A cold, low voice with an absolute metallic edge cut down from the top of the stairs like a blade pressed to someone's throat.
I didn't hesitate for half a second.
I turned around. Nikolai stood halfway down the staircase. His gray eyes locked on Derek with pure, undisguised intent to kill. No anger. Just lethal purpose.
I walked straight to him. Before he'd fully descended the last step, I reached out, grabbed his arm, and leaned into him.
"Honey," I looked up, voice so saccharine even I got goosebumps, "you're finally down. I've been waiting forever."
His arm muscles tensed under my palm for an instant. Then an extremely faint curve touched his lips. His large hand spread, locked around my waist, and crushed me against his solid chest. The movement was so practiced you'd think we'd rehearsed it a thousand times.
"What happened?" he asked. Voice flat as glass, but the bone-chilling pressure even heavier. "My fiancée doesn't look happy."
"Nothing." I played along, burying my face in his suit lapel, breathing in that cold scent of cedar and gunpowder. "Just tired. Derek insisted on catching up. Took a bit of time."
I heard an extremely low rumble from Nikolai's chest. He lifted his eyes toward Derek. "Catching up?"
Derek froze. That smug, disgusting expression vanished completely. His face looked like he'd swallowed a whole dead rat. He opened his mouth, but under Nikolai's gaze—the way you'd look at a corpse—every word stuck in his throat.
"I was just..." His Adam's apple bobbed. He stuttered, backing up half a step. "Just saying hello to an old friend."
"Old friend." Nikolai rolled those two words on his tongue. "Derek,I recall you're married. Does your wife know you 'greet old friends' this enthusiastically?"
The atmosphere froze instantly.
Derek's face flushed crimson. He didn't dare say a word in response, just whipped around and scurried out of the living room like a whipped dog.
Only after his footsteps completely disappeared down the corridor did I exhale deeply.
I braced my hands against Nikolai's chest, about to step out of his embrace, when the large hand at my waist suddenly tightened, pinning my hip bone hard against his thigh.
"Vivienne." His voice scraped past my ear, carrying a low magnetic frequency that made my spine tingle. "What did he say to you just now?"
"Nothing important." I was forced to tilt my head back, meeting those stormy gray eyes. "A pile of garbage. Said he regretted it. Wanted to start over."
Nikolai's gaze instantly dropped to absolute zero. "Start over?"
"Give me a break," I patted his solid chest, snorting. "I already told him to fuck off. Honestly, even if every man on earth dropped dead, I'd rather date a rock than look at him twice."
Nikolai stared at me. That gaze was heavy, weighted with intense scrutiny.
Several seconds later, he suddenly lowered his head, pressing his lips hard against my temple.
That wasn't a gentle kiss—it was a brand, an absolute declaration of ownership. Scorching breath burned against my skin, making my heart skip several beats.
"If he comes within three feet of you again," he lifted his head, voice rough as sandpaper, "tell me. I'll make him forget how to open his mouth."
I nodded. Only then did I suddenly realize how dangerous our current position was.
His arm locked around my waist like iron. Mypalm pressed against his rapidly beating heart. Too close—close enough to feel the taut outline of his thigh muscles.
"Nikolai," I swallowed, throat suddenly dry, "he's gone. You can let go now."
"Don't want to." He didn't move. His thumb even pressed further, rubbing through the fabric at the small of my back, voice sliding into dangerously dark territory. "You threw yourself into my arms, used me, and now you want to run?"
"That was—" My brain short-circuited. I stammered a defense. "That was acting!"
"Oh?" He arched one sharp eyebrow, a predatory fire igniting in his eyes. "You acted well. So, fiancée, want to finish the performance?"
