Page 176 of Sinful Lord

“I love you too,” I sob. With a weak hand, I lift his chin and stare back into those stunning silver-blue eyes. “Never leave me again.”

“I won’t,” he promises, clumsily shaking his head. Pressing his forehead against mine, he tries to fill his lungs with another deep breath. But this one doesn’t take. His grip loosens around me. His body grows heavy. Still, he finds the strength to plant a final kiss on my lips before his eyes close.

“Stay with me,” I beg. Pressing into his plush lips, I savor every last moment of him. “Please.”

“I will,” he whispers. “I… I just need to take a quick nap…”

His head drops against my shoulder.

It doesn’t matter how heavy he is, I carry his weight.

I always will.

32

Tytus

I wake up in a room I don’t recognize.

Yet somehow, it feels right.

It feels like home.

It only takes a second to understand why.

“There you are,” I quietly rasp, my throat so dry it hurts. Still, a smile lifts my sore cheeks when I spot the torn painting hanging at the foot of my bed.

Melina’s unfinished masterpiece.

… But that’s not all.

The room, it’s filled with her paintings. Most of them look like they’ve just been finished, but I’d recognize the powerful style anywhere.

She painted these.

Shit. How long have I been out for?

Gritting my teeth, I turn my head. The room smells like paint. It’s a wonderful scent, one that reminds me of her. It helps ease my throbbing headache and calm the terrible soreness griping my body.

But even that’s not enough to keep my heart from twitching as I remember what happened before I passed out. The penthouse. Krol. The knife. Maksim saving my ass with his sniper. Yasha’s business partner, Manfred Shulz, hardly being worth the detour it took to kidnap him.

Fuck. I should have expected Krol to set some traps of his own. But I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. All I wanted was my girl.

Hell, that’s all I still want.

So, where is she?

My answer comes quickly enough, and it’s joined by a deep breath of sweet, yet painful relief.

Out of the corner of my eye, there’s an easel. It props up a half-finished painting. On the floor beneath that is the girl I risked everything for.

Melina is curled up in the lush carpet, hugging her glistening paint brush. I push myself up in bed, desperate to get a better look. The second I move, she jolts awake.

“Tytus?” she asks, drearily searching the room with sleepy eyes. When her gaze lands on me, the weariness disappears. She jumps to her feet and lunges at me.

There’s no time to prepare. The pretty little cannonball smashes against my ribs, wrapping me in a groan inducing hug.

“Easy there, angel,” I cough. “It feels like I’m more bruise than man right now.”