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Light from the street and the park glittered like fireflies in the delicate crystals.
He’d violated every rule of surveillance. Of protection. Every rule of whatever in hell it was he’d agreed to do for Ekaterina Rostov. Operations like this were not personal. You didn’t get involved. You sure as hell didn’t let your emotions take over.
He knew he should be pissed off. Not at her. At himself. Instead, what he felt was joy.
He’d liked a lot of women, enjoyed their company; he’d sure as hell enjoyed taking them to bed, but this—
This was different.
Something was happening to him. He didn’t know what it was, but he liked the way it made him feel. Happy. Content. At peace, if that made sense.
The other emotions inside him?
Not so good. Definitely, not so good.
Kaz’s mouth thinned.
He was hot with anger.
He knew of Gregor Rostov. The man was dangerous. He was a schemer. God only knew what kind of political alliances he had. A smart man would never turn his back on Rostov.
And now, he’d sold his daughter. To the highest bidder. To the king. Kaz’s grandfather. It was a brilliant political maneuver, marrying the Sardovian heir to the throne to the daughter of a man who might otherwise one day flex his muscle as an enemy.
Katie. Beautiful, spirited, bright, tenderhearted Katie, married to Prince Dmitri, Kaz’s dead father’s brother.
Kaz wanted to punch his fist through the wall.
But that wouldn’t help Katie.
And there had to be a way, there had to be…
“Mmm.”
Kaz rolled to his side. “Katie?” She sighed and he brushed his lips over hers. “Sweetheart. Are you awake?”
She wasn’t. Not really, and he knew that. But he wanted her. Needed her. He kissed her again, still lightly, held the kiss until he felt her lips cling to his.
“Kaz?”
Her voice was husky, rough with sleep. A good man would have done nothing more than draw her closer, stroke her until she drifted off—but he wasn’t a good man, he was a man in desperate need of tasting the honeyed sweetness of Katie’s lips, of hearing her soft cries as he drew the beaded tip of her breast into the warmth of his mouth.
She sighed. Her body shifted against his. “Kazimir,” she whispered.
He moved over her. Her arms rose, looped around his neck.
He kissed her. Parted her lips with his tongue.
Her sigh became a moan.
She sobbed his name as he kissed his way down her belly, to the apex of her thighs, put his mouth to her, and savored her sweet essence.
“You can’t,” she said, “oh God, you can’t!” She cried out. “Kaz! I’m going to—I’m going to—”
“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you, I promise. I won’t let you fall.”
She came in a blinding rush, her cries of ecstasy rising into the snow-lit room. Kaz rose over her, scooped her into his arms, kissed her mouth, let her taste their mingled passion. Held her until she stopped trembling.
Then he entered her.
