“Once you’re fully recovered. Our estate there is beautiful in the spring.” He grazed his knuckles along my jawline. “I want you to meet Dmitri as well.”
I smoothed the lapel of Máxim’s blazer. “Won’t he hate me?”
“He called when you were in surgery, and I was out of my head with worry. I didn’t bother trying to hide how frantic I was. When I called to tell him you were better, he said, ‘You love her. I will meet her.’ This is huge for him.”
“Then count me in.”
“I let him know that I will always be there for him, but things have changed. My focus will be on the future.” Máxim’s eyes were full of promise. “Come, I want you to see some things in your closets.”
The spaces weren’t closets—they were rooms, each one with new swag and clothes! He leaned against the doorway, content to watch me explore. When I found my red scarf, I closed my eyes in relief.
“You should look at that new wallet as well.” He pointed to one of several.
I opened it. Credit cards filled all the slots. “Aww. Did you get me pin money?”
“Only in the checking. The savings is yours.”
Wait . . . I looked at the ID. “This is me!” The picture was from my former license. Oh, I looked so young! “You got the Hatcher taken off so quickly! I’m officially me again.”
With that gleam I loved so well, he said, “Maybe you can still be Cat and Katya—on occasion.”
I traipsed closer to him. “This kitten will want a lot of toys. Let’s dedicate a room.”
He inhaled sharply. “Sí, let’s do that. For now, you have more exploring to do. Your jewelry.”
All my previous bling was organized, along with tons more. Among my pearls and gold was my mother’s rosary. “Oh, Máxim, you got it back?” When the import of what I’d regained truly hit me, I would surely lose my shit. In a way, that rosary had been on as wild a trip as I had.
“Of course.” He took my hand. “When you feel like it, you can decide what you want to do with your home in Jacksonville as well.”
“I wish the place would be the same, just minus that one room.”
He raised his brows, as if to say challenge accepted.
As we strolled toward the pool, I said, “I got the strangest text from Ivanna this morning. From what I could decipher, she wrote that her family would be in the States by the end of next week. And that her new place was amazing.” (hus s amzasng!1) “You know anything about that?”
He shrugged. “If she hadn’t sent you to me . . . I am very beholden to her—and to Botox in general.”
“She was a little pissed that I hadn’t asked for help, but she understood too.” I already had a friend in Miami! “She also texted that Anthony closed up shop and is on the run from the mafiya.”
A raised brow. “I will prolong that for as many years as it pleases you.” Beside the pool, he sat on a lounge chair, then gingerly pulled me into his lap. Sun bathed us in light, dappling the blue water beyond.
“When do you think we’ll christen this chair, Ruso?”
He groaned. “Unfortunately, not for a while.”
“I understand, baby boy. After all, you were shot. And at your age too?” I fake-winced. “But I’m sure they’ll clear you for duty”—I wriggled over the growing bulge in his lap—“eventually.”
His voice was husky. “Little witch.”
“I guess I’ll give you a reprieve because you took a bullet for me.”
“I’d do it to eternity to have this moment. Though you know I won’t rest until you’re mine in every way.”
“It’s you for me, Ruso. You are stuck with me. But what if I want to wait awhile before thinking about marriage?” Even with the man of my dreams, I didn’t want to rush things.
I had this feeling that I’d know when the time was right.
“Then I’ll propose to you weekly.”
I found that fair, since we both knew he could use a magic wand, rope, and the strategic application of a chastity belt to get me to yes.
I twirled my finger over the left side of his chest. “You aren’t done with me yet?”
He pinned my gaze with his own. With a surprisingly smooth accent, he told me, “Nunca voy a terminar contigo.” I’ll never be done with you.
EPILOGUE
Jacksonville
Graduation day
“You can’t be late, Lucía,” Máxim rasped in my ear as his body worked mine. “How did you talk me into this?”
“It’s your own fault for looking so hot in that suit,” I told him, my nails digging into his shoulders. “When your woman needs it, she needs it. We’ll be quick.”
I was getting it on with a Russian sex god. In a closet on campus. In my graduation robe. Because I could.
Life was sweet.
“Am I hurting you?” He was asking me that after what we’d done last night?
Though I was totally healed up, he still asked. My scar wasn’t even that bad. But as Máxim had said, “I can see how close I came to losing you.” Sometimes, he would shudder and kiss it. Well, no more than once a day. He’d also said the mark was much “daintier” than his own “rugged” bullet-wound scar.
His was on the right side of his chest; mine was on my left. Whenever Máxim and I kissed, so did our scars.
Because we were intertwined. In sync. Lock and key. Our bodies, our lives.
“Hurting, Máxim? I’m in agony here.” I rubbed my face against his, purring Spanish in his ear—that I needed him, I needed every inch of his gorgeous body, and every inch of his magnificent cock—which made his hips surge, because the devil understood it all.