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Lyon sighed wearily. “Don’t thank me yet.”
He turned and headed down the sidewalk to the waiting Rover.
Moscow? What the fuck?
11
Kira sighed and sunk deeper into the hot scented water of the big tub in her private bathroom. The tiny bathroom on Orcas Island hadn’t had a soaking tub.
She hadn’t actively missed the luxuries of the penthouse while she’d been gone — she’d missed Lyon far more, before she remembered he was a monster — but now she had to admit that there was something to be said for comfort.
She’d spent the last three days settling back in, returning her belongings, which Zoya said Lyon had forced her to pack and store, to the suite and moving Dimitri and Odette back into the bedroom. She smiled as she remembered how happy they’d been to see her, chirping and hopping along her arm, nuzzling her cheeks with their beaks.
She’d avoided Lyon as much as possible, taking her meals in her room unless she was certain he would be out of the house. She wrapped herself in blankets, returning to her favorite lounge chair on the patio where she stared at the frozen lake, contemplating her options for the future, the possibilities for securing her freedom from the man who held the keys to her gilded cage.
She’d filled Zoya in on her absence, and Zoya had in turn told Kira about Lyon’s silent rage while she’d been gone. Her old friend had described Lyon’s retreat upon reading Kira’s letter, the way he’d disappeared behind a mask of indifference, a mask that had only slipped when he ordered Zoya to remove Kira’s things — birds included — from her bedroom.
There had been no women. Not in the penthouse at least. Kira hated the relief she’d felt when Zoya told her that part.
She sighed, realizing the water had gone cool. She considered adding hot water. The tub was a refuge from the frigid environment in the penthouse, the constant reminder that her situation with Lyon was precarious, that she’d either ruined the closeness they’d had before she left or that it had never been there at all, that it had all been a lie.
Dimitri and Odette burst into angry chirping, a sure sign they were fighting over the new toys that had been delivered to the penthouse that day. Lyon hadn’t said a word about the birds since she’d had them moved back to her room — he hadn’t said a word to her about anything — but she didn’t want to risk his anger. Not while they were already in such uncertain territory.
Plus, it was getting late. Her eyelids were growing heavy, and she was suddenly eager to be in the big bed, piled with luxury linens. Eager to put the cover over the birdcage and settle the birds so she could sink into the blissful escape of sleep.
She pulled the plug on the tub and rose from the water. Water sluiced off her body as she reached for the towel on the stand next to the tub. She wrapped it around her body, sighing with pleasure as the plush cotton caressed her damp skin.
Her hair was piled on her head, and the few strands that had escaped were damp and curling around her face and neck. She would have to brush it out before she went to sleep.
The cacophony from the birds rose in a flutter of flapping wings.
She shook her head. It was like having children who couldn’t resist fighting, or what she imagined having children would be like anyway. She felt a pang of loss at the thought. There had been a time — a brief sliver of time between her marriage to Lyon and the death of her father — when she’d allowed herself to dream of having Lyon’s children, when she’d even imagined them older, their children and grandchildren gathered around them, heirs to the legacy of power fought for by Lyon and Kira.
But that too had been a mirage. A fantasy.
She stepped into the bedroom and headed for the cage just as the door swung open.
“What in the infernal fu — ”
Lyon stopped in his tracks when he spotted Kira standing near the bureau. Horror rippled through her body. There was a time when she would have welcomed his presence while she was almost naked. A time when she would have gone to him, pulled off the towel, pressed her body against his.
Now she just felt vulnerable.
She clutched the towel around her body, all too aware of the water still dripping into the canyon between her breasts, down the insides of her thighs.
She glared at him. “I suppose privacy is another casualty of our marriage, something else you’ve taken from me.”
She knew she’d made a mistake before the final words had left her mouth. She watched Lyon’s face darken with rage, his eyes spark with fury.
He stalked toward her, crossing the room in a handful of long strides.
She tried to back up into the bathroom, but she hit the wall instead. And then it wasn’t just the cool drywall against her back but Lyon’s body pressed against her, sandwiching her between him and the wall.
Fear coursed through her body. But not just fear.
Desire.
Need.
