Keira did the one thing she’d thought impossible—she fell asleep in Dmitri’s arms. She didn’t mean to. She had every intention of holding still for the allotted time and moving away, but his warmth soaked into her body, and the strength of his arms felt more like he was protecting her than caging her in. Even though she knew it was a lie, she let her eyes slide shut.
And woke up to him laying her on a bed.
Keira reacted without thinking. She flailed out of his arms, managing to punch him in the face in the process, and then drew both legs up and kicked him directly in the chest. Dmitri shot back several steps and hit the big dark wood dresser, making it rattle.
She scrambled back until the headboard stopped her motion, her mind frantically flailing around to catch up with the change in location and circumstance. Dmitri started to take a step forward and seemed to change his mind. “You’re safe, Keira.”
That spawned an ugly laugh. “Not that, Russian. Never that.”
He inclined his head, a king surveying his domain. “Let me rephrase—you’re safe right now, with me. You were tired. I thought it more effective to put you in bed and not interrupt your rest.”
“Your bed.”
“Da. You agreed to it earlier.”
Damn it, she had, hadn’t she? Keira rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. I am a crazy person. “Sorry. You’re right—this time.”
He still didn’t move from his position against the dresser. A bright red spot had bloomed under his right cheekbone where she’d hit him. “I won’t move you while you’re sleeping again.” He said it with utter seriousness, not a single mocking word in sight.
“Thank you.” She felt dramatic reacting so strongly. Of course Dmitri would carry her to bed when she passed out on him in the car. She probably drooled on his chest and he just took it, and the way she paid him back was by punching him in the face. Exhaustion pulled at her, and the bed was like sitting on a tempting cloud, but she couldn’t let things stand as they were now. She had fucked up. Not him.
She scooted to the edge of the bed and climbed to the floor. “We’d better get some ice on that cheekbone. My brother Teague taught me that right hook, and even without all my weight behind it, you’ve got a good chance of bruising.”
“That’s not necessary.” There he was, her cold Russian.
Keira almost missed a step. Cold, yes. Not hers. Never hers. She had to remember that. To cover her reaction, she pivoted and headed for the bathroom. If there wasn’t ice, a cold washcloth would work in a pinch. Better to get this taken care of now and move on. The less time she spent staring into Dmitri’s striking gray eyes, the better.
He was still in the same spot when she returned. Keira frowned. “You should sit.” At five seven, she wasn’t exactly short, but he was at least an inch or two over six feet, and it would be easier to get to the bruise if he sat on the bed.
Do not think about Dmitri on the bed. Definitely don’t think about Dmitri on the bed.
He moved to the bed and sat slowly. “I can do it myself.”
“I reacted like a crazy person and attacked you. Just…sit there and shut up and let me take care of you, okay?”
He stared at her long enough that she had to fight not to fidget. Finally, he nodded. “Do your worst.”
“I think I already did that.” She stepped closer, but the length of his legs made it awkward to reach his face.
“Keira.” He said her name almost as a sigh. “Come here.” Dmitri nudged her closer until she stood between his thighs. His fingertips barely touched her hips, but she felt them through her entire body. Or maybe it was his presence overwhelming her by being this close. With him sitting and her standing, it should have put her in the dominant position, but there was no mistaking the fact that Dmitri was perfectly in control of this situation the same way he always seemed to be in control.
She pressed the cold washcloth against his face. “Do you ever just…relax?”
“I was relaxed. And then my wife woke up and reacted poorly to my having moved her.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She glared. “You were not relaxed then, so stop with the bullshit. I bet you’re plotting in your dreams when you sleep, aren’t you? Carrying me to bed wasn’t enough to put you off something you do as second nature.”
“If you already think you know the answer to the question, why ask it?”
Which wasn’t an agreement…but it wasn’t a disagreement, either.
She lifted the washcloth and winced. “This will bruise.”
“It’s an impressive right hook.”
Now was the time to press him about Krav Maga, or to ask one of the half a million questions she had brimming inside her. But Keira found herself hesitant to break the moment. She pressed the cloth back to his face.
“Why did you stop painting?”
