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“Give me one good reason,” I tease.
She leans down close, her hair a perfumed curtain, her breath a breeze lighting up every single one of my nerve endings. Her lips stroke against my ear and she whispers, “How ‘bout this?”
Then, to my surprise, she jerks upright, flips up the hem of her dress, and withdraws a glistening knife from a leather holster strapped to her upper thigh. Quick as a flash, she presses the tip of the blade gently against my chest.
“Dead,” she pronounces solemnly. “And your gravestone will read,Should’ve been more afraid of his wife.’”
The only thing dead is my mood, though.
“Paige,” I growl in a stern voice. “Why the hell are you wearing a knife?”
“It’s my good luck charm for tonight. What do you think?”
“I think it’s unnecessary, unsafe and extremely,extremely… sexy.” I sigh. As much as I hate saying it, I have a raging erection that won’t be denied. “Go on—let me see it again.”
She happily raises her skirt to reveal the black strap hugging her thigh. “Fucking Christ,” I mutter. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She tilts my face up so I’m looking at her. “I wanted to feel like a badass tonight. And I was inspired.”
“By whom?”
“Your mother and Cyrille,” she says. “I want to stand next to you and feel like I belong there.”
“You belong there because I say you do,” I say fiercely.
“That’s not enough, Misha,” she replies in a quiet murmur. “These men and their wives, they need to respect me. You said that yourself. They need to know that I’m not just some ditzy, white trash fool you picked up off the street and scrubbed up. I want to show them that I have something to offer.” Her voice drops one register lower. “This is going to be my world from now on. My children are going to be part of it. Which means I need to know how it works.”
A strange sensation spreads across my chest. It takes me a moment to identify properly. Then it hits me.
Pride.
This is what it feels like to truly want someone to succeed.
I slip my hands up her legs, feeling my way over the knife strapped to her leg. “Who gave you the knife?”
“If I tell you, you can’t get mad. They need full immunity from punishment.”
I scowl. “I’m not making promises.”
“Then I’m not telling.”
“I’ll find out eventually.”
“Maybe. But not from me.”
Annoyed as I am, I can’t deny that I respect her for it. “You are more Bratva than I care to admit,” I sigh. She laughs and leans forward to kiss my forehead. “Fine. Whoever gave you the knife is off-limits.”
She gives me a triumphant smile. “Konstantin.”
“Mudak.I should have known.”
She laughs. “Don’t worry. He taught me how to use it.”
I frown. “You could have come to me for that. I would’ve made the time for you.”
Her smile grows soft. She sits herself down on my lap. “I know. That’s not the point. I didn’t want you worrying. You got really stressed out during our last lesson. And before you deny it,” she adds as I open my mouth to do exactly that, “don’t bother. I’m learning how to read you, so I know I’m right. Does that freak you out?”
“A little.”
