Page 30 of Royally Romanov

Her family accused her of running away. Away from the bad memories and away from Jeremy, whose touch she could no longer tolerate. She assured them she was fine. She just needed space, and the thing with Jeremy would have run its course eventually. There were a lot of things about her that Jeremy didn’t understand. He’d considered her art-history coursework a waste of time. He seemed baffled by the choices she’d made. After her world had been turned upside down, she realized he didn’t much care either.

Whatever she’d had with Jeremy had never felt like this, though. This intense... this wholly overwhelming. It defied all logic.

Except she and Maxim shared something, didn’t they? They’d both been victimized. It was a strange and terrible way to form a connection with someone, but the connection was there. Beneath his battered body and beneath her battered soul.

Finley was acutely aware of it. It made her want things. Things she had no business wanting. Things she couldn’t quite identify.

With the first brush of Maxim’s lips against hers, she knew.

This.

This is what I’ve been missing all along.

She no longer felt invisible. Quite the opposite. When she opened for him and the kiss deepened, she felt like a wild, shimmering thing. Electric. Alive. It was utterly intoxicating.

He tasted of wine and art and literature. Of Paris. All the things she loved most. After hiding herself away for so long, the sensations coursing through her made every part of her body exhale with relief. She heard herself sighing into his mouth, something she’d never done before. With anyone. It was mortifying.

“Finley,” he whispered, sweeping her fringe from her eyes and pulling back to look at her. Really look.

His gaze penetrated every part of her, and for once, she didn’t have the urge to look away. What had he done to her?

This was more than a kiss. It was an unveiling. She couldn’t have felt more exposed if she’d been undressed from head to toe.

She let her eyes drift shut, wanting him to kiss her again. Needing it. The anticipation was almost enough to bring her to her knees. She could feel his breath, warm against her lips, could hear his low groan as his mouth slanted down over hers once more.

But just when their lips were a whisper apart, someone banged on the front door to the flat. Hard. Gerard leapt to his feet and ran to the foyer in a mildly threatening frenzy of barks and growls.

Finley opened her eyes. “Who could that be?”

Three more loud knocks rapped on the door. It was practically shaking on its hinges.

This time, the banging was accompanied by a booming voice. “Monsieur Laurent, open up. It’s the police.”