The question set her back on her heels. “That’s none of your damn business.” She was not going to think about painting or the whys or what she’d lost.
His big hand covered hers where she held the washcloth. “It’s just a question, Keira.”
“It’s not just a question. You’re probing for information. It doesn’t matter whether it’s part of some intricate plan or to satisfy your curiosity—I am not going to trot out my pain for your amusement.”
His grip tightened slightly. “You don’t have to keep running.”
The audacity of him almost left her speechless. “Why?”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Yes, Dmitri, why? Why don’t I have to keep running? Is it because I’m safe here?” She motioned with her free hand. “We both know that’s a fucking lie. I’m no safer here than I was in Boston—less so, because anyone targeting you will target your wife as well. Am I safe because you’re here? Please. You’re the most dangerous to me of all. You were honest when you said that you couldn’t offer me what I needed—don’t try to change your tone now.”
His frown deepened and then cleared. “Love. You’re talking about love.”’
Five little words to cut right to the heart of her. She let go of the washcloth and stepped back, all too aware that he allowed her to do it. “I know better now.”
“Keira—”
“Can we just be done for tonight? It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.” Her exhaustion surged again, threatening to buckle her knees. As much as she didn’t want to share a bed with him, the thought of walking down the stairs to hers was too much. She pulled her sweater off and slid out of her jeans. When she turned around, he was staring. “What now?”
Dmitri gave a sharp shake of his head and stood. “You are safe tonight.”
The implication being that she wasn’t safe other nights. It would be worrying, but it was a truth she’d known since she was a child. The type of danger might change in any given situation, but it never went away completely.
She waited for him to walk into the bathroom before she climbed into the massive bed. It really was like wrapping up in a cloud. By all rights, she should have passed out the second her head hit the pillow, but her mind unfurled like some dark-winged thing chased it.
Going home had been a mistake. She knew it was necessary, but the world seemed so far away when she was closed up in the Romanov residence. Being back in Boston, even for a limited time, had memories banging against the walls of her mind that she had no interest in dealing with.
It had been far too many years since her siblings were happy. Since they were close. Not since Aiden left for college, though things had started fracturing before then, but she’d just been too young to realize it. Too selfish. What did she care if her oldest brother was straining under the pressure their father put on him as heir? She was living as close to the dream as she was allowed. While her siblings slowly drifted away, one after the other, she’d lost herself in her art and her goals. She’d once had Devlin, after all, and that relationship was just as close as it’d ever been.
Until it wasn’t.
Until he died and she realized how alone she really was.
Until the illusion fell from the bars of her cage, revealing just how trapped she’d been from the very beginning.
The world was an ugly place, and the art she was so goddamn proud of didn’t do a damn thing to change that. All it did was remind her of the idiot girl she’d been—so willfully blind, doing anything she had to in order to ignore the truth of her situation.
Trapped. Helpless. A pawn in a game she never wanted to play to begin with.
Nothing had changed, even if the city she lived in had. She was still a character in someone else’s play, required to dance to the tune not of her making.
God, I need a drink.
“Keira.”
Dmitri’s voice reached out to her in the darkness of the room. When had he come to bed? I really am a mess if I’m checking out so thoroughly that I didn’t notice him. She swallowed past her burning throat, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t about to cry. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” It sounded childish, but she couldn’t help it.
“We don’t have to talk.” He shifted, turning onto his side to face her. “Let me hold you, moya koroleva. I’ll keep the demons at bay tonight.”
She should say no. Doing anything to damage the reality—that Dmitri was no knight in shining armor—was dangerous in the extreme.
But if she didn’t do something, she was in danger of climbing out of bed and charging down to the vodka she’d hidden in order to drown out her racing thoughts. She teetered on an edge far more dangerous than the man next to her. She was clean. Actually clean. It was one thing to comfort herself with the lie-not-lie that she only wanted an escape from her shitty life. It was another to not be able to get through a tiny bump in the road without a substance as a crutch.
It was unforgivably weak to need alcohol. She didn’t want to be that girl again. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to resist the driving force inside her that was creeping higher with every exhale. A sleeping monster that her grief had woken. Her fingers itched for a bottle, her throat craving the familiar burn. Just a little drink. Just to take the edge off.
