by Lauren Smith
“Call them, then come to bed. I need one more night with you before all this happens . . .”
He stepped into the hall and called Emery, Wes, Fenn, Hans, and Cody. His friends had all been through hell in the last year, but they would come whenever he needed them. That’s what friends were for. They would help you bury a body—or in this case, take on a small Russian army to save the descendent of Anastasia Romanov.
16
Dimitri parked his car outside of a bar in town. He didn’t get out—he simply stared at the merrily lit windows—yet his thoughts were miles away. He didn’t want to admit his friends might be right, that they had to set a trap, and then he would get Elena away to safety. It was the only real option they had.
He couldn’t let her go to New York alone, nor could he let her stay and fight. It was too dangerous, and too much depended on her. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel for a long moment before he cursed and turned the engine back on.
He drove back up to the cabin. As he entered the front door, he heard his friends still talking. They quieted as he stepped inside. He fumbled nervously with the keys, not quite ready to meet their eyes. He had never really fought like that before with them.
He cleared his throat. “I . . .”
Nicholas smiled. “Go find your little czarina. She is worried about you.”
Leo and Maxim nodded, giving silent signals of forgiveness for his outburst. But he still owed them the words.
“You were right . . . about the plan, and about my father. I didn’t want to betray you. I didn’t want to leave you.” What he couldn’t say was that he didn’t want to leave them to die. He didn’t want to be forced to choose between them and Elena.
“We know,” Maxim replied with a rare smile. “Now go reassure your kiska that you are well.”
Dimitri tossed the car keys at Leo, who set them on the counter before Dimitri walked to the master bedroom. He knocked lightly on the closed door, and it was flung open. Elena leapt into his arms. He chuckled as he caught her. She wrapped her arms so tightly around his back he almost felt his ribs crack.
“Where the hell did you go?” she demanded. Her tone was hot with anger, but she didn’t release him.
“Just to town and back.”
She lifted her head, glowering at him. “You can’t just disappear like that. People worry.”
“Did you worry?” His tone was gentle as he brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek.
Her lashes fluttered down. “What do you think?” Then she looked back up and pinned him with a glare. “Don’t you dare do that to me ever again.”
“I won’t,” he promised. He moved them both into the bedroom and closed the door behind them, locking it.
“You should shower.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the bathroom.
He couldn’t disagree. He had sparred with her that afternoon and needed to wash off his sweat, but he sensed that she was after something more now than simply getting him clean. He allowed her to lead him into the expansive master bathroom, aware of the fact that she wore only a bathrobe. He played with the terrycloth sash that was wound around her waist.
“You haven’t showered yet either?”
She shook her head. “I wanted to wait for you.”
There was such power and emotion behind those last two words, for you. Now he understood. She had made her decision, and he would give her what she needed and wanted.
Dimitri held his breath as she moved closer to him, pulling at his sweater. He removed it and let it fall to the ground at his feet. Her hands touched his chest, gently exploring him as she raised her head.
“Please be with me tonight, sir.”
That single word turned something on inside him, something he had done his best to bury since Utah.
“This is what you truly want, kiska?”
She nodded. “I have been thinking a lot about who I am, who I want to be.” She kept her hands on him as she spoke. “I was so broken after . . .”
He caught her chin. “You were never broken, kiska.”
“You keep saying that, but you’re wrong.”
“Kiska . . .”
“No, listen, you’re missing the point. To keep insisting that I was never broken, it’s like . . . well, it’s like being broken is a mark of shame. But it’s not.” She smiled, a soft smile that contained a deeper understanding. “Have you ever heard of kintsukuroi?”
Dimitri shook his head. He was a little distracted by the feel of her touching him. No woman had ever affected him like this. He belonged to Elena, now and always. She continued to speak as her hands coasted up his shoulders to touch the sides of his neck.
“Kintsukuroi is a Japanese art where you take something broken and repair it with gold—like a shattered piece of pottery. You collect the pieces and fuse them together with gold or silver lacquer. Part of the art of it is the acknowledgment that something can become more beautiful for having been broken. Now that simple pot or base is infused with the might and the glitter of gold.”
He gazed at her, spellbound by her words.
“I am done pretending that I wasn’t broken. Vadym broke me. But I put myself back together, better, stronger, more beautiful. You helped me achieve that.” She caressed his neck with light fingertips. “And now I want you, sir. I want you desperately.” She met his eyes. “Be the last piece of gold that puts me back together.”
She stepped away from him, but he caught her, holding her close when she would’ve moved toward the shower. He nuzzled her neck, feeling the thrum of her pulse against his lips.
“You are my endless wonder,” he murmured in her ear before he claimed her lips.
It was a kiss that infused his heart with gold. This kiss burned through him brighter than any star, deeper than anything he’d ever imagined. It was a kiss to build a world upon. His body shook as he parted her lips and delved deeper, wanting to burn her taste into his memory so that it would be carved into the marrow of his bones. Her lips curved into a smile, playful and sweet, as she tugged on the strands of his hair. They moved back toward the shower and separated only long enough for her to turn on the water before he dragged her, giggling, back into his arms.
