Page 51 of Lord of Passion

Like his soul,I add to myself

There's the requisite gleaming stainless-steel stove, and ovens, a massive refrigerator and another smaller one just for wine. Two dishwashers? Nikandr must throw a hell of a lot of parties. There's a couple of other appliances that I don't fully understand and one that I'm pretty sure is a coffee maker. There is one thing out of place in this chilly perfection, a vertical section of brick wall with a vertical garden, mostly herbs with delicate English ivy curling between them.

There's a flashing light from the thing that I think makes coffee and I am correct as a dark brew pours into the carafe. It smells amazing and I drift over to the counter, hearing my heels click in the otherwise silent space.

This is good. I get my coffee, I get the hell out of here and go to work, where things are sane and I can control my environment.

I pour a cup of coffee, no cream or sugar, because I like that first blissful hit of caffeine to enter my bloodstream as quickly as possible. Blowing on it, I step over to look out a window in the main room.

There is rich, the way I grew up, in a beautiful house. We had a vacation home, nice cars, and I had a good education.

Then, there is stupidly, stratospherically, out of this world andobscenelywealthy, and this penthouse is a living testament to that. The view of one of the most powerful cities in the world, makes me picture Nikandr standing here, seeing it all as his domain.

I take my first blissful sip of coffee right as I hear his voice behind me.

"Good, you're awake."

I almost drop my mug and wheeze, choking on that swallow, patting my chest as I try to get it down, eyes watering.

There'sthe start of the day I was hoping for.

Nikandr is strolling toward me, he's in a dark gray suit with a red tie and he looks fucking amazing. And I'm sure he knows it. "How did you sleep?" he asks.

"Fine, thank you," I take another sip of coffee and try to not look directly at him. He's like an eclipse, oddly mesmerizing and extremely damaging. I'm trying to keep my wits about me so I can slide out of here as quickly as possible. "I have a ton of meetings today and catching up with my work at the Lyric, so I'll just be leaving now."

I'm almost past him, almost home free. I can see my purse and my laptop bag waiting for me on the round table in the entryway.

"Before you go, let me introduce you to your bodyguards."

"Excuse me?" I say, nearly dropping my coffee again.

His hazel eyes narrow slightly as he assesses me. "You, of course, understand you'll have security now just the way Liria does."

"I hadn’t really thought about it," I admit. "Having been married for what- thirty-six hours? I'm sure the enormity of it all will come crashing down on me today," I smile sweetly.

Nikandr's lips move the barest hint of a smile and he calls out, "Isaak and Rafail, join us please."

The two men who walk down the hall that may as well have, "Property of the Morozov Bratva" stamped on their foreheads.Both are built like bears, wearing black suits, and with cropped black hair. They look enough alike that I wonder if they're twins or brothers. Glancing down, I see the tattoos on their fingers so they're probably ex-soldiers (or ex-convicts) transplanted from Mother Russia.

"Gentlemen," I nod politely before turning to Nikandr. "Do I really need two bodyguards? Wouldn't one just be enough?"

He moves close enough that I can smell good coffee, the clean cotton scent of his shirt, and the warmth of his cologne, something smoky. "Given the unidentified threats against our family and the attack the other day, I feel that it's wise to make sure you have proper protection at all times."

This is overkill. Either one of these guys looks like he could tear the arm off any human being and then beat them to death with it. And I need two of them?

Blowing out a sigh, I ask, "Hi, which one of you is Isaak?" He nods gravely.

"Ma'am." He's got skulls on three of his knuckles. Okay, Isaak: skull knuckle guy. "Then, you must be Rafail." Their presence alone is so threatening, that they're making me feel vaguely uncomfortable.

"Yes, Mrs. Morozova. Good morning." Rafail has a bit of a Russian accent.

Okay, the more outgoing of the two. Good. "Gentlemen, I'm going to be honest with you. I'm not that exciting," I say apologetically. "I work a lot at the hotel. And I don't know how to say this politely so I'll just say it. You are going to scare the shit out of my guests and my employees. You have to find a way to tone the whole…" I wave my hands awkwardly, "Menacing thing down."

Rafail looks like he's trying to hide a smile, Isaak stares at me, stone faced. "Yes ma'am," Rafail says. "We will do our best."

Nikandr is watching all of this with his usual haughty chill. "Thank you for a wildly overprotective concern," I tell him. "Is there anything else before I leave?"

"We have a late dinner tonight with my parents, Andrey and Dasha, my little sister. They'll be coming here."