Page 36 of Maxim

“I’m sorry for borrowing one of your shirts,” she says, her cheeks tinged a pretty shade of pink. “I knocked over the glass of water you left me and the stuff I wore last night is now soaked. If you have a laundry room, I can probably dry it pretty quickly?”

Not wanting Sasha to hear any more of this conversation, I end the call. I’ll speak with him later. Right now, my only focus is on Natalya. And how fucking sexy she looks wearing my shirt.

My dick is hard as stone and all I want to do is rip that damn shirt off her. It’s several seconds before I realize the oil in the skillet has started to burn.

“It’s not a problem,” I manage to say, quickly turning off the burner before the kitchen goes up in flames. “You look good in my shirt.” I throw her a heated look and she flushes a deeper hue.

“What are you making?” she asks, looking at the eggs and block of cheese on the counter.

“Omelets. Sit while I cook yours.”

I turn my attention back to the stove and quickly wipe the burned oil from the skillet before adding some fresh oil. I can feel Natalya watching me but she says nothing. Considering I rarely have anyone in this apartment, other than my trusted vors, it doesn’t feel strange cooking for someone.

Cooking is something I enjoy, and taking care of my malyshka makes me feel warm inside.

Am I going soft in my old age?

Probably.

Do I care?

No.

Chapter twenty-five

Nat

My apartment normally feels cozy but today, I don’t want to be here. I look around and decide I’m better off at the office, surrounded by people.

I should have been there an hour ago but called in to say I had a migraine and would be late. Not a lie. I do have a splitting headache, mostly caused by stress from waking up in Max’s apartment again.

He cooked me breakfast, dried my wet clothes, and insisted on driving me home. I’m beginning to think he likes taking care of me.

From the way he smiles with genuine pleasure when I eat his food and doesn’t think twice about rescuing me when I’m in danger, the man clearly has a White Knight complex. Which doesn’t add up at all.

Nothing about that man makes sense. My instincts tell me he’s lying to me. Anyone who says they run an import-export business is hiding something. Then there’s the issue of what happened to the guy he beat up last night. I may have been in shock at the time, but I do remember the private ambulance taking him away.

No way was that legit. Not when the paramedics answered to Max.

Honestly, I have no clue what’s going on.

Max could be connected to the mayor, or worse, Uriov. The thought of Max being involved in the horrible website Mickey found makes me feel ill.

But I can’t think about it now. I have work to do. The second USB drive Margana gave me is burning a hole in my pocket and I’d rather look at the contents at work, where it feels safer.

So I grab my stuff and head out the door.

Just as I arrive at the office, Max texts me.

Dinner tonight at La Rose. 7 PM.

I read it twice. It sounds more like an order than a request.

No. Busy.

No you’re not. Be there or I’ll find you.

Seriously? Is he fucking stalking me?