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“I hope I’ve made myself clear. I don’t think there’s anything else left to be said.” He turns to me. “Emma, shall we?”
I raise my eyebrows as my gaze veers to my parents. There are a hundred things that I want to say to them.Why couldn’t you both just be normal? Why weren’t we enough for you? Didn’t losing Sienna teach you anything? Didn’t ithurt?
But I’m starting to realize that sometimes the healthiest thing you can do with certain people is simply to walk away.
I slip my hand into Ruslan’s. “Let’s go home.”
We head off in the direction of his Rolls Royce and I take a deep, staggering breath that feels like it releases a lifetime of pent-up frustration and resentment.
I buckle myself into the passenger’s seat and glance at Ruslan as he turns on the engine. “Thank you,” I say softly. “For having my back.”
He answers by palming the back of my neck, hooking me toward him, and pressing his lips hard against mine. The kiss hits like it’s the first time we’ve ever done it. That sense of build-up, of butterflies, of electricity dancing on your skin. When he finally pulls away, I’m breathless and flushed.
“You’re my woman now, Emma. And no one talks to my woman like that.”
My heart flutters as he places one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand on my thigh. The possessiveness in his touch is as exciting as it is terrifying.
Mostly because it forces me to face what I’m feeling. I’m well past the point of infatuation and lust. This is not a crush that will pass. This is not a friendship that involves sex.
As far as my feelings are concerned, this is the real freaking deal. So, for the first time, I let myself think the thought I’ve kept locked away in a dark corner of my heart for months upon months.
I am completely, madly, desperately in love with Ruslan Oryolov and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
37
RUSLAN
I don’t know what witchcraft she employed, but Emma has somehow managed to convince me that a family boat day is the only appropriate way to celebrate our newfound freedom.
No Ben.
No Remmy.
No Beatrice and Barrett.
It’ll be fun,she said.Quality time with the kids, she said.Open ocean, fresh air—it’s the break we need, she said.
She even suggested I invite Fyodor and Vadim and somehow, I’d agreed to that too.
Like I said—witchcraft.
Either that or the fact that she was pushing her swollen breasts in my face at the time. Come to think of it, that might also have been a major contributing factor. Then again, every time I look at her body, I can forgive myself for the lapse. Those aren’t breasts a man can easily say no to.
We end up on my private yacht far enough into the ocean that we can’t see land from any side. Emma comes up next to me on the bow and leans against the stanchion. She’s wearing a white cotton dress and when the wind whistles through, it pulls the fabric taut against her growing belly. My cock stirs at the sight of her, curved and beautiful, hair flapping in the breeze.
“Most people don’t get on hundred-foot yachts for a ‘family boat day,’” she accuses with a shy little smile and laugh.
I smirk. “Only the best for my family.”
Her smile softens. “You don’t have to go overboard, you know? Figuratively speaking. The kids and I would have been happy making sandcastles on the beach.”
“And mix with the rabble?” I scoff. “No way. You need to be out here, where only I can see you looking this fucking good.”
She giggles, her gaze drifting slowly towards the main cabin where the children have disappeared to change into their swimsuits. Fyodor and Vadim are lounging on the starboard side, nursing cocktails in near-identical linen suits.
“I like your father,” she murmurs.
I cup the back of her elbow and stroke the skin there softly. “He likes you.”
