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He held her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers, not caring how the crush of the kiss hurt his battered lips. “You brought me home. Rurik told me.”
“The men did the hard part,” she said.
He looked into her eyes, awe overwhelming him. “You’re a leader. A queen.”
She studied him. “Are you okay, my love? Tell me the truth.”
I don’t know. I don’t feel like myself anymore.
He stroked her satiny cheek with his thumb. “I’m fine.”
She reached up, touched his face hesitantly, her fingertips like feathers on his wounds. When she got to his chest, her expression grew cold and sharp. “I’ll kill them myself.”
“There will be no need,” he said. “I’m going to take them apart with my bare hands. And I’m going to do it slowly.”
There was a time when he would have been afraid to speak so openly to his wife. He’d worried she saw him as a thug — and he’d been right. Then, he’d wanted her to know he was worthy of her. That he wasn’t some dumb criminal without any education, without any ambition.
He knew better now. She might look like someone raised in an ivory tower, but his wife had a spine of steel and the heart of a warrior.
She nodded, her eyes lighting with something like anticipation.
She moved to the bed, suddenly all business. “I’ve sent two of the men to bring you food. Anatoly will see you after you’re dressed.” She handed him a stack of clothes, and he was relieved to see plush gray sweats and one of his softest T-shirts. She unfurled the sheets to make the bed, met his eyes over the mattress. “Then you’re going to sleep, and I won’t hear a word of argument, not even from the Lion.”
13
She woke up with a start and felt a moment of panic.
Where was she?
Then she remembered, she was back in the Lake Forest bedroom, this time of her own volition. She must have fallen asleep with Lyon.
She turned her head and found him gone. The morning sun slanted across the bed, a fresh spring breeze blowing through the one window. Lyon must have opened it when he woke up.
She couldn’t believe she’d out-slept him after all he’d been through, but a moment later she felt the baby move inside her and remembered her pregnancy.
She was almost always exhausted these days, and while she’d attributed much of it to the stress of Lyon’s kidnapping, she had to remind herself that she was in the third trimester of her pregnancy. Her body felt unfamiliar and ungainly, and simple tasks like drying herself off after a shower or tying her shoes now took more energy.
She rubbed her swollen stomach beneath the shift dress she’d worn to the house. “Good morning, little one. Your father is back. Maybe you’ll let him feel you kick.”
She could hardly think about the wounds on Lyon’s face and body without wanting to scream. She wanted to kill the people who had dared lock him up and beat him. It was like seeing a majestic animal in the zoo — the reason she’d never enjoyed going, even as a child.
Wild things weren’t meant to be locked up, and there was no man wilder than her Lyon.
I’m going to take them apart with my bare hands. And I’m going to do it slowly.
The words echoed in her mind. She almost wished she could watch. Did that make her an animal too?
She didn’t care. She loved Lyon with a depth and strength that stole her breath. She would see anyone who hurt him burn.
She sat up on the bed and listened, catching the murmuring of deep voices from downstairs. The men would be making plans, figuring out what to do about Vadim Ivanov and his move against the Antonov bratva.
She should be there.
She got up with a groan. Her back ached from sleeping on the old mattress, and she made a mental note to start ordering furniture for the new bedroom, then stopped short.
Did they still want to make a home at the Lake Forest house where so much bloodshed had happened? Where sweet-faced Bash had been killed and so many of their men wounded? Where Lyon had been taken?
She didn’t know. She would talk to Lyon. If he didn’t want to live here, they would find somewhere else to make their home. She didn’t care.
