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“Good work.” I shake Dmitri’s hand when he rises. “I rely on you.”
His jaw stiffens. I may rely on him, but lately I have made it a habit not to take his advice, and he has noticed.
“May I speak frankly, Andrei Vasilyevich?”
I nod, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. I’m not expecting generous compliments on my latest decisions. No one awards second place in the Bratva.
“You are allowing yourself to live under your father’s shadow,” he says. “And it is a long, dark shadow that extends to his grave. It may lead you there as well. You may reconsider that there are things that would’ve been best left alone.”
“Explain,” I demand coldly.
“Igor was Vasily’s sworn enemy, not yours.”
I tilt my chin and glare at him. “He did me a favor. Should I go thank him?”
Dmitri holds up his hands in defense and shakes his head. “No, but …”
I cut him off. “Talia was my fiancée. Should I send Paige away and make amends with her?”
Dmitri hesitates to answer. “No, but you should be able to trust your wife.”
“And what do you know of what goes on between me and my wife?”
Dmitri bows his head, recognizing that our conversation is at an end. “Nothing, Andrei Vasilyevich. I merely wished to express my own concern.”
***
After he leaves, I ponder what Dmitri said, as well as my own concern for Paige’s sister. I berate myself. I shouldn’t feel concern for her sister or her father. The only family is the Bratva, and Paige must learn that. But then my mind argues that they mean something to Paige, and like it or not, I care about her safety.
Thinking with the heart is deadly. That is why I will always use my head.
There’s a knock on the office door, but whoever it is doesn’t enter. Loudly, I tell them to enter, but they remain outside the door. Finally, I get up and yank it open. The scent of perfume tickles my nose as Paige stands in front of me in a dress. I fight to keep my jaw from hitting the floor as I step aside and let her in.
“How do I look?” Paige asks.
She looks stunning as she spins in a circle in front of my desk. The silky dress hugs her curves but not tightly; the hem is high enough to show off her tanned legs. She has curled her hair and it waves, cascading over her shoulder. She stops, and my gaze lowers to the delicate skin between her breasts.
I can imagine her light hair barely covering her breasts as she lies naked in our bed.
Her gaze flickers down my body. My jacket hangs off the back of my chair, along with my tie. My sleeves are rolled up, revealing the few tattoos I have—each celebrating my milestones in the Bratva. I worked hard to become the pakhan until fate took over. Her eyes pause at the bulge in my pants. I’m not ashamed to be aroused. She is my wife.
I want her to beg.
“We spent a lot of money.” She bites her lip.
I grin. “Then you owe me a kiss.”
Paige walks into my open arms, and closing her eyes, she parts her lips. That feeling returns; the pulse of electricity that happens when I press my lips against hers. Work is forgotten. War is forgotten as I pull her against my body. She sighs when I pull back, and her eyes flutter open as if she’s awakened.
But I’m no Prince Charming, and this isn’t a dream. She won’t beg until I make her scream.
I place my hand on her chest, and gradually, my hand lowers to her breast. I cup the weight in my hand; my fingers slide across the hard nipples. My fingers slide below the fabric, and I can feel the heat on her skin.
“I think about that day I dressed you,” I whisper. “How you felt.”
She moans. “Do I feel good?”
I lift her and place her on the edge of my desk. Then I slide my hands over the hem of her dress. My cock throbs, but I ignore it. She will beg for me first. I lift her dress above her waist, exposing her thin panties. My thumbs brush her inner thigh, where her skin is the warmest, and Paige’s eyes flutter.
