“Then give me an alternative.” She’s not backing down, not even slightly intimidated by the animal that’s barely leashed inside me. “Please.”
I do have a better plan. I’m going to get her out of here before Saturday. Burn this whole operation to the ground and take her somewhere safe where no one will ever hurt her again. Then I’m going to make her mine.
But I can’t tell her that.
So, I just stare at her, my mate, offering herself to me with courage that breaks my heart, and I can’t say a single fucking thing.
“Lennox?” Igor’s voice is muffled through the wood, but he’s close and coming closer.
I step back from Emma, helping her down from the shelf and smoothing her skirt with hands that aren’t quite steady.
“In the kitchen.” I yank open the door, waiting until she’s composed before stepping out of the pantry.
I’m leaning against the island, and Emma is rushing through the pantry door as Igor enters the room. “What’s up?”
Igor’s eyes flick between us, noting Emma’s flushed cheeks and my rumpled shirt. His expression doesn’t change. I keep my eyes on his, praying he doesn’t look down and notice the erection tenting the front of my trousers, no matter how hard I will it away.
“It’s almost noon.”
Shit.
“I was just about to take her up.” I gesture for Emma to precede me out into the hallway, grateful for a reason to get the hell out of here. “Let’s go.”
Igor narrows his eyes, a hint of suspicion dancing across his expression, as he watches us leave.
Emma’s steps are uncertain as she silently walks a half-step ahead of me. Her breathing is uneven, and I can still scent the desire, the wetness, waiting for me between her thighs if only we weren’t stuck in this fucking nightmare.
And it’s about to get much worse.
We’re halfway to the stairs when Kozlov appears at the end of the corridor, with Dimitri at his shoulder like a shadow. He’s dressed impeccably, as always, but there’s an energy to him that sets my teeth on edge.
My heart sinks as he zeroes in on my mate and smiles.
“Ah, Emma. Perfect timing.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve had a change of heart. Our guests this afternoon have expressed interest in... alternatives. Something with a little less risk attached.”
Then what? I wonder before refocusing on his words.
“They’ll be viewing all the other assets, of course, but I thought it might be nice to offer them a preview of Saturday’s other main attraction.” Kozlov’s pale eyes fix on Emma with a possessiveness that makes my skin crawl. “Come.” He pauses, his voice dripping with barely concealed rage. “Both of you.”
He turns and walks away without waiting for a response, knowing we’ll follow, while Dimitri lingers, his beady eyes flicking between us, making sure we comply.
Emma has gone pale beside me.
She’s trembling, the sharp spike of her fear cutting through the tantalizing scent of her desire from just moments before. I force my shifter side back, his protectiveness going intooverdrive after getting so close to her. In his head, he’s already claimed her. She’s already ours.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure it is. I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward, hoping it gives her some measure of reassurance.
We follow Kozlov through a part of the mansion I haven’t seen before and into what must be his space for entertaining guests. The décor shifts from cold opulence to something richer, more sumptuous. Leather furniture. Heavy drapes that block out the daylight. Art on the walls. Shelves full of books. A roaring fire.
He leads us into a lounge, spacious and windowless, with a bar along one wall and deep sofas arranged around the massive fireplace. The lighting is low, intimate in a way that feels deliberate.
“Sit.” Kozlov gestures to one of the sofas as he moves to the bar. “Make yourselