That morning, I lay awake on the king-sized bed, watching him get dressed, ready to leave for work. We had barely spoken a word to each other since the gala, and even though I had a lot of questions, I couldn’t bring myself to ask them.
As he slipped into his shirt, my eyes darted across his incredibly hot body and the scars that marred his skin. Unlikebefore, when I’d drink in the sight of his abs and broad chest whenever he wasn’t looking, this time I was more focused on his wounds.
One in particular caught my attention: a scar etched across his firearms. It was a deep cut, a brutal reminder of something violent, something from long before I ever knew his name.
Those scars were proof that death and destruction followed him like a shadow wherever he went.
I clutched my pillow to my chest, my eyes roaming his body as he buttoned up his shirt. The fabric concealed the marks across his skin, hiding the story beneath.
He put his jacket on, clasped his expensive watch to his wrist, then adjusted his tie. The scent of his cologne wafted through the air as he spritzed it on his wrists and the back of his ears.
Handsome. Charming. Ridiculously attractive!
When he turned toward the bed, I closed my eyes, pretending to still be asleep. I felt his gaze linger over me longer than I expected. Then, without a word, he headed out the door.
I listened to the sound of his polished shoes scuffing against the floor as he walked out of the room. The second the door closed behind him, I opened my eyes again, my heart warm with something I wasn’t ready to name yet.
***
Later that day, I was in the living room reading a book on the couch, engrossed in the pages, when I sensed an unfamiliar presence around me. My eyes squinted by a fraction as a suspicion crept in.
I knew someone was behind me, but I couldn’t tell who it was or why they were sneaking up on me. I was certain it wasn’t Roman; he left for work earlier and wouldn’t be back until later at night. Besides, I was familiar with his scent.
It wasn’t Nikki, Natasha, or any of the maids either. I knew that for sure because I was familiar with their individual scents as well. It also couldn’t have been Sergei or any of the guards.
So who was this stranger with a nice perfume?
The presence grew closer and closer behind me, no footsteps, no shadow—not even the faintest sign of life, only this gnawing feeling that I wasn’t alone.
Alert, I closed the book and sprang to my feet, then turned around. The stranger standing behind me was a tall woman in her early fifties. Gorgeous—fuckin’ gorgeous!
The diamond glinting around her neck hinted at her social standing. Her emerald gown draped elegantly over her body, her green eyes sparkling behind her wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a delicate smile that thawed my heart, easing the fear that had gripped me.
“There’s no cause for alarm, sweetheart,” she said, her voice smooth and enticing. “This place is a fortress; no one’s sneaking up on you.”
I paused for a bit, a small grin tugging at the corners of my lips. “You did.”
She let out a light chuckle. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s how I walk.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” I answered, my voice low but confident, even though I was in denial.
“Huh.” She stared at me in silence, her eyes shining with mirth.
Who was this woman?
There was something strangely comforting about her, and she also looked familiar. I just hadn’t placed her face yet.
She walked over to the couch and sank into it, her movement elegant. “I’m sure you’re wondering who I am,” she said, crossing her legs.
I thought I recognized that posture. I’d seen it somewhere.
A soft sigh escaped her lips. “My name is Maria,” she said, holding my gaze for a fleeting moment before her eyes roamed the living room. “Is my brother home?”
My eyes squinted, confused by her question. “Brother?”
She didn’t respond, just stared at me, as if expecting me to figure it out. And that’s when it hit me: the sophisticated look, the resemblance, the posture—fuck!
My brows arched in surprise. “Oh, my God, you’re Roman’s—”
