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“I’m not laughing at your body.” Feeling bold, I swagger up to Katya, impressed that she doesn’t shirk back in horror. I reach out to touch all the skin she’s showing me.
As her lawful husband, I have permission to put my hands on her. So long as she doesn’t scream or flinch, I’m dying to test those boundaries. My blood stirs in a way it hasn’t in a very long time. My heart starts a steady beating rhythm I’ve never felt before.
I kill without taking an extra breath. Yet, Katya’s nudity hasmybody doing things I’m totally unfamiliar with.
I trained myself to shut off lust and desire when I wanted to be a priest. Then after I killed Father Eamon, and my da sent me to Ireland, to a camp where I learned to be a heartless murderer. Indulging in the flesh was how those maniacs soothed the rage of taking people’s lives. Only, that felt hollow after a while.
Katya’s warm brown eyes stay on mine as she gasps loudly when I brush my hand on a taught stomach. I slide my fingers down toward the top of the waistband of white cotton briefs. I have a fucking sense of humor. I’m always cracking my brothers up. Why not act that way with my wife, who deserves to know the real me? “These are cute.”
She looks down at my hand gripping her panties. “They’re comfortable. I don’t have anything lace or silky, or those thongs, I know men like. But if you want that—”
“No,” falls from my lips.Well, maybe.
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to change anything for me, Katriane.” I let go of her panties when way too much blood pumps to my groin. My body reacting this strongly is a nice surprise, spurred by her greedy smile to please me.
“Good. Neither do you.”
“Good to know.” I wouldn’t expect a Bratva princess to bethatdisgusted with me, an enforcer. Especially since her father’s enforcer is a fucking mess.
From a chair that sits in front of the massive stone fireplace, I whisk off a crocheted blanket from our grandmother in Ireland and drape it across Katya’s narrow shoulders. My sister sent a decorator to stage the place, but Shea-Lynne added small family mementos.
“I’ll show you where the thermostat is,” I tell Katya. “You’re free to control the temperature here.”
“What about you? How do you prefer it?” She bites her lip. “The temperature.”
My heart pounds. Is she flirting with me? “I learned to control my feelings, my emotions. I can take anything. Extreme heat, extreme cold. Nothing affects me.”
Yet, this ninety-five-pound woman here is setting my body on fire and I can’t stop it.
Leaving the hideous wedding dress on the floor, which Iwillburn later, mostly because it’s evidence of a murder, I steer Katya to the second largest bedroom. It sits on the other side of the house, far away from mine.
Lair. Her father called my home a lair.
We joke about Balor having a Batmobile and a Batcave, all while I’m the one with the house carved into a mountain. But I do envy his sweet, rare Lamborghini Murcielago.
“This is fine.” Katya steps inside the bedroom and points to the sheer wall of glass. “No drapes in the bedrooms?”
“There are shades inside the glass that can be lowered for the sun in the morning.” I show her the remote. “You don’t have to worry about human eyes. No one can see inside.”
“The view is incredible. What is that?” She motions to a lighthouse in the distance.
“Sands Island. Party boats circle it a few times a day in the spring and summer. The water is shallow and ices over in the winter.”
“I never knew any of this existed.”
“Most people don’t. That’s why I built my house here.”
“Do you spend much time here?”
“Aye.” I show her how to raise and lower the shades. “No one except my men and my brothers know where I live. Oh, and my cleaning lady.”
“No need for that.” She shrugs. “I can clean.”
“I have plenty of money. You’re my wife. You don’t need to clean.”
She drags a breath deep into her lungs. “You said we should… You know. Get on with our wedding night.” She goes to lower the blanket.
