Chapter 76: A Quiet Warmth

Catherine frowned faintly, confused by the way Maximilian had gone suddenly still. His silence lingered a second too long.

So she followed his gaze.

Down.

And of course…

Of course.

Her boobs.

Men!

She let out a long breath, rolling her eyes as she turned away, lifting her wine glass as if this was merely a minor inconvenience in her evening.

“Lock the door behind you,” she said calmly.

Behind her, she heard the soft click of the door closing. Maximilian allowed himself a small, relieved smile. For a moment there, he had thought his lapse in control had been obvious enough for her to throw him out.

Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed the full extent of it and allowed her in.

Catherine walked to the bed and sat cross-legged, lifting the glass to her lips again. Her expression was thoughtful now, distant, calculating even through the soft haze of wine.

Maximilian remained standing in front of her, still in his bathrobe, hair damp and dripping faintly against his neck. His arms folded across his chest in a defensive posture, as if he didn’t trust himself to let them hang loose.

She could feel his gaze. She ignored it.

Right now, she wasn’t in the mood to analyze whatever storm was running through his mind.

She could give him the five-second kiss the bracelet demanded… and send him away.

That had been the plan.

But the distance had shrunk too suddenly. Not when she expected it. Not when she had been prepared for it.

The thought of sitting down and discussing it, analyzing the mechanics of it, even arguing about it… felt exhausting.

She was too tired.

Too relaxed.

Too pleased with how the day had gone.

And just a little too lightheaded from the wine to think any further.

“You can sleep here tonight,” she said at last, pointing lazily to the other side of the bed.

Maximilian blinked.

For a second, his mind went completely blank—every theorem, every calculation he had been desperately reciting in his head to keep his thoughts under control simply vanished.

Did she… understand what she was asking?

Because the moment she had opened that door—dressed in nothing but that silk slip that traced every curve, every soft rise and dip of her body—his restraint had been hanging by a thread.

Her skin still held the glow of a warm bath, dewy and soft, carrying a scent that felt like spring air and something far more dangerous beneath it. Memories of their earlier closeness and the shape of her boobs were still fresh on his mind.

He wanted to cross that distance in one step.

And she was…

This calm about it?

Still, Maximilian knew his limits.

Catherine might appear composed, even permissive… but if he misread a single boundary, she would burn him to ash without hesitation.

So, he said nothing. But he knew it was going to be a long night.

Catherine placed her wine glass on the nightstand and slipped under the covers, turning her back to him as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

Within minutes, her breathing softened.

Steady.

Even.

She fell asleep quickly and deeply, as though the moment her body touched the bed, it claimed the rest she had denied it for days.

And Maximilian stood there for a long moment longer, staring at the woman he wanted, sleeping within arm’s reach, while the bracelet on her wrist pulsed faintly in the dim light.

A quiet, relentless reminder that this night was far from simple.

He dragged a hand through his damp hair and turned away, trying to gather himself. He needed to cool down, to get his thoughts under control before he did something reckless.

He walked to the bathroom and reached for a towel.

But the moment he lifted it, he stilled.

Her scent.

Soft. Floral. Warm. The faint sweetness of her soap mixed with something that was uniquely Catherine—something that had no name and no mercy on his self-control.

He pressed the towel against his face for a second longer than necessary, breathing in before he could stop himself.

That was a mistake.

His body reacted instantly, traitorously, heat surging through him with embarrassing efficiency. His little guy swung up, and ended up hard enough to hang that towel on it.

Maximilian let out a long, controlled breath, closing his eyes.

Nothing about this situation was working in his favor.

Not the scent.

Not the proximity.

Not the memory of how she had looked standing at that door in nothing but silk and warm light.

He forced himself to move, to think of anything else, but his thoughts kept circling back to her.

Always her.

Eventually, he gave up fighting it and returned quietly to bed.

Catherine hadn’t even pulled the covers over herself. She had simply collapsed into sleep, one shoulder bare, hair spread softly against the pillow like dark silk.

Something in his chest tightened at the sight.

Carefully, gently, he reached out and pulled the duvet over her shoulder, tucking it in so she wouldn’t wake cold.

His hand hovered for a second longer than necessary.

He withdrew it slowly.

This…

This wasn’t something he had ever allowed himself to imagine. Not like this. Not in a quiet room, without politics, without blood, without distance between them.

Just her.

Sleeping.

Trusting him enough to fall asleep beside him without a second thought.

For a moment, he simply stood there, looking at her, letting that truth settle in his chest. He had not expected to be given something so fragile.

So precious.

His lips curved into a faint, helpless smile.

He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to reach out and tap her nose just to see her scrunch it in annoyance.

He didn’t.

Instead, he turned off the lamp and slipped into the other side of the bed, keeping a careful distance between them as he lay on his side, facing her back.

The faint rise and fall of her breathing was the only sound in the room.

“My Beloved Katerina…” he murmured softly, the name slipping out before he could stop it.

It lingered in the quiet between them.

And slowly, with that quiet warmth still settled in his chest, Maximilian closed his eyes and let sleep take him too.

Catherine’s sleep fractured under a slow, relentless heat pooling low in her core.

She stirred.

The old clock ticked steadily on the wall, and pale dawn light slipped through the curtains, washing the room in a soft blue hush.

And…

Something felt… off.

A weight. Warm. Firm.

Her chest tightened slightly, confusion clouding her still-sleepy mind as her hand drifted upward to check…

… and met another hand.

Large.

Warm.

Very much not hers.

Maximilian’s hand lay there, resting over her, cupping her mounds as if it belonged there, as if it had always belonged there, as if they were his personal stress balls.

Catherine blinked once.

Twice.

Her brain caught up.

Excuse me?

Her eyes snapped wide open.

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