I didn't have an answer. All I knew was that I was falling for Olek Sidorov. And when this was over, I was going to have to break my own heart. Maybe his too.
Olek
Imade it halfway back to the main house before I had to stop and lean against a tree.
My hands were shaking.
Fuck.
I'd lost control. Completely. The moment I walked into that bathroom and saw her on her knees scrubbing tile instead of in my study where she was supposed to be, something in me had snapped. The fear had been immediate and visceral. Something happened to her. Marcus found her. She's hurt. She's gone.
Then, Mikhail had radioed that her car was still in the lot, her phone pinging from the guest house, and fear had morphed into fury. She'd forgotten about me. About us. She was pulling away, and I couldn't, wouldn't let that happen. So, I'd done what I always did when I felt things slipping through my fingers. I'd taken control. Reminded her who she belonged to. Made sure she felt me for days.
I pushed off the tree and started walking again, forcing my breathing to steady. The sex had been brutal. Necessary. I'd needed to stake my claim, needed to hear her say she was mine. But that kiss. Christ, that kiss at the end.
I'd meant to leave her with a reminder. A warning. Instead, I'd kissed her like I was trying to pour every feeling I couldn't say into her mouth. Because I couldn't say them.
We had a little under two months left. She had a sister to protect, a life to escape to. And I had a Bratva to run, enemies who'd use her against me if they knew how much she meant to me. I stopped again, running my hand through my hair.
When had it become more than the contract? More than just incredible sex and sharp banter? Week two, probably. When she'd fallen asleep in my arms and I'd stayed awake for hours, just watching her breathe.
Or maybe week three, when I'd caught myself buying her favorite coffee instead of mine. When I'd started arranging my meetings around her schedule so I could see her more. Or maybe it had been from the beginning, from the moment she'd pushed against my chest in that pantry and looked at me like I was just a man instead of something to fear.
I was in love with her. Completely. Catastrophically. In love with my head maid who was supposed to walk away when this was over.
"Fuck," I said out loud.
It had begun sometime ago, and I’d made it worse by entering into this agreement with her. I didn’t expect her to be so sweet and caring. To feel so good. To taste so damn delicious. She was supposed to be an itch that I scratched. Now I was obsessed with her in a way that was lethal. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?
"Boss?"
I looked up. Mikhail stood at the edge of the garden, concern on his face.
"I'm fine."
"You look like you're having a crisis."
"I'm not."
"You sure?"
"Drop it." I straightened my jacket. "Are the guests arriving?"
"Starting to. The Volkov brothers just pulled up. Your cousin Dmitri texted—he'll be here in twenty." Mikhail studied me. "Katrina usually handles the room assignments. Want me to find her?"
"No." The word came out too fast. "She's—busy. I'll have everyone gather for drinks first. She can show them to their rooms later."
Mikhail's eyebrow rose, but he didn't comment. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Because you've been different lately. Happier. But also," he paused, "more intense. More possessive."
"Your point?"
"My point is that whatever's happening between you and Katrina, it's getting serious. And I need to know if that's going to be a problem."
"It's not a problem."
