EIGHT

Lukas made his way back to the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine from the cellar. He’d considered bringing Dale down to show her his pride and joy, but he wanted to feel her out on the subject first. If she had no interest in wine, he wouldn’t bore her with his.

He slowed his approach, wondering if maybe she’d gotten up and was snooping…

No. She was sitting on her hands, talking to herself.

“It’ll get easier. You’ll see.” She grimaced and brought her hands up to rub her makeup-free face.

When he’d first seen her after her trip to the bathroom, he’d been struck by how young she looked. Young and so naturally beautiful she’d taken his breath away.

Kind of like she had when he’d watched her play with the dogs. She hadn’t shied away from the licks and bumping heads. She’d welcomed them. Had shared the dogs’ excitement and had spoken to them as if they were a bunch of little kids.

“Ugh. It doesn’t matter,” she groaned. “Good with the bad, right, Oma?” She looked up. “Okay.” She seemed to think for a second. “He’s fucking with my head, but we’re going to be fantastic in bed together.” She winced. “It’ll have to do. Something good to go with the very, very bad.”

A calmness stole over him at hearing her acknowledge their attraction. But how was it he was fucking with her head? “I wouldn’t say very, very bad.” He wouldn’t pretend he hadn’t been listening either. “Maybe just bad.” She turned and didn’t even blush when he entered the room.

“You give yourself too little credit.”

He didn’t argue as he placed the bottle on the counter and went into the drawer to find an opener. “You speak to your grandmother the way I speak to my mother.”

She cleared her throat. “I saw your protection making the rounds.”

Ah. Maybe it was his lifestyle that was fucking with her head. That was understandable. But she’d get used to it. Just like his mother had for his father.

“As she was when she was alive, my mother is my go-to when I need an ear.” As he twisted the screw into the cork, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed annoyed, and she was twirling a lock of her silky hair around her pinkie with enough speed to make the habit blur.

“Was your father injured here at home?”

“No.” He popped the cork. “When did your grandmother die?”

“I don’t want to get to know you, Lukas,” she blurted.

“That’s too bad, Magdalena, because that’s what we’re going to do over the next hour.” He went and took a couple of glasses down from the rack in the corner, and brought them and a loaf of bread back with him. He set the bread aside, and, unfortunately, the musical glug-glug of the wine being poured was broken by the crack of Dale’s question.

“Why?”

“Because my father is expecting us to visit him tomorrow evening, and I will not walk into his hospital room with a stranger and try to bullshit him into believing we’re in love when you appear nothing but shit scared and gun-shy. I hope you like red.” He handed her a glass.

She took it, and he had to swallow a moan when the first thing she did was smell it.

“In love.” She shook her head as if the idea was impossible. “Why do you want me to meet your father?”

“Because he needs to meet you. You like wine?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know much about it?”

“Some.”

Her one-word answers were both frustrating and entertaining. “Would you like to elaborate?”

“No.”

“Why? Do you think I might laugh at you? Correct you? Make you feel foolish?” He could already see that, despite her perfect appearance, her self-confidence wasn’t healthy. Was her critical father to blame? Lukas wanted to backhand the man for daring to tell his daughter her opinions were worthless. What kind of asshole did that?

Or did the blame for Dale’s lack of confidence lay with her mother?

“You don’t seem the type who has to belittle someone to make himself feel big.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

Snooty little thing. “Wine is a passion of mine,” he supplied. “I own two vineyards. One is in California, the other in Italy. Now it’s your turn. Tell me something about yourself.”

She brought the glass to her lips and took a small sip. “I like to be on top. I like the control. Not only speed and positioning, but how deep I let you into my body. Mmm.” She tapped her nail on the glass and held his eyes. “Congratulations, Lukas. Your wine is rich and seamless on the palate.” She slid off the stool. “It possesses striking depth.” And walked around the island. “Along with black cherry and chocolate,” she bumped him back with her hip and placed her glass down before hopping up to sit on the counter in front of him, “there’s a hint of menthol and spices. It’s lovely. Where’s your kitchen staff?” She took her glass up again and had another drink.

The control he’d always taken for granted when it came to women was circling the drain faster and faster. Should he punish her for teasing him? Strip her and fuck her until her shields fell? Maybe he should give her hell for continuously trying to shut him out when he genuinely wanted to know her?

