Maksim's breathing seemed calmer, his wits more gathered, which made her feel even more stupid for being a blithering idiot.
Then he wiped a hand over his face, and she noticed his hand was shaking. Seeing that he was affected, too, made her feel better—not that it should. Nothing should be making her feel better. What was she doing?
"You don't have to be sorry," he said, his voice husky and even more accented than usual. "I don't want you to be sorry."
"I–I just don't think this is a wise idea for us, Maksim. I've got—a lot that I'm trying to deal with, and I–I just can't."
He nodded, but she didn't get the feeling he agreed.
"I think you are great. And I do appreciate you being here for me tonight." God, her words sounded lame to her own ears. Especially when she did want him. She so wanted him.
But she couldn't go there. She couldn't lose control of herself again. Too much was at stake for her now.
He nodded again, then laughed, the sound dry and humorless. "I don't usually get the ‘it's not you, it's me' speech."
"Maksim," she started, but didn't really know what to say. She couldn't really comfort him. That was the speech she was giving him, and it was for the best.
He rose then, wiping his hands down the front of his pants as if smoothing away any wrinkles would help him gain control of the situation. She understood that feeling. She'd lived that way her whole life. Keep things ordered, keep busy, and that would keep things safe and keep her in control. She didn't like to lose control.
Every time she ever had—she'd paid for it. She closed her eyes; she was paying now.
She opened her eyes when she heard Maksim's feet on the wooden floorboards. He was leaving—and her first instinct was to stop him.
No. Let him go. It was for the best.
But instead of going to the door, he walked into the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open. The suction of the seal releasing sounded very loud in the quiet apartment.
He was taking his ice cream. She supposed she couldn't blame him. As all over the map as her behavior was, if she were him, she'd probably take her ice cream and go, too. He'd probably decided he couldn't get away from her fast enough.
And that was a good thing, she told herself. Then she wished she believed as much as she told herself she should.
He returned to the living room, and she saw she was right. He had the pint ice cream container in his hand. Then she noticed he also held two spoons in the other.
He lifted the items in the air. "Let's have some ice cream."
"Maksim," she said slowly, not wanting this to be any more difficult than it already was.
"Just ice cream, Jo."
She stared at him. Somehow she didn't think there was anything as simple as just ice cream with Maksim.
Just tell him no.
"I bet all you've eaten tonight is some of that awful-looking mush in the bowl in the sink," he said, then waving the ice cream temptingly.
She smiled despite herself, shaking her head at both his accurateness and his persistence. "And ice cream is a better meal than yogurt and granola?"
"It definitely tastes better. And this happens to have peanut butter and pretzels." He scanned the label. "Let's see it has vitamin A, calcium, of course, iron, and even vitamin C." He gave her an impressed look. "That's pretty healthy."
Jo shook her head again, then held out a hand for one of the spoons.
Maksim couldn't believe he was fine with this. Relieved and content even. That sitting here on her sofa, with nothing touching but their knees, alternatively taking spoonfuls of ice cream from the container he balanced between them, was enough for him. Was this what he'd fallen to? And as a demon, one would have thought he'd already fallen as far as he could go.
"This is good," Jo said, taking another large scoopful. She'd eaten over half the container, which pleased him, too. Another oddity. Pleasure from feeding her. Strange.
She nibbled at the creamy confection, savoring each bite.
"See. Much better than that other stuff." He grimaced at the thought of her earlier snack.
"I like yogurt and granola."
"I'll forgive you."
She regarded him, narrowing her eyes speculatively. "You don't look like you'd have a sweet tooth. You look like a low carb/high protein guy who spends most of his time in the gym."
He took a bite of his own ice cream, relishing it before he answered, "Is that a compliment or an insult? I can't decide."
She laughed, the sound stroking over his skin. Then she licked her spoon clean. He watched, finding each lap of her tongue intensely, painfully arousing, imagining that small pink tongue licking over his flesh, savoring him.
Oblivious to his desire, she set the utensil down on her coffee table.
"That was wonderful. Thank you." She leaned back against the pillows of the sofa looking like a content cat, her eyes growing drowsy, her eyelids heavy.
He wished he'd done more than share a container of ice cream with her to make her feel so satisfied, so sleepy.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice slurred with exhaustion. "I'm falling asleep on you."
He nodded, even though he wasn't sure if she was looking at him from under her dark lashes.
"Yeah. Well, I think you need some rest."
"That's the general consensus," she repeated with a sleepy half smile.
Maksim watched her for a moment, then finished off the last of the melting ice cream, wondering why he wasn't more irritated with the evening's chain of events. He'd wanted to sleep with this woman—not watch her doze on the sofa. He'd wanted their kissing to continue, but he'd let her stop without even forcing the issue.
And he wanted her right this minute with an intensity that was a little frightening, but instead he eased off the sofa, being careful not to jar her, and put both spoons in the sink and the empty container in the trash.
He walked back in the living room and again studied her. She now slept. He supposed he should be insulted. It was bad enough she was turning him down—but clearly she was wasn't struggling with the same raging desires he was. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight, that was for sure.
But instead of feeling angry or resentful or even annoyed, he felt—okay. She needed her sleep. He knew that. And there was always tomorrow. It wasn't like he was giving up. He was just giving her a break. For tonight.
He grabbed a fleece blanket from the place where it was folded on the back of the sofa, and draped it over Jo.
Then he did something he couldn't say he'd ever done in his life. He kissed a woman's forehead.
"Good night," he whispered, and left the apartment.
CHAPTER 11
"I'm not ruining my marriage over this."
Jo stared at Jackson, trying to comprehend several things all at once. Awful, confusing, heartbreaking facts that she'd refused to see.
"I'm not ruining my marriage for you."
Jackson stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed, his mouth pursed into a thin line, looking at her as if she were nothing more than dirt marring the perfection of his ideal life. A life that included a wife and children.
How hadn't she known? Was she really that naïve? Or had she just not wanted to see? Had she ignored the signs that were right in front of her?
Jo tried not to cry as she turned away from him and ran. But she didn't make it far before she dashed blindly into someone. Someone tall and muscular, his arms coming around her.
She looked up. "Maksim?"
Maksim smiled at her, the crooked curl of his lips, taking her breath away. Then he kissed her. A wonderful, slow, deliciously sexy kiss. He tasted like vanilla and chocolate and need.
She wanted more of him, but he backed away from her. She held out her hand, but he kept moving away. Then he spun, walking fast, as if he wanted to get away from her as quickly as he could. She followed.