Chapter 39

Anton

"Oh no. Oh please God, no," I breathed, uttering yet another prayer. I had never prayed before I met Mishka. Now, it seemed, I seemed to pray nonstop.

I was holding my woman in my arms, wondering if it was too soon to make love to her again. My desire for her had risen as soon as our breathing calmed, even before she had so sweetly fallen asleep in my arms. The girl trusted me, had trusted me with her virginity. With her future. With her life.

Making love to this magical, tiny woman had been a revelation. Like riding a rocket ship to the stars, and coming home again. It was like seeing the birth of the universe itself.

Selfishly I wanted to take her again. I knew it was most likely too soon. I should wait until tonight, I decided. Perhaps shower and put a cool cloth against her, then feed her before making love to her again in the evening. I was about to ask her if she was sore when I heard it.

The sound of motorcycles.

Lots and lots of motorcycles.

"What is that sound?" The angel in my arms asked innocently. Her huge eyes looked up at me from where she was nestled against my shoulder. I loved having her there, her magnificently beautiful and oh-so-naked body curved against me, safe and snug. Her dark eyelashes were so long and thick that they partially obscured her incredible eyes from me at this angle.

She hadn't heard me begging, thank the Saints. She had been asleep. But she was about to get a rude awakening, quite literally.

And an education in the American wing of our family.

The very American, very extended wing of our family.

The unwanted houseguests wing of our family.

Then I heard Russian. Loud Russian. My brothers were here, too.

All of them coming into my house. I heard them all. Heavy boots stomping in the entryway.

"Anton?"

"My apologies, Mishka. We are being invaded," I said, pressing a kiss to her rumpled silk hair. The noises downstairs got louder and I muttered "Goddamn it," mimicking my cousin-in-law, if such a thing existed. Vice was a good man, I admitted grudgingly. I trusted him with my cousin. But his crew of ornery bikers were a righteous pain in the ass.

And now they were here to ruin the best ‘damned' day of my life. They loved saying ‘damned this and damned that'. Also ‘fuck'. A word I used on occasion, but not with the colorful regularity of the Untouchables MC.

I wondered if Preacher was there. I highly doubted Mishka would marry me on the spot, but the thought had some appeal. A rather startling appeal. Lock her down. Now. Claim her. Keep her.

It was what I wanted.

Thought I had planned on asking for her father's permission first. In person. Maybe a FaceTime was in order… once my woman was distracted and only if Preacher was actually here.

My brothers would certainly be amused. One more than the other, I thought, suddenly remembering their bet. I chuckled to myself.

Perhaps the distraction was a good thing. It would be best if I let her heal before pouncing on her again. I had to control my baser desires. She was more than worth the wait.

And knowing the Untouchables, the alcohol would be flowing. Alcohol was an excellent relaxant and painkiller, both of which would work to my advantage… a sneaky thought but I could not ignore the opportunity in terms of strategy.

If I was lucky, I would be married before the day was out, and tonight I would make love to my wife, not just my girl.

I was smiling as I rang my staff for coffee to be brought up, and led my blushing bride-to-be into the shower to clean up.

She had not noticed the bloody sheets, thankfully. I was not sure how much she knew about basic biology, but I wanted nothing to startle her or spoil the day. I tossed the blankets over the bed so she would not notice before the staff had a chance to come in and change the sheets.

I would do anything to protect her, and her tender feelings.