Elena felt light, as though a gentle mountain breeze could lift her up and carry her to faraway places. She was ready. She wanted this, and she wanted Dimitri. The danger that loomed on the horizon had cast a brilliant clarity on her life as to what truly mattered. She thought back to what her father had once said when she’d fallen off a horse during a jump.
“A person who never falls never gains the strength to get up and try again.”
Admitting the fact that she had been knocked down by Vadym had been the first step in finding the strength to get back up. She was raising her fists, ready for the next fight, and she was stronger this time. Knowing that made her more hungry to live her life than to be afraid of it.
She escaped Dimitri’s arms long enough to peel the bathrobe off her body before she moved back into the steamy shower stall. Her beautiful Russian badass was speechless as he gazed at her. She didn’t think about the scars on her back, didn’t worry about any of it. It didn’t matter anymore. Dimitri stepped toward her, and she held up a finger.
“I think you’re forgetting something, sir.” She emphasized his title with a grin as she pointed at his pants and boots.
The wolfish gleam in his eyes deepened as he kicked off his boots and socks and then reached for his jeans. He unfastened his belt, slipping it free of his jeans and letting it drop before he unzipped the dark denim and tugged the jeans down. Elena’s throat caught at the sight of the corded muscles that led down to a set of muscles that formed a V shape, which directed her gaze even lower. He slid his briefs off and then stepped toward her.
All power, all strength, all perfect masculinity. And he was hers.
Elena trembled with excitement as she moved deeper into the shower, hot water cascading down her body. He pursued, a slow dance of predator and
prey that excited her beyond imagining. This ritual was as old as time, the mating of bodies and souls.
Dimitri caught her waist and gently pressed her against the cool granite wall of the shower, his flesh against hers, sending waves of heat rolling through her. It was as though the fire inside her moved her into him, fusing them together until his blue eyes glowed with a mix of lust and something softer and deeper.
She basked in the magnificence of his naked form—the raw, sinewy, powerful build of him. He was solid as a wall, massive and unyielding, and it made her feel small and feminine, but not weak. She felt in control, knowing her body caused the same reaction in him. His face hid nothing from her. That was the beauty of domination and submission. She gave up herself to him, yet she had the real power. She could see his desire in his eyes. He found joy in her surrender and their mutual pleasure.
Dimitri’s hands slid up her sides, his large, calloused palms gentle, but possessive, as he memorized her every curve with his touch. He branded her in a way no scar left by Vadym ever could.
He captured her mouth, kissing her, leaving no room for her to kiss him back. She could only submit as he took what was his. With a soft growl, he turned her around to face the wall.
“Hands,” he commanded, and she placed her palms on the wall.
Then he kissed her neck, the shell of her ear, nibbling on places that made her legs tremble and threaten to give out. His hands slid up her body to her breasts, which were full and heavy. She arched, pressing them against his waiting palms. Her nipples pebbled into hard points and rasped against his skin. He pinched each peak, the hint of pain heightening her building pleasure.
“Are you mine?” His warm breath tickled her ear. The words felt forbidden, that she could belong to no man, but she did. She was his, heart, body, and soul. She nodded, and he punished her with a gentle slap on one ass cheek.
“Use your words, kiska.”
Every nerve in her body came alive at the command.
“Yes, I am yours, sir.” The words were her vow to him. No matter what happened, no matter what her bloodline would bring down on them, she was his.
“Tell me you are priceless, kiska. That you are beautiful inside and out.” He fisted a hand in her hair, his fingers firm but gentle. Always gentle, this beautiful, sexy Russian Dom.
“I’m priceless . . . I’m beautiful inside and out.” She spoke the words, her heart swelling. She choked down a sob at the sudden joy that filled her. She believed the words.
“Now, tell me what you want, kiska.” He nipped her ear again, and she whimpered as a flash of arousal weakened her knees.
“I need you, sir. I need you to make love to me. I need you to remind me what it feels like.”
He rewarded her by turning her in his arms again and kissing her. It was a slow kiss, one that reminded her of summer days, endless sunlight, and the joy of being alive and having the entire world ahead of her.
“I will always give you what you need,” Dimitri promised. His eyes held hers, his body cradled hers, and she knew then that she loved this man more than her own life.
He lifted her up in his arms, and she parted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. He braced her against the wall of the shower and guided his shaft into her. She tensed for only a heartbeat as he pressed into her. Even in this, he was a gentle giant. She relaxed against him and he sank in, filling her. She had forgotten how it felt to have a man inside her when she was willing. And with him, she was more than willing. She was desperate with longing.
“My beautiful kiska,” he whispered in Russian as he began to move inside her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. She covered his face with delicate kisses as they fused together into something greater than either of them alone could ever be. The weariness of past days and months bled away, and she unfurled in his arms, a flower soaking up his sunlight.
Hypnotized by his touch, his kiss, his body, she was swept to a height of pleasure that was so powerful, she could only desperately gasp as she feared she might die. Her mind blanked as she crested, and every dark corner of her memories were bathed in white light. She was undone, unmade, and reforged by sheer pleasure and love for this man.
