Hands in his trouser pockets and heart in his throat, Vitali watched the slight woman with the severe bun and pinched features walk down a long hallway toward Mariana’s office, her feet shuffling quickly. Once he’d announced himself as Mariana’s husband, the woman seemed more than eager enough to relay his message, despite the look of shock and wariness on her face.

Standing there, in the plush yet elegant waiting room of Mariana’s law offices, Vitali couldn’t stop his thoughts from spinning, and his soul from aching for the woman so close yet so far. He’d fucked things up—tore them to pieces and then pissed all over them, but he hoped to God Mariana would forgive him. That she would find it in her heart to give him a second chance, the chance to make her want to say those three little words again—this time, for real.

Several moments later, the woman appeared from the office and shuffled back toward Vitali, her face red, her eyes narrowed, and her hands in fists. She was like a mother hen, coming to peck at the dangerous intruder who dared to threaten her chick.

Dammit. He’d known that the chances of a warm reception were a trillion to one, but he had to take the risk.

The woman stopped right in front of him and peered up at him, her face tight.

“You get ten minutes—no more. Then, I will come in there and drag you out myself,” the little hen murmured menacingly before stepping back and away to allow him to pass. He peered down the hallway and saw a tall, lithe, dark-haired woman appear. She was glaring daggers at him. She nodded at him, indicating for him to come at his own peril.

Peril be damned! His wife was in there and he wanted to—no, needed to—see her again.

He strode down the hallway and right by the other angry woman and into a large office. The door shut behind him, leaving him holding his breath, waiting for his heart to begin beating again.

You’re here, she’s here… Make things right.

He couldn’t spot Mariana at first because the sun was glinting off the chrome and glass of the buildings opposite and filling the room with brilliant rays of light. But then, he saw her, standing with her back to him, staring out over Chicago.

From the set of her shoulders and the stiffness in her frame, he knew she was holding back. But he didn’t want her to hold back, he wanted her—her fire, her tears, her pain, her happiness, her joy—everything. He’d been a moron to believe that he could let her walk away and not miss her. Not want to come crawling back to her on his belly.

She was everything to him, and it had taken those fucking divorce papers to make him realize what he’d be losing.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Mariana spun on her 4-inch black heels and faced him. Her eyes were glittering, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were pursed.

Dressed in a light blue dress that hugged every inch of her luscious curves, Mariana looked about as delectable as any dessert he’d ever tasted. God, he needed to taste her again, to feel her coming apart in his arms.

One step at a time, Vitali, his mind screamed, but his cock didn’t listen. Hoping to keep her focus on his face, Vitali walked closer, stopping just beside her large immaculate desk.

Mariana’s gaze followed him, wariness and hurt burning in those chocolate depths.

“If you’re here for a consultation, I’m afraid I have to decline. I no longer do business with Russian clients.” Her husky voice absolutely wrecked him. God, how was is possible to miss someone’s voice so much?

Coughing to free his own voice from the vice of his longing, Vitali ran his hand over his face. “Well, I suppose it was too much to think we could talk outside of business,” he said, his tone as light as he could make it.

She arched an articulate eyebrow. “Yes, it was. There is only business between us now, Mr. Pavlovich. I hope you received the documentation I sent via my attorneys in Moscow,” she drawled, planting her hands on her generous hips.

Fuck me… Even when she was pissed she was gorgeous.

“Yes. The divorce papers…” The words were like rotten meat on his tongue. “I got them.” He took a step closer to her. “You signed them,” he added, still unwilling to believe that she felt so little for him that she would initiate a divorce and sign the goddamn papers without even trying to reach out to him.

She nodded once then crossed her arms over her chest. If he hadn’t been looking so intently, he might have missed the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, right before the chilly demeanor returned.

“I suppose you can have your people file them, since you’ll be returning there,” she turned her back on him, walking toward the windows, dismissing him.

“Good day, Mr. Pavlovich,” she intoned.

Stunned but not really surprised by her dismissal, Vitali remained where he stood. Desperation forced the words from his mouth, but his feelings for her lit them on fire.

“I tore them up.”

Mariana gasped and spun on her heel once more.

