.
The strapless white silk frock was really for the daytime, but she could dress it up with a necklace, some make-up, and do something fancy with her hair. The bodice was boned and did the work of a bra. Just about.
In the end she made up her eyes and mouth to stand in for the simplicity of her dress and clasped a gold filigree necklace around her neck. She used a clip to twist up her hair so that it toppled in disarray, the tips kissing the curve of her shoulder-blades. She slid her feet into a pair of very high silver heels and used the sliding doors to step out into the courtyard so as not to disturb Kostya.