Russian Billionaire's Virgin Assistant

“He’ll work harder at being polite if he’s surprised,” I said. “Otherwise, he’d be thinking of things he could insult Max about for the company. Now go. Let’s just get through this. I need to make sure the turkey is okay.”

Becca paused for only a minute before she sighed and shook her head, turning to head to the front door. Everything was going to be okay because I couldn’t let it not be. That was what I was going to fixate on.

But when strong arms wrapped around me as I basted and popped a thermometer into the turkey, I almost lost everything. My knees went weak, and all I wanted to do was turn and bury my face in Maxim’s chest and get him to take me away from here. Sure, I’d have some explaining to do, but I’d figure out some excuse to smooth everything over.

“All right, zolotse?” he asked me as Becca and Alexei’s boisterous laughing sounded from the front room. “It smells wonderful in here. We’ll make a woman of you yet.”

Oh, if he only knew. “Thanks, Max. That means a lot, coming from you.”

As soon as I was sure I could hold it together, I stepped around and looked up at him. He was wearing a simple but cozy sweater and a wash of jeans so dark and rich they could have rightly been mistaken for dress trousers. At least it wasn’t a suit and tie.

“You look really nice,” I said, smiling up at him and pinching the inside of my wrist to keep from crying. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Wait until you see what he’s brought for the feast,” Alexei declared, hauling in a case of wine.

“I told you to have some restraint,” I complained softly, frowning up at Maxim’s mischievous eyes.

“I could’ve done a lot more,” he reminded me. “Every party needs wine.”

“I need wine,” Becca confirmed, making grabby hands at the case Alexei held. “Let’s go. Break it out. Let’s do this Thanksgiving the right way.”

The turkey was perfectly cooked. It was time to let it rest — and to figure out what I was doing with the rest of my life. Or the rest of this evening, to start off with.

“Here,” Alexei said, holding a generously poured glass of wine in my direction. “For the chef, with compliments.”

I took the glass of wine before I could overthink it. All I had to do was drink it. Act normal. Get through this. I hoisted it obediently for an eloquent speech, thanks to Alexei, but when the liquid touched my lips, I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t so much as let it in my mouth. Doing so would mean a decision I couldn’t take back, especially now that I knew. I hadn’t had the time to try and do the math and figure out when it could’ve happened. All I could do was figure out what came next.

“That is so good.” Becca moaned almost pornographically as she took another long sip. “It’s official. I am thankful for this case of wine. Period.”

“Is that all you’re thankful for?” Alexei teased her.

I turned away from them and set my wine glass far back on the counter, behind a couple of dishes. It could be reasonably forgotten there. I wouldn’t have to make any excuses. I’d put this feast together, after all. But then I turned back with the brightest smile I could muster, and Maxim was there, studying me closely.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded softly as Alexei and Becca ventured out of the kitchen for the comfort of the living room. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said cheerfully. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

I kissed him, tasting the wine and hoping everything would be fine. Would he be able to tell from a kiss that I hadn’t parta

ken in the toast?

“Nice try,” Maxim rumbled at me, breaking the kiss and holding me out at arm’s length to look at me. “You’re a terrible liar, Ruth Miracle. I can smell it on you — something’s wrong.”

“All you’re smelling is dinner,” I insisted. “A dinner I worked really hard on. That’s all I’m worried about — that you’ll hate my cooking. You have access to all these world-renowned chefs, after all. Not to mention you can just hop in your jet and go have dinner anywhere in the world that you want. Not much competition for my cooking, I guess.”

Tears sprung to my eyes, but at least they weren’t the tears I wanted to shed.

“Zolotse,” he snapped gently. “Anything you do is worth more to me than any of that. I promise you.”

“I guess I’m just nervous about you being here, where I grew up.” I quickly wiped an errant tear before it could mess up my makeup and offered up a smile. “I’m afraid you’ll think everything is shabby.”

“I want to remind you of where I grew up,” Maxim said, tracing the tear’s path down my cheek. I’d have to check my appearance, and — God — somehow get rid of this stupid pregnancy test. Could I just hide it somewhere in the bathroom? It seemed too risky to let it out of my sight — even for the duration of this gathering.

Well, especially for the duration of this gathering.

“This house is warm and full of love,” Maxim reminded me. “There is an abundance of food, and people gathered together to celebrate gratitude. This is enough, Ruth Miracle. And much more than I had when I was a boy. This would have dazzled me back in Moscow.”

I felt so stupid. “I’m sorry, Max. I’m being an idiot. Please forgive me.”