“What!” she blurted. “Why would you do that?”

At the look of surprise on her face—her wide eyes, her mouth open—he knew he’d struck something vital.

Maybe she loves me. Maybe I haven’t fucked this up too much to save…

“I had to do it, Mariana,” he replied, taking a step toward her, his arms vibrating with the need to reach out and enfold her within them.

She shook her head, her brow furrowing in confusion. “You had to? That doesn’t make any sense, Vitali. Why would you tear up your ticket to freedom from the wife you thought you wanted but didn’t actually want?” She threw that in his face, the hurt from his actions making the words as sharp as knives.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.” They weren’t just words to him anymore, they were a declaration. And he’d meant every syllable.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he did not expect the color to drain from her face, and the light that usually lit her eyes to quickly extinguish.

“Mariana, moya lyubov,” he said softly, taking another step forward, holding out his hand to her.

Suddenly, the fire was back, and she tipped her chin up, meeting his gaze with swirling mocha eyes. Yes! Growling, she marched toward him until she was close enough to shove her finger into his chest. Twice. Three times. Though the poking hurt, the contact with her, no matter how quick, filled him with a heat he had been without for so long. The same heat that had left his life as the jet door closed behind his wife.

“You fucking bastard!” she hissed. “What did I ever do to you? Is it my fat ass or my thick waist or my brown skin?” She named off attributes while ticking them off on her other hand.

Furrowing his brow, he stared down at her. Every single one of the things she named were things he adored about her. “What are you talking about?” Mariana tried stepping back—probably preparing to come at him again—and though he relished the idea of a having a fiery confrontation with her, he needed to get some things straightened out, first.

Before she could poke him again, or back away, he grabbed her shoulders, holding her in place. She gasped, and he bent his head and gave her a much too quick kiss.

Lord, but he missed her mouth, her taste. Breaking the kiss, he pulled back and looked down into eyes gone starry.

Yes! She missed this, too!

Shaking herself, she lowered her gaze to his chin, just before a deep pink flush infused her cheeks.

“You got rid of me because, despite saying how much you wanted me when you first saw me, the novelty wore off,” she murmured, trying to pull away. He wouldn’t let her. He’d never let go of her again. “As soon as things stopped being fun for you, as soon as the marriage became real to you, you balked.” Her gaze finally rose to meet his, and the pain he saw there gutted him.

She was right, he had balked, but not because of her—it was because of him, and all the shit he’d allowed to grow within him over the years. The same shit he wanted to burn to ashes.

Sliding his hands from her shoulders and up her neck, he cupped her beautiful face in his trembling hands.

“Mariana, moya lyubov…” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips over her forehead, then her eyes, then her mouth. “I am a coward, a lizard, a dog.” At her snort of agreement, he allowed a smile to crack his lips. It disappeared just as fast as it appeared. “For thirty-four years, through the building of my business, and the sacrifices, the pain, the loss of my parents, the loss of my home… I lost myself. I buried the soft parts of my heart behind a wall, where I could protect it from all the hurt I knew was coming. Because I wasn’t willing to give up, I wasn’t willing to lay down and die. I wasn’t willing to let those soft parts keep me from getting the hell out of that orphanage and never know another day of hunger or cold.”

Mariana’s eyes filled with tears, but he kept going.

“So I lived my life with cold precision, never letting anyone or anything past that wall.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “Until I saw this gorgeous, brilliant, sexy, passionate, courageous woman fighting for the rights of a small-town farmer with so much conviction that it left me breathless. I didn’t want to believe it, that it was possible to fall in love at first sight, but, Mariana…” He drew back and met her gaze, allowing everything he felt for her to fill his expression, softening it. “It happened to me. I fell in love with you without ever having met you.”

She shuddered and then—finally—leaned into him, placing her palms against his chest, right where his heart was pounding against it.

“Vitali…” she sighed, “I don’t know what to say… I don’t know what to believe.”

He groaned. “Please believe me. Please let me spend the rest of our lives showing you, every day, how much I love you, and how much you mean to me. You are moya lyubov, my wife, my love, my everything, and I cannot imagine spending another moment without you by my side.”