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“Come back for dinner,” I call after them. “Bring Yan and the others, too.”
They don’t show any sign of hearing me and continue on their way. As soon as the door closes behind them, Adrian towers over me, his face a mask of coldness that mirrors the outside. He speaks low enough that Jeremy—who’s preoccupied with running his toy soldier across the windowsill—doesn’t hear. “Don’t ever, and I meanever,defy me in front of my men again unless you’re in the mood to be punished in their presence.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I shoot back in the same tone. “But I’ll not stand by as you torture them.”
“Feeling too attached to them, Lia?”
“Of course I do. I’ve known those men for six years, Adrian, and despite them being an extension of you, I’ve gotten used to them and I don’t wish any of them harm.”
“Careful, Lenochka,” he grinds out. “You’re tempting me to get rid of them.”
“You’re impossible, did you know that?”
“Not impossible, no. I’m merely possessive and have no control when it comes to you. I don’t like it when you speak of any other man.”
“How…am I even supposed to reply to that?”
“You’re not. Just don’t put any man before me.”
“I can’t just stop talking to or about other men.”
“Yes, you can.” He pauses. “Within reason.”
“You don’t even know the right definition of reason, Mr. Volkov.”
His lips twitch a little. “I can conjure it. Under the right circumstances.”
The sight of his smile always gets me in a better mood, no matter the subject, and I find myself mirroring it even as I shake my head.
“Mommy!” Jeremy tugs on my coat. “Did you bring my war zone?”
“I did.”
“Let’s build it!”
I groan and Adrian’s smile widens.
“Seems that your mother still hasn’t learned how to assemble your war zone, Malysh.”
“Hey, that’s not true!” I poke him. “Not everyone is good at that stuff.”
“Malysh and I are.” He lifts a grinning Jeremy in his arms. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Papa!”
He taps our son’s nose and he giggles. “Should we teach your mommy?”
“I don’t think she’ll ever learn, Papa.”
“Jer! You little traitor.”
He gives me a coy smile. “It’s okay, Mommy. You tell stories better than Papa.”
I place a hand at my hip. “I do a lot of things better than your papa.”
“Really?” Adrian’s voice drips with rare amusement. “Like what?”
“Like bathing Jer.”
