Page 121 of Scarred Ruin

Grabbing and hugging a pillow, I slumped further down, allowing the soft leather to wrap around me. It had been an exhausting twenty-four hours.

My eyes were heavy and I indulged by closing them, hoping that when I opened them again, everything would be different and that maybe, just maybe I could figure out why I’d fallen for the man.

Laughing, I turned my head to the side, crushing the pillow against my chest. Yes. Perhaps it was time to have my head examined. As I felt the tension slipping away from my body, there was a single image that came to my mind.

Maxsim’s perfectly chiseled face.

“Mmm…” Something soft and warm. A delicious scent. Cedarwood and… Blood? My eyes snapped open, a moment of horror settling in. “What?”

“Ssshhh… Everything is okay.”

His deep baritone was barely a whisper in my ear. “Maxsim?” I had to blink several times to realize I wasn’t seeing things. “You’re alive.”

“Of course I’m alive, my sweet guardian angel. I told you I’d be back and I never lie. Never.”

“You bastard. I was so worried about you.” My rection was to smack his face, albeit playfully, but he was too quick for me, snatching my hand into his and bringing my palm to his lips.

“You were, huh?”

“Yes.” I tried to jerk my arm free while scanning every inch of him that I could see to check for injuries. “I smell blood.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. What is that on your shirt?” Even as he was kissing my hand, already creating wave after wave of tingles, I snatched a handful of material, more furious with him than ever. He was on his knees on the floor and I finally managed to free my other hand, cupping his rugged cheek. I felt a sudden rush of warmth crisscrossing my body as well as between my thighs.

He was alive. He was here.

He was safe.

I was close to hyperventilating.

Maxsim fisted the back of my hair, pulling our lips close. “It’s over, baby. We’re going to be just fine.” As he crushed his mouth over mine, the kiss wasn’t just a warm welcoming or a moment of letting go, but a statement about the future. Whatever had occurred had been dangerous and undoubtedly deadly, but none of that mattered.

He was here.

He was with me, holding me. Caressing me.

With his tongue slipping inside, I felt more grounded than I had in a long time. The taste of him was sweet, his hold powerful. The man had a way of causing me to melt even when I didn’t want to.

When he finally pulled back, my lips were tingling and my head was spinning. The nervous knot in my chest was completely gone, replaced by a quiet, steady warmth that said everything was going to be okay.

Yet I still pounded on his chest. “You had me worried half to death. You didn’t text. You didn’t call. It’s Christmas.”

“Yes,” he muttered and pulled a box from his jacket, the gold bow glittering in the lighting in the room. “Merry Christmas, baby. I got home as soon as I could.”

“This isn’t going to get you out of the doghouse.” I noticed his hand was bruised. When I rubbed my finger across his knuckles, a cold shiver shot down my spine. “You’re injured.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then you hurt someone.”

“I did what I needed to do. Open your present.” He lifted a single eyebrow, wearing his signature grin. His jaw was covered in dark stubble, his eyes reflecting the same exhaustion I’d felt since the party.

I shifted my gaze to the box while he continued wiggling it in front of me. “What is that?”

“Santa left it by the front door. I don’t know.” There was blood on his shirt, but from what I could tell, not from a personal injury.

“First, you need to tell me what happened. You smell like smoke. You’re hurt. What about the warehouse? The news report was horrific but didn’t provide any decent information. Your daughter has been beside herself asking about her papa. And we made sugar cookies. Together. And⁠—”