I opened my mouth obediently, arms circling his broad shoulders, pulling him tight into my embrace.
He set down his empty glass, both solid arms locking around my waist, face buried deep in the crook of my neck. Burning breath ironed against my skin. The Pakhan who could summon storms outside was, in this moment, just a man who needed to be held.
Only the soft ticking of the wall clock remained in the kitchen.
I didn't speak. Just stood there quietly, fingers threading gently through his silver-short hair, stroking slowly and tenderly.
In this moment, I knew clearly.
We'd gone way beyond any agreement a long time ago.
Chapter Seventeen
Nikolai
Dawn hadn't broken yet.
The quietest hour in the manor, caught between night and morning. Even the security patrol's footsteps in the hallway seemed lighter than usual, as if the whole building was holding its breath.
I woke first.
Not startled awake by any sound. My body just opened its eyes at a certain point. This had been happening for years—my nervous system had long stopped allowing me to sleep too deep or too long. A habit forced by this line of work. Or maybe instinct.
But this morning, I didn't get up right away.
I leaned against the headboard. A steady, warm rise and fall pressed against my chest. Vivienne curled like a cat who'd finally dropped all her defenses, her whole body nestled in my arms.
Her chestnut curls spilled wild across my chest and those vicious old scars. One smooth leg claimed my waist with absolute authority.
I looked down at her lips, slightly parted in sleep.
Last night's loss of control—like a hurricane with no warning.
For twenty years, my bed had been just a tool for brief recovery. Aloaded Glock always under my pillow. I was used to waking at the slightest disturbance, used to guarding against the whole world.
But last night, after that clash that nearly burned both our souls to ash, I'd fallen into deep, defenseless sleep in her warmth.
Against every instinct.
I lifted my hand, achingly slow and controlled, sliding down the curve of her bare spine.
I'd always seen emotion as a fatal weakness. Poison. But now, feeling her pulse beat, that cold void in my chest—the one that had been leaking ice for years—filled with something that made my heart stutter.
I didn't want to examine what the hell this feeling was. I only knew one thing—she was mine.
This body.
This soul.
Completely mine.
I carefully freed myself, tucked her leg back under the silk covers, pulled on black suit pants, and left the bedroom bare-chested.
The study air carried a lethal chill.
Sasha already stood by the desk like a shadow without temperature.
"Situation." I walked to the bar, poured myself ice water, my voice returning to the Pakhan's absolute cold.
