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There’s that word again, sending impossible contentment shattering through me, threatening to make me scream with all the pent-up pressure.
“I don’t think it would be the best idea right now.”
“No.” His eyes darkened, becoming intense. “Not right this moment. But on our date… I think I’m going to make you sing for me, and if you don’t - I might have to bend you over and spank that round juicy ass of yours.”
“Juicy,” I murmur. “You mean—”
“I meant what I said,” he snaps. “And if I ever hear you talk negatively about your perfect body, princess, I’m not going to be fucking happy. Understand?”
His muscles expand and tendons bulge in his neck as passion blazes through him.
Reaching up, I paw at his chest, feeling like my fingernails could snap on his boulder-like pectorals.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
“I just hate the thought of you ever doubting how sexy, how beautiful, how perfect you are.”
“I’ve never thought of myself as perfect,” I murmur.
He wraps his arms around me and hugs me close, my cheek resting against the firmness of his chest. His lips press against the top of my head as he inhales for a long moment, as though savoring the feeling of me against him – as though he knows this could end before it has a chance to properly begin.
It has begun, a voice says inside of me. And there’s no going back.
“I hate that you’ve never thought of yourself as beautiful, Kelly. I don’t want you to doubt that anymore.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
We stay like that for a long time, simply holding each other, our bodies feeling like they could melt and become one at any second.
But all too soon Kane has to leave. We don’t even discuss it.
He just gives me this look, as if to say, You know what could happen if I stay.
Of course, I know.
Lena could catch us.
Everything could come crashing down.
And yet I don’t long for the previous seven days when we kept everything on the surface. When I was left to wonder if he still felt for me as I feel for him. Because no matter what happens, we belong to each other.
Forever.
There’s no going back.
Chapter Eighteen
Kane
Jocko and I stand on the rooftop of the house, looking across the open water to the Sicilian shore.
It’s the morning after my willpower crumbled and I stalked down the hallway into Kelly’s room, the morning after I unleashed myself on her because fighting the urge was starting to eat me up inside.
A strange peace settles over me as we stare at the glittering water, infused with the early-morning sun, and yet keep our gazes swiveling back and forth over the landscape to make sure no Bratva is going to appear.
The effort of holding myself back these past seven days – even with the welcome distraction of reconnecting with my daughter – has put me on edge, making every part of me feel taut.
But now I have the memory of her moans in my head, the way she shivered for me, and the glorious writhing of her body as I brought her to orgasm.
“I’ve got news,” Jocko says into the silence.
“Yeah?”
“Had word from the States. You know how you asked me to put a call out onto the airport, to check if any of the Bratva returned?”
I nod, remembering back to a few days ago when we formulated all our plans, working our asses off to try and get out of this bind. The obvious answer was to go to the police, but the authorities here aren’t as trustworthy as I initially thought. A deep dive via Jocko’s Stateside connections taught us that they’re friendlier with the Russians than we previously thought.
“Sergey has returned?” I say, hardly daring to let hope flare into my voice.
If Sergey has returned to America, it means we can take the women back there and I can get some true privacy with Kelly.
Shit, that’s a selfish thought to have, especially as my first, but I can’t deny the truth of it as it whirs inside of me.
Not being able to take her on a date, to be alone with her, to tame her curvy body and push up inside of her – it’s eating me up inside.
“Not Sergey,” Jocko says. “But most of his men have. Without him.”
My interest spikes. “Did you…”
I don’t need to finish the sentence, not where Jocko is concerned. “Yeah, I’ve done my research. The same as you’d do if our buddies knew you were alive. The Bratva has grown tired of Sergey’s pride, of his personal vendetta. We made the right call waiting this thing out.”
“But Sergey is still in Malta somewhere?”
Jocko nods gruffly. “With a few of his men, maybe four or five. He must’ve promised them a damn bounty if they’re sticking with him once the others have withdrawn their support.”
