A Virgin for His Prize

It wasn’t just the fact he called her lovely, but his possessive claim on her and how he only used this word on her. She’d asked him, annoyed when she thought he was just calling her the same thing he did every other woman he slept with.

He’d admitted he never used the Russian endearments with other women.

She hadn’t asked why because he had seemed less than thrilled about the realization and she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

Now she wished she had.

“So I know,” he responded, no lack of conviction in his tone. “Your passion is amazing.”

“You stopped.” It couldn’t have been that amazing.

“Because I want something better for your first time.”

“You’re making some big assumptions there.”

“Are you going to try to deny your innocence?”

“No.” And they were back to this again because this man never let Romi run her repertoire of avoidance techniques about the important stuff. “My first time isn’t going to be with a man who puts a sell-by date on his girlfriends before the relationship even starts.”

“And yet your first time will be with me.”

“I was talking about you,” she informed him sarcastically.

“No. You were talking about a circumstance, not a man.”

She stepped away from him and hated how cold that made her feel, and not just because of the goose bumps on her arms. “Are you trying to confuse me on purpose?”

“No, milaya. Not at all. I’m just telling the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” She was going to regret asking, she just knew it.

“That you will be in my bed very soon.”

“Without a sell-by date?” she asked with a tiny kernel of hope that felt almost like a betrayal.

But could he really have spent the last year wanting her like she’d been wanting him, enough to break his own set-in-cement rules?

“Not as a boyfriend.”

“What does that mean?” Was he trying to say he didn’t want any commitment at all?

A one-night stand? For the loss of her virginity? And why was that even a little bit tempting?

He never answered her question, just picked up his suit jacket and shook it out before putting it back on. Quality cut and fabric showed almost no effect from its sojourn on the balcony floor.

Somehow she found herself back inside dancing with the man, ignoring the glares of envy sent her way and doing her best to do the same to her own body’s weakness in the face of Max’s nearness.

He set out to entertain and charm, succeeding to the point that she let him drive her home instead of calling for her father’s car and driver.

He pulled the Maserati, a different one than he’d been driving the year before, to a purring halt in front of her dad’s mansion. This one had a backseat.

“Still living with your father?” he asked, though he had to know, or why else would they be here?

“Yes.”

Max nodded. “No desire to live on your own?”

“He needs me.” It was an admission, but not one that would surprise an American tycoon with surprisingly deep Russian roots.

Romi didn’t even share with Maddie how bad things had gotten for her dad, but a year ago? She’d told Maxwell Black.

On their second date. Maybe that was why he’d put the sell-by date on their relationship after their third one.

But no, that was just the way Max ran his love life, or sex life really. The man didn’t believe in love. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate.

He believed the emotion was real enough, just refused to ever let himself feel it.

Romi wished she had the ability to turn her heart off.

But it was never going to happen.

“You are a good daughter.” His pewter eyes warmed with sincerity.

It was almost surreal. “What, no admonishment to leave him to work it out on his own?”

“What have I ever said that implied I did not take the obligations of family seriously?” Max actually sounded a little offended.

Feeling convicted for letting her own insecurities spill over onto him, Romi said, “Nothing.”

She knew he cared deeply for his mother.

Max had never been hesitant to admit he supported Natalya Black financially. They might live separately, but Romi had no doubt that if his mother needed to live with him, they would be sharing a residence right now. No questions, no lesser options.

“We share a dedication to family.”

“What we have of them,” she agreed.

Romi didn’t know why, but Max and his mother had no connection to their family back in Russia. He’d never mentioned his father, much less the man’s family, so Romi had always assumed they were either all gone or like her father’s family.

Estranged.

“I still see my mom’s family yearly.” Unlike the Graysons, who had turned their back on Harry when he’d married a woman from a decidedly middle-class background instead of old money, the Lawtons had remained in their daughter’s life and that of her husband and child.

Albeit on a more limited basis than Romi had always wanted.

“Why only once a year?” Max asked, like he was reading her mind.

She shrugged, looking away from him. “They only came to visit when my mom was alive. Since then, I’ve gone to stay with my grandparents for a couple of weeks every summer.”