Or did he do what was right and have some patience with her considering he’d landed in her life like a bloodied sledgehammer, and she likely needed at least a few hours to get used to his presence.

“This kitchen is for our private use. The main kitchen is on the other side of the house.” He took a drink of wine that tasted exactly as she’d described it. “When the time comes, I am going to enjoy watching you ride me. I won’t fight your need to control your pleasure.” He stepped in between her spread legs as her gaze flattened because he hadn’t taken her bait. “I won’t fight your need for anything, except freedom. You no longer possess the right to that.” He laid his hand over her mouth when it flew open. “I know that will anger you, but I don’t mean it in the sense you’re happily taking it. Until you learn the ways of this life, I must keep you sheltered. Because the moment word gets out that I have taken a partner, the vultures will descend. And if you think for one minute I could leave you vulnerable, you haven’t been listening at all.”

She pulled his hand down. “I’m not going to be your partner. I’ll meet your dad for reasons unknown, and I’ll spend a night or two in your bed, but that’s it.”

Why was she fighting this so hard? Having to ease her into forever with him wasn’t only frustrating, it was beginning to feel insulting. Was she really going to make him work for it? He was a goddamn catch in elite circles, for fuck’s sake. Women loved him. Why didn’t she?

The only reason he could think was that she was protecting herself. She was centering on sex and avoiding anything to do with emotion and feelings. The same way he used to.

“I will not hurt you, yagodka,” he said in a gentle tone. “And I will never let anyone else hurt you.”

Her beautifully arched eyebrows snapped together. “Says the guy who killed a man by impaling his brain with a weapon I supplied,” she said hotly.

He loosely clasped her legs just above the knee and could feel a tremble going through her. “Are you still upset that I inadvertently made you an accomplice to Nero’s murder?” Now she was just grasping at straws.

“Ya think?”

“Is that why you’re shaking?”

“No. I’m hungry. All I’ve eaten since breakfast is three donuts, and I only ate those because I was feeling sorry for myself but pretending not to.”

He wanted to kiss the fucking breath out of her. “Why were you feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Because I get weak sometimes.”

A non-answer, but an enlightening one just the same. “So you’re hard on yourself, are you? Would you by any chance be allergic to anything?”

As he stepped away, she opened her mouth to answer but hesitated just long enough for him to know she was about to lie to him. His anger ignited that she would try.

“Tons. You might want to seriously consider letting me go because, if you meant it and you don’t want to hurt me, you’re going to end up killing me by feeding me something you shouldn’t. I’ll be the most high-maintenance kidnapping victim you’ve ever kept in this…this…place.” She raised two fingers. “Swear to God.”

Lukas walked away. He went over and buried his grinning face in the refrigerator. Her ridiculous speech aside, she’d raised two fingers, but not in a typical scout’s honor—which was really three fingers—with the digits side by side. She’d crossed hers in the type of gesture one generally hid behind their back.

As his humor subsided, he took out an antipasto tray and returned to his entertainment.

“I would like you to tell me exactly what you are unable to eat, and why.” He removed the glass cover and set the tray beside Dale on the counter before breaking the bread apart with his hands. “Well?” He didn’t bother with plates, but he did go back to the fridge to get a container of fresh mozzarella that he opened and sliced on a wooden cutting board. He glanced up.

“Uh…” The striking green of her eyes shrunk as her pupils dilated. “You’ll have to give me a minute. I can’t think right now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid of you.”

Liar. He was looking at desire, not fear. “That will pass soon enough.” But he’d go along with it for her sake.

“Is that what always happens?”

“What do you mean?”

“With your victims. Does their fear wear off in so short a time?”

“My victims.”

“Yes. Your kidnapping victims.”

Ah. Of course. He picked up a cherry tomato and wrapped it in a piece of shaved prosciutto. He brought it to her mouth. “Open. As you are my first victim…” He paused. “Female victim,” he clarified, “I can’t say.”

She pulled her head back a little. “You’ve kidnapped men before?”

“Not for the same purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?”

“To make you my wife and have a houseful of babies.” Could he be any clearer? “Open for me, Dale.”