“Keira?”
She turned to him in desperation. “Kiss me, Russian.”
He hesitated in the darkness, as if he wanted to dig deeper, but he finally drew her into his arms. “We will talk eventually.”
Not fucking likely. “Sure.”
Dmitri sifted his fingers through her hair and then ran one hand down her back to press her hips against his. “We’re not fucking tonight.”
She blinked into the darkness. “I didn’t put it on the table.”
“Not yet.” He kissed her jaw and then her neck. “You’re hurting, moya koroleva. You would regret it if we took that step now.”
She relaxed against him, tilting her head back to give him better access. “What do you care?” Giving him everything sounded like a goddamn dream right now. With his body sliding against hers, maybe her mind would actually deliver blessed silence. Maybe she could actually reclaim the distance her drugs had given her—at least for a little while. Dmitri’s presence drowned out everything else.
He should be jumping at the chance to get her further under his control, and yet he was holding back. She didn’t know how to deal with that. The man defied the nice little boundaries she drew up for him, and kept surprising her. Keira didn’t like surprises. She needed him to act like the monster she knew him to be. Any softening would fuck with her head, and her head had been fucked with enough.
The only answer her gave her was his mouth brushing hers. A request rather than a command. Another surprise. His kissed her bottom lip and then her top lip, a slow exploration that made her head spin. Before she could relax into the feeling, his tongue was there, requesting entrance. She opened for him immediately. His touch drove away the bad thoughts, and she’d take whatever he’d give her.
Last time he’d kissed her, he’d kissed her like he owned her. This time, he kissed her like he wanted to memorize her. Slow. Agonizingly, deliciously slow.
Fuck that.
Keira shoved his shoulders, toppling him onto his back. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he’d allowed the move—if Dmitri wanted to pin her in place, he could do it easily enough. She ended up straddling him and, holy fuck, what a place to be.
The darkness of the room licked at him, only furthering the impression of a fallen angel. No, not an angel. This man was subservient to no one. He was at home here in the shadows, sprawled on this sinfully massive bed like some dark god.
It was right about then that she realized he was naked. Keira went still, trying to tamp down the urge to rush for a light switch. He’s my husband, right? That means I’ll see this again…and again…and again. The faint light coming in from the window didn’t give her nearly enough to work with, so she ran her hands down his chest. He was cut in the way boxers were, though she hadn’t noticed it before because his clothes fit him so damn well. But there was some serious muscle here.
She traced his pecs and then lightly raked her nails over his abs. “Fuck, Russian, how many sit-ups do you a do a week?”
His dark chuckle went straight through her. “Perhaps one of these days, I’ll show you.”
She took half a second to picture him working out in only a pair of shorts, sweat slicking these same muscles as he pushed his body…Keira shivered. “Not until we’re fucking.” She wouldn’t be able to resist that. She knew herself well enough to know that. The fact that she’d resisted at all was a goddamn miracle.
Here. Now. They were both naked and in his bed.
And he’d taken sex off the table.
She didn’t know how to tempt or tease or seduce. Keira had never bothered with that bullshit. If she wanted to fuck someone, she fucked them. The only person who’d ever turned her down was the one she currently had naked between her thighs. She leaned forward and braced herself on one hand so she could use the other to stroke his cock. It was the first time she’d touched him like that, and she took her time exploring him. Long and wide and fucking perfect. Because of course. It would be too much to ask the universe to give this man a single physical imperfection.
His body went tense as she stroked him again, and she enjoyed the moment of total control. It didn’t matter that Dmitri could flip her and do whatever he damn well pleased and she’d likely love every second of it. What mattered was that she was on top, if only for a limited time. “I want to ride you, Romanov.”
He spit out something in Russian, which was enough to make her vow to learn the language if it was the last thing she did. She wanted to know what he was saying to her when his control slipped.
“Keira. Moya koroleva.” He grabbed her wrist, but he didn’t remove her hand from his cock. “Sex is not on the table.”
“Who said anything about sex?” She ran the heel of her hand up his cock. “Now, lie back and think of Mother Russia.”