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“It’s a piece of scrap metal,” he remarks.
“It’s magic,” I fire back immediately. “Protective amulet.”
His eyes shine with amusement. But there’s interest there. Curiosity.
It’s odd: when Anthony questioned me about the pendant, I told him I bought it at a thrift store. My reluctance to tell him the truth should have been warning enough. Deep down, I never really trusted Anthony.
But Misha hasn’t even asked, and I’m already rushing to tell him.
“And has your amulet protected you so far?”
I snort with unladylike laughter. Rather than be turned off, Misha’s hand tightens against my neck. “If you knew my life, you’d say it hasn’t worked at all. But… yeah, I’d say it has. I’d say it’s made all the difference.”
To my surprise, he nods slowly, like he agrees. Then he stands smoothly. My mind is still doing weird things, because it looks like he’s tall enough to scrape the ceiling of the greenhouse. I hold my breath as he saunters around the table and comes to stand behind me.
I thought the shadows were a threat—but Misha at my back is a thousand times scarier. I hiss in a breath when I feel his warm touch against my collarbones.
I only relax and exhale when the cool chain of my necklace follows. He pulls it into place around my throat and makes deft work of the clasp. I can breathe again now, with Clara back where she should be.
But Misha’s hands linger where they very much shouldnotbe.
He’s still touching my shoulders, my collarbones, the nape of my neck. His heat and presence consume me from behind. I sense him bend down, close enough to whisper.
“You’re wrong, you know,” he murmurs in my ear.
I should know better than to take the bait. And hell, maybe I do know better—part of me does, at least. Because when a man like Misha touches a woman like this, when he smells like this and whispers like this and gives gifts and dark promises like this, there’s only one way it can end.
That should scare me.
The problem is, it does the exact fucking opposite.
“Wrong about what?” I whisper.
He traces the curve of my jaw with one burning hot fingertip. “The amulet won’t protect you. Not from me.”
35
MISHA
Paige’s breathing hitches as I grab her and haul her to her feet.
We are supposed to be eating now, but I’m only hungry for one thing.
My wife.
A shiver rattles Paige’s body as she glances at me over her shoulder. Her skin has erupted in goosebumps despite the damp warmth of the greenhouse. I slide the zipper of her dress open, shove the garment down past her feet, and she shivers again.
The moment I unzip myself, my cock springs free and lands eagerly between her bared cheeks. I slide myself between them, and the tiniest of moans escapes her.
I put my hand on the back of her neck and coax her down against the table. Utensils clatter to the stone floor, but I ignore them and stare at Paige’s beautiful curves.
She’s porcelain and flawless, and fuck me, all I want to do is see how thoroughly I can break her.
Something tells me she can take more of my punishment than I’d ever suspect.
I slap her ass hard enough to leave a red handprint blooming against her fair skin. She jolts in surprise, a little squeal escaping her lips.
Then I grab the little scrap of fabric she calls underwear and rip it from her body like it offended me. She yelps again as the fabric gives way.
