Page 43 of The Stalking King

I take her hand, rub my thumb softly over her knuckles. She responds with a sharp intake of breath, her expressive eyes growing soft. When I kiss her, she makes another breathy sound. She leans against me, her hands digging into my shoulders.

I watch her walk across the street, then sit back and wait. A few minutes later, she texts me.

Lia: I think she’s having a bad day, Maksim. You might want to leave. I can grab a cab home.

Maksim: I’m not going anywhere. Take as long as you need. If you end up staying over, I’ll be here in the morning.

Her reply comes immediately.

Lia: Why?

I don’t know how to answer this at first. Lia’s the only woman who’s ever made me want to do things like this, to be a better version of myself.

Maksim: Because you deserve it.

Lia:

It’s amazing that even a simple heart emoji from her can make me feel a warmth in my heart I never thought possible.

For three hours, I wait. I don’t read, and I don’t check my phone, and I don’t try to distract myself in any other way. I sit here and I think about Liora, the beautiful moments on video, the even more beautiful moments in reality. I know I need to slow down—and calm down—but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s changing me.

When she finally emerges, she looks shocked that I’m still here. Then she does something so cute and funny. She sees me reaching for the door handle so I can walk around to her side and open it, but she runs across the street and grabs it first.

“Too slow,” she says, smiling as she slips inside.

“How was it?” I ask.

“The same,” she murmurs.

“Perhaps she needs some counseling.”

Lia clenches her jaw. “She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to forget or move on.”

“It’s not fair on you, Lia.”

“This isn’t about what’s fair or unfair. It’s about the next day. That’s it. That’s all I can worry about.”

I frown. “Your name means light, and you burn brightly. You do, Lia.” I add the last part when she gives me a be real look. “But eventually you might burn yourself out.”

“I can’t think like that. Mom has bills. I have bills.”

“Then let me help⁠—”

“Can you take me home, please?”

I start the car. A few minutes later, she’s asleep again, breathing softly. Instead of waking her when we reach the townhouse, I gently lift her into my arms and carry her up the stairs of the townhouse. She lets her head fall against my chest, murmuring something in her sleep. It sounds like my name.

Using the same key I used last time—turns out I’m a home invader, a stalker, and a Bratva boss—I unlock the door and carry her up the stairs. When I lay her down, she opens her eyes with a sleepy smile on her face.

“Will you stay for a little while?” she asks. “Just until I’m in a deep sleep?”

My body stirs. Signals fire through me. Lying next to her will trigger the hunger inside me. I know that. But I want to put her first. I’ll just be vigilant, try not to obsess over her curvy body, the hitching breath, her heat radiating as if roaring at me to tear off our clothes and finally press our naked skin together.

“Of course,” I say gruffly.

I lie down, pulling her into my arms. She moans and shuffles closer to me.

I stroke my hand through her hair, teeth gritted, warning myself to be civilized.