Chapter 18

Eighteen

K irill

I'm hit with a blast of rose when she brushes past me fast. I could snap out a hand and catch her in place. I could keep her here with me, where she so obviously doesn't want to be. I could steal a kiss and soften those fear-filled, untrusting eyes that refuse to meet my gaze in the light of day.

But I don't.

I let her run, let her think she's putting space between us.

I'd caught most of their conversation, coming home early, and clearly unexpectedly, from work, to find my wife and the man I've entrusted to guard her with his life, cozy on my couch.

My eyes slice to him when the scent of rose finally dissolves, leaving me aching for more. My skin itches with the need to be near her. To hear her confess her thoughts to me. Her fears. Her broken faith.

I want everything she is clearly so eager to give to him.

Maxim sits back in the couch, lifting his hands in surrender. But he's smart enough to remain silent.

Slowly, I move into the room. I lower to the coffee table directly in front of him. "She is comfortable with you."

His eyes hold mine. "She is curious about you."

To this, I raise a brow. "Is that so?"

"She asks of you often."

A burn of something unpleasantly—well, pleasant—moves through me. I like that she asks of me. I just wish she'd ask me.

"And what is it about me she is so curious of?"

"Everything."

Tension spreads inside me like wildfire over a parched forest. "Maxim."

"She's afraid of you. Terrified, actually. She's angry that she is here, with no way back to the life she knew. But most of all," he gives a small shrug, "I think she is grieving. She's looking for comfort and has no one to take it from. No one here she trusts enough to ask for it from."

"I am here," I say more to myself than to him. "I'm her husband."

"You are her jailor. Her keeper."

My eyes snap to him, displeasure and danger he's too young to heed, flashing in my eyes. I warn, "Maxim."

"That is how she views you, boss. If you want her to look at you some other way, you have to become something else to her. You have to mean something to her, and that will take time and patience."

He's right, I know. I just don't know how to be this something else he speaks of. I've been me for so long, I'm unsure how to channel something other .

"Any suggestions?" I sigh, tired.

He laughs, an abrupt and surprised sound. Then he heaves a sigh. "Dimitri mentioned something about you considering a cat."

I sneer, lip curling. "Dimitri is on his way to losing his tongue."

"Let me know if you need someone to hold him down," Maxim jests. "Until then, Sasha's sister has kittens. If you want one…"

Scrubbing my hands over my scowl, I grunt. "Tell him I want two."

When I'm at the door, Maxim calls out to me, "Oh, and boss?"

"What?" I can't believe I'm getting two fucking cats.

"She told me a few days ago that she misses relaxing."

"Relaxing?"

"She liked to unwind with a movie and snacks. She also has a sweet tooth. I caught her hunting the kitchen for candy."

"Candy?"

"Gummies, to be specific."

"Well, fuck, it looks like I'm not only a cat man, but I'm going to be the type to what? Netflix and chill? " Maxim barks a laugh at my growly words.

"I don't think you'll be doing the Netflix and chill part of that—at least not before you get the cats."

I have no idea what the fuck he's talking about—or laughing at—but I don't have it in me to ask.

As I leave the room, running into Dimitri on my way to my own room, I order, "Send one of the men to buy candy."

Dimitri's steps stutter. "What, now?"

"Candy. The gummy kind. A large assortment." I keep walking, and call over my shoulder, "Oh, and whatever one needs to care for two cats."

I leave my right-hand man with his jaw hanging open and horror in his eyes, as I set out to find the woman responsible for it all.

I find my wife in her room, her Kindle in her lap and my dog stretched out on her bed beside her.

"There's a lot wrong with this picture," I say by way of ‘helllo'. Her honey-colored eyes lift slowly to mine, and I feel their landing like a spur imbedding deep under my skin.

"What's so wrong with it?"

I start listing off the wrongs. "You're in this room, and not mine, where I made it clear you were to be from now on."

She interrupts me. Brave little thing. "I thought that was just for sleeping."

"You share my room now."

"But—"

I speak over her. "My dog is on the bed."

Defiant as ever, she lifts her chin. "So? It's my bed."

I feel the growl rising in my throat before it sounds in the space between us. "Come."

"Where?" There's a flash of fear. A moment of hesitancy.

She doesn't move, but Simba lifts his head, watching me.

I say nothing as I cross the space between us, plucking first her Kindle from her hands, and then her hands from her lap. I pull her from the bed despite her protests, and lead her to the door between our rooms.

Her protests get louder. "It's not time for bed, Kirill."

"We're not going to bed."

"Then what are we doing?" she demands as I pull her through the door, into my room. Our room.

"We're relaxing."

She's quiet as I pull her across the space, into the bathroom. Simba remains outside the bathroom, curling up somewhere close, undoubtedly. My dog has taken to her quite quickly. I'm no longer certain I would be his top priority in the event I need his protection, which, I can't say bothers me.

Not if his priority is her.

"What are we doing in here?" Her eyes scan the design of the rustic space before her brows knit as her gaze locks on the full bath. It's a large tub built to easily accommodate two people.

I drop her hand to lift my own to the buttons of my shirt. Her lips part, the movement small and hypnotizing. "We're relaxing."

"We?"

"Yes."

"In the bath?"

I pop one button, and then two. "Yes."

"Together?"

Her eyes follow my hands as they move south, the material of my shirt falling away to expose my hard chest and the ink there. "Yes."

She folds her arms over her chest. "I don't want to have a bath with you."

"I'm not asking."

She swallows hard. "That won't be relaxing for me, Kirill."

"How can you know?" I drop my shirt to the floor, and she looks away. As though she can't bear to look at me. "You haven't given me a chance."

"You don't deserve a chance."

"Are you really so eager for a miserable life, wife?"

"My life holds no meaning for me anymore. I'm nothing. I have no one. I've made peace with the point of my life being to make yours miserable."

I almost laugh.

"Take off your clothes." I pull the belt from the loops of my pants.

"No."

Such defiance.

I pop the button of my trousers, shoving them from my hips. "Take off your clothes, wife, or I will do it for you."

She won't look at me, but I can still see the swell of emotion that glistens in her eyes. Maxim's words come back to me, and I sigh heavily. I'm not accustomed to the tenderness she requires.

I let my briefs fall to the floor, painfully hard for her even now as she squeezes her eyes closed. Her breaths rattle, body trembling. Gently, I touch her face as I press a kiss to her forehead. Her breath shudders from her lips, and I inhale the taste of her into my lungs. Sweet, candied roses, and honey.

Hell. No… heaven .

"I am going to get in the water. I will close my eyes until you are in the bath with me." An edge of hard warning drips from my next words. "But if you try to run, if you disobey me, I will catch you, strip you, and punish you. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The word is hardly audible. I'm surprised she didn't tell me I was a monster.

"Good girl." I do as I told her I would, watching her as she stands with her eyes squeezed closed. Emotion leaks from her eyes, catching on the firelight of the single candle I'd lit while I'd drawn the bath, before finding her.

Sinking into the hot water, I let my head rest against the edge of the tub and tell her, "My eyes are closed, Ruby."