A Virgin for His Prize(46)

He might have no direct personal experience with that kind of thing, but Maxwell had always assumed a wife would be more demanding of his time and attention than any of his lovers.

Hence his lack of desire to ever enter the wedded state. Before this.

He wanted Romi, though. And she required more than a short-term affair. Though she’d tried to talk him into a one-night stand. For her first time.

He could not believe she’d thought a single night would be enough for them.

They were not just combustible in bed, he and Romi were an atom separating with nuclear force. Only they generated that kind of power when they came together.

The housekeeper led him into the living room, where Romi was sitting on the sofa looking through the same photo albums that had so fascinated him. Her father’s drinking problem and loss of her mother aside, Romi had lived a clearly happy childhood.

The photographic evidence had shown that and so much more. Those albums revealed Harry Grayson’s deep love for his daughter and for the woman he had married and lost.

Looking through them had made Maxwell question for the first time whether domestic bliss was truly an oxymoron.

Romi looked up when he came into the room, her gaze not quite focused, her thoughts clearly in the past. “Max. You’re here.”

“As you see,” he replied wryly.

She smiled, her attention fixing more firmly on him. “On time. I’m impressed.”

“You said seven.”

“I did.” She closed and stacked the albums. “I thought we could eat here before going back to your place.”

So, she wasn’t going to fight spending the night with him. Good.

The relief he felt in response to that knowledge was not acute. He was simply glad to avoid that particular argument.

They had more important things to do with their time. “I have reservations.” At one of San Francisco’s best restaurants.

It also happened to be one he knew Romi enjoyed.

Romi smiled at him persuasively. “Mrs. K made her famous spinach lasagna.”

“Famous with whom?” he asked, not averse to the more private setting for their conversation.

Romi shrugged, self-deprecation in her tone. “Maddie and me.”

“Then, by all means, I must taste this famous lasagna.”

Romi’s smile was blinding then and he made no effort to squelch the urge to kiss the happily curved lips.

Afterward, while Romi put away the photo albums, he called and canceled his reservations.

The table in the formal dining room was large enough for sixteen, but only one end was set, shrinking the large space to friendly dimensions. The white linen and candles set a tone that he hoped boded well for Romi’s decision.

He pulled the light blue ring box out of his pocket and set it beside the place setting meant for Romi.

Her eyes tracked his movements, her expression for once not revealing even the smallest detail of what she was thinking. “I thought you were bringing that to dinner tomorrow.”

“I will then, too, if that is necessary.” But after last night, what were the chances Romi was really going to deny him?

Pretty low.

Maxwell spent his days assessing decisions just like this one and he rarely made a mistake. The emotional component existed in business as well.

The only true unknown entity was the way Romi’s mind worked. Her reactions were guided by a set of rules he did not understand. He was still nearly one-hundred-percent sure of the outcome.

For one thing, there was the possibility, no matter how remote, that she was pregnant.

Ramona Grayson wasn’t the type of woman to dismiss that as unimportant.

For another, she had wanted to give him her innocence. That was a gift of unparalleled importance in either of their worlds and would factor into her decision, even if she refused to acknowledge that truth to herself.

Romi didn’t answer his implied question, but took her seat. He joined her, unsurprised when Mrs. K came in with the salad course immediately.

“Tell me about your day,” he said to Romi as he spread his napkin in his lap.

She didn’t hesitate, opening up with frustrated candor about her phone call with Jeremy Archer. “He’s just so cold.”

“Business is all he knows.”

Romi dismissed that with a wave of her hand, her fork thankfully empty. “Some people would the say the same about you, but you’re not like him.”

“You don’t think so?” he asked, surprised by the observation.

He and the president of AIH had a lot in common. Though Maxwell was better at business than the older man. His killer instincts were more refined and his focus wasn’t caught up with how he looked to others. Maxwell did whatever the hell he wanted and didn’t worry if old-money San Francisco business approved.