Her hands had curled into fists and a yearning he could almost feel glowed in her eyes. But, naturally, she blocked it when she parted her lips and took the food from his hand. As she chewed, his cock filled. He would have to have her after this. It was getting late, but she didn’t seem the least bit tired. He fed her an olive and two more slices of meat before reaching for something behind her. As she drank her wine, he placed the small rack down then drizzled some olive oil and balsamic vinegar over the tomatoes. Stabbing one with the fork supplied on the side of the tray, he then added a slice of mozzarella before offering it.

“I don’t have allergies,” she murmured before accepting the food.

“I know.” He placed his free hand on her hip and petted her, wondering what she’d be like when she wasn’t in defense mode.

“You’re not disgusted because I’m sitting on your counter?” she asked after swallowing.

“No.” He pressed his lips to the edge of her jaw. Her skin was flawless.

Her fingers drifted down his abs. “I thought you were a self-indulgent hot-head.”

He remained silent.

“I’m not thrilled to find out that you’re not. Well, right now you’re not. You’re surprisingly gentle and kind of generous, and…really too attractive for your own good.”

He chuckled and ate a few bites himself. After washing the food down with a drink of wine, he kissed her as a reward for her honesty.

“Samuel would disagree when using the word gentle to describe me.”

“He’s probably jealous of you.”

“Jealous? Why?”

“I don’t know. Because you have so much game.” Her forehead puckered before smoothing out. “You’re siblings. Aren’t same-sex siblings always jealous of each other?”

He tore a piece of bread in half and fed her the soft part while he ate the crust. “Not in our case.”

“Of course, not.”

“That makes you sad?”

She straightened from the slouch she’d settled into. “What makes you think I’m sad?” A challenge presented in the angle of her chin.

“You’re right in front of me, and I can see perfectly, Magdalena.”

She pulled a face and buried her nose in her wine glass again. He took that as a sign she didn’t like how well he’d read her. Problem was, he could see how she felt when she mentioned siblings, but because she wouldn’t talk, he didn’t know why. Because she didn’t have any? Had she had one or more at some point in her life? Had they moved out of town, and she missed them?

He was about to ask when his phone went off. The sound had him shifting from pleasure to business with a jarring speed. He pulled it out and answered.

“Son?”

His heart hit his ribs with a thump he was sure had been heard around the world. “Papa? Are you okay?”

Dale slowly lowered her glass.

“Fine. I…needed to talk to you.”

“Of course. Is Yuri with you?”

“Yes. I’m fine, Lukas. I…dreamed of your mother. I thought she was…I thought I…she’s gone. Yes?”

Emotion rose up to thicken his throat. “Yes, she’s been gone for a long time now,” he forced out as he held Dale’s clear emerald stare. “It must be the injury and meds screwing with you.”

“I could have sworn she was real.”

He turned away and stuck his finger and thumb into his eyes sockets. Was this what he was setting himself up for by so easily accepting what was happening with Dale? A painful, lonely existence if she was ever taken from him?

“Maybe she came back to visit with you, Papa. God knows she must miss you as much as you miss her.”

“Yes. She would.”

Lukas saw Dale slip off the counter through the reflection in the window. “I was going to tell you to forget it and get some rest, but, maybe you should close your eyes and see if she returns.”

A staggering comfort was delivered when he felt hesitant arms slip around his waist. After the briefest hesitation, Dale rested her head between his shoulder blades. Her fingers stroked his chest as she held him.

“Papa? Do you think you can stay awake for a while?” he asked, following a sudden urge.

“Yes, I…think so.” He sounded distracted.

“I’d like to bring Dale to meet you now. Do you feel up to that?” He felt her stiffen at his back as a gruff sigh came through the phone.

“It would be my pleasure to meet your woman, Lukas. You know this.”

“We’ll be there shortly.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Didn’t sound so distracted anymore.

Lukas hung up. “I know you must be tired, but—”

“This is the end of a workday for me. I’m cool.” She came around to his front without letting go of him completely. She kept her head down, denying him a glimpse of her face. “I don’t have anything to wear to meet this soft-hearted mafia boss you talk to so sweetly.”

He’d just learned more about her. She was the generous one, and courageous.

“You have a closet full of clothes. Let’s go find something. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

He took her hand, and she didn’t complain once about the speed with which he brought them up to his—now their—bedroom.