He held her, his forehead pressed to hers as he gasped for breath. His body trembled as he slowly set her down on her feet. The hot shower rushed over them as he withdrew from her body but kept her tight in his arms.
She raised her gaze to his, droplets coating her lashes. She wiped a hand across her eyes and stared at him in awe, and he at her.
“I love you,” she said. She waited for him to say it back, a brief flicker of fear trespassing through her that he might not feel the depth of what she felt for him. He cupped her face, his thumbs smoothing over her cheeks as he smiled. The tiny lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled.
“I have never not loved you, my little kiska. From the moment I first saw you. You were mine, and I was yours.” This was his way of saying he loved her, and it was everything she had ever dreamed of.
Elena laid her head against his chest. For the first time, she knew she was whole. Not because she loved someone or was loved back, but because she had embraced herself, broken pieces and all, and put herself back together into something more beautiful. Now she had a life again and someone to share it with.
She wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from her.
Royce met Hans Brummer at the private airfield just as the sun was beginning to set. The middle-aged bodyguard was like an older brother to him, and he smiled as Royce got out of his car. Behind Hans, the private jet was fueled and ready to go.
“Everyone here?” Royce asked as he shook his friend’s hand. Hans may have had gray streaking his temples, but he was the best man Royce knew on this side of the ocean who could be trusted with the mission ahead.
“Everyone except Fenn, who’s already en route. He was in Denver. Cody’s packed up everything we need. We pulled out all the stops and brought the fun guns.” Hans’s tone was light, but Royce knew the man was taking the situation seriously. He knew better than anyone what kind of men they would be facing. They weren’t the spoiled minions of Russian mobsters like Vadym’s men. They would be dealing with the most dangerous men Russia had to offer.
“Thank you, Hans,” Royce said. “You should be enjoying retirement, not gearing up for another fight.”
He knew Hans was ready to retire. The man had become a private bodyguard for Royce’s childhood best friend, Emery Lockwood, when Emery and his twin brother, Fenn, had been kidnapped. For twenty-five years Fenn’s disappearance had never been solved, and Emery had Hans as his faithful shadow to protect him in case danger struck again. But the Lockwood twins had been reunited, and the danger to Emery was over. The bodyguard had every right to ride off into the sunset in pursuit of the life he had sacrificed to protect Emery.
Hans shrugged. “Elena Allen deserves her life back. She’s a good kid. No one should take anything else away from her, especially because of her ancestry.”
“I agree.” Royce followed him up the steps into the plane. The cabin had a limited number of seats compared to a commercial jet, designed for comfort and pleasure. Two men were already seated at a table. The dark-blond man was Emery Lockwood, and the one who sat across from him was Wes Thorne. Both were Royce’s age, in their early thirties.
“Royce,” Emery called out as he spotted him.
Hans nodded at the men before sitting in another part of the plane, across from a man in his midtwenties with shaggy blond hair. That was Cody Larson. The man who had saved their lives that day in Ulaanbaatar. Cody looked more like a surfer ready to hit the beach than a man raised on the inner-city streets of Chicago. He knew more about tech than anyone Royce had ever met.
The flight attendants closed the door and started securing the cabin for takeoff. Royce grabbed an empty seat beside Wes and across from Emery.
“Kenzie all settled in Manhattan?” Emery ask
ed.
“Yes, thank you for that. I feel better knowing she’s at your penthouse with Sophie.”
Emery nodded. “Of course. Sophie’s glad to help. With all her media contacts, they’ll be ready to launch Elena’s story the moment you give the word.”
“Speaking of,” Wes cut in. “How is Miss Allen? Emery told me that she . . .” Wes cleared his throat. “He told me what happened.”
Royce curled his hands into fists. Thinking of what Elena had endured at Vadym’s hands still haunted him. Emery and Wes were like him, Doms who shared a natural protectiveness for women, and didn’t tolerate abuse of women.
“Dimitri says she’s doing much better. But now that she’s facing all this”—he waved his hand in the air—“assassination bullshit, I don’t know. Hell, news like that would’ve rattled me. I can’t imagine what it’s done to her.”
“Well, she won’t be alone,” Emery promised.
“No, she won’t,” Royce agreed. They were bringing their own army. Although it was small, sure, but it was dangerous as hell.
17
Elena sighed as she stretched in bed. She felt good. No, she felt wonderful.
For the first time, Dimitri hadn’t slipped out of bed before she woke. That too was wonderful, to feel his large, protective presence in bed with her. She rolled on her side to stare at him, her love for him making her chest ache. She reached out and traced her fingertips along his jaw, then down his throat to his chest. He was exquisite, from his dark hair to his full lips. She traced one of his flat nipples and giggled as he slowly opened one eye to peer at her.
His voice rumbled softly, full of amusement. “You are in a good mood, kiska.”
“I am.” After the previous night, she felt like anything was possible.
“Did you enjoy last night?” He reached over to push a stubborn lock of hair from her face.
“I did. I feel amazing.” She was completely naked beneath the covers and so was he. She found his thigh under the sheets and slid her hand up it until she grasped his shaft. He was hard, yet he wasn’t pushing for her to do anything about it. He simply watched her with a gentle intensity, as though he could keep it up all day.
