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With that, he gently extricates his wrist and disappears down the hallway.
It’s quiet and lonely when he’s gone. Aleks has a way of making things sound easy, breezy, simple as could be. When I’m with him, I can believe all of that.
When he’s gone, though, nothing seems nearly as sunshiny.
I take a deep breath and place my hand on my stomach. “It’s okay, little one,” I tell my son softly. “It’s all gonna be okay.”
26
WREN
I’m sitting up in bed when Dmitri walks into my room.
“You’re still up,” he remarks. As usual, his expression gives nothing away. There’s no way you can tell he’s embroiled in a full-scale, three-way mafia war by looking at him.
I swing my legs off the bed and get up with my shoulders squared. “Why did you do it?”
I don’t mean for the question to come out quite so accusatory, but I don’t want him to shut down the conversation before I’ve got a chance to get it going.
He stops short. His right eyebrow flickers up. “Do what?”
“Blow that bar up.”
The left eyebrow rises to join the right. “Who told you?”
“No one. I overheard Aleks talking to someone on the phone.” No point getting his brother into trouble when he’s my only real source of information at the moment. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
To his credit, he doesn’t bother to lie. He just nods. “Yes. It’s true.”
“Well?” I press. “You must have known that all hell would break loose? So why did you do it?
His jaw turns to rock. “Because they hurt you, Wren.”
“Why does that even matter?” It’s hard to get the words out when my heart is fluttering wildly in my throat like it is.
“Because, moya devushka, you matter.”
“To you?” I ask softly. “Or to your empire?”
He takes a step towards me and gathers me up in his arms. “Both, of course. But mostly to me.” His eyes are intense. I’ve never seen them like this before. The gray has turned a deep shade of blue, like the bottom of the ocean, the last place the sunlight reaches before it’s snuffed out altogether. It feels like I’m down there with him, on a level only he and I can be in. “You mean everything to me.”
Oh, God.
The last vestiges of my walls come tumbling down around me. I can’t freaking fight this anymore. God knows I’ve tried, but it’s failed time and time again.
I want this man.
I need this man.
I fucking love this man.
And if he really means what he just said… he just might feel the same way about me. Surely, surely, that should be enough for anyone.
So what do you do when you’ve reached a decision point like that? You do what I do: throw my arms around him and kiss him on the lips. Hard and desperate and filled with all the passion and need I’ve been trying to repress these many months. It pours out of me like hot lava and Dmitri meets my need with fire of his own.
I expected ripped clothes and bruising kisses and hard, relentless sex.
But he surprises me. He’s gentle. Tender. He peels my layers off with careful fingers, piece by piece, until I’m standing naked in front of him. When I try to cover myself self-consciously, he utters an impatient growl and cups my face with his palm.
