"My son," he says softly, reverently. "My wife." His eyes meet mine. "My everything."
And then he spends the rest of Christmas Day making me moan his name, just like he promised.
Just like he always does.
EPILOGUE: NIKOLAI
FIVE MONTHS LATER
The elevator doors slide open on the penthouse level, and I step into the marble foyer, my shoulders still tight from twenty-four hours of meetings in Chicago. I should’ve stayed longer but I didn’t want to take more than one day away from Holly.
My wife.
My very pregnant wife.
The thought sends a surge of protective instinct through me that I still haven't gotten used to. Five months, and I'm still adjusting to the reality that I'm going to be a father.
The door clicks open, and the scent of home hits me immediately. Not the sterile, cold bachelor pad this place used to be. Now it smells like Holly. Warm and something sweet I can never quite name. There are fresh flowers on the console table. A pair of her shoes kicked off near the door. A book left open on the arm of the sofa.
Home.
It's a word I never thought would mean anything to me. But that was before her.
"Nikolai?"
Her voice comes from the bedroom, and just the sound of it makes me smile.
"I'm home,solnyshko," I call back.
I barely have time to pull off my tie before she appears in the doorway, and my breath catches the way it always fucking does.
She's wearing one of my dress shirts, white cotton that barely covers her round belly and falls to mid-thigh. Her hair is loose and wild around her shoulders. Her cheeks are pink. And those big brown eyes lock onto me with an intensity that goes straight to my groin.
"I missed you," she says, closing the distance between us.
"I was only gone a day."
"That's twenty-four hours too long."
She reaches me and slides her hands up my chest, her fingers finding my collar. The swell of her belly presses against me, and I can feel our son moving inside her.
Our son.
My family.
"Hello,malyshka," I start, but she cuts me off with a kiss that steals whatever thought I had.
Her mouth is hot and demanding, her tongue sweeping against mine with a hunger that makes my head spin. Her hands work at my shirt, unbuttoning it with practiced efficiency.
When she breaks the kiss, she's breathing hard, her eyes dark with desire.
"Bedroom. Now."
Christ, I love this woman.
She tugs me by the shirt toward the bedroom, and I follow like a man under a spell. Which, fuck it, maybe I am. She's had me under her spell since the moment I saw her outside the gallery a year and a half ago.
The bedroom is dimly lit, soft lamplight casting golden shadows across the bed. She pushes me down onto the mattresswith more force than I expected, and I let her because the sight of her taking control does things to me.
