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“See, just noise. All gone now,” he says softly and brushes the hair from my face, placing another warm kiss on my forehead.
My muscles ease and finally, the panic ebbs. Which gives my embarrassment plenty of space to bloom.
I move away from his chest and wipe the tears from my cheeks. I don’t even remember starting to cry.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper with a shaky breath. In my panic and fear, I’ve forgotten myself.
“For what? That’s what daddies are here for.” He tucks my hair behind my ears with a warm smile.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” I start to crawl off his lap, but he holds me firm.
“Of course you should have,” he chastises me softly, capturing my chin and bringing my gaze back to his. “Did the storm wake you or was it something else?” He searches my face, like he can read my mind just by staring into my eyes. It feels that way, too. Maybe he can.
I think I can lie, but his eyebrow lifts into a steep arch. No lying.
Fine, the truth then. Or some of it, at least.
“I had a nightmare, but I think the thunder caused it.” I scrunch my lips to the side. “I really don’t want to talk about it though.”
His eyes narrow slightly, but after a moment of thinking, he nods. “All right. You don’t have to tell me unless it happens again. Then I’ll make you tell me,malyshka, yes?”
Since I’ll be going home in the morning, it’s a safe agreement. “Sure.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Let’s sit here a minute more.” A small touch to my shoulder, and I lean back into his chest as he rocks us again.
With his arms wrapped around me and the calm rocking, I melt into the warmth of him. I’m safe here. There’s no bad man in the corner ready to reach out and snatch me. The storm, as if by his decree, has passed over us. Only a soft rain falls now. All he had to do was show up and the chaos ceased.
“Did your phone calls go okay?” I ask after a few minutes pass.
He stops rocking. “My phone calls?”
“You said you had some calls to make. Did they go okay?” I keep tucked beneath his chin.
“Oh. Yes. They were fine.” He chuckles softly.
“Why does that make you laugh?”
“No woman has ever asked me about that before,” he answers honestly.
I push up from his chest and stare into his eyes. “Why? I mean I know you can’t tell me what you do, and I don’t want to know, but no one’s ever asked if your day went all right, or if your meetings went like you wanted?”
He shakes his head a little. “Not that I remember.”
“Ah, maybe they just weren’t memorable women then.” I grin.
“Are you flirting with me, Billie?” He gives me a lazy smile, and it’s sexy as hell.
“What? No.” I clear my throat and climb off his lap. “I was just saying.”
He looks up at me from the chair, and his hands fall to his knees. “You were flirting, but I won’t push you about it.” He gets to his feet and starts unbuttoning his shirt. As the fabric opens, more and more of his tattoos are exposed, along with hard lines of his muscles.
I spin around and march to the bed, desperately needing somewhere else to put my attention. Once I’m in bed and have the blanket pulled up, I chance another look.
He’s standing at the foot of the bed, draping his pants over the ottoman. Now he’s only in his black boxers. There’s enough light that I can see the outline of his muscles, from his chest, his arms, to his thighs, to the hard line pressing against his boxers. I swallow hard.
“My phone calls went fine.” His voice pulls my attention away from the outline of his cock to his face.
“Your calls… oh, right. Yes. Good.” I nod as though I’d been paying attention all along. “That’s good.” I fling myself back against the pillows and stare up at the ceiling. This entire situation is ridiculous. How am I supposed to lie next to Roman Romanov all night and sleep? When he’s only an inch or two away, and his fingers, those practiced and erotic fingers of his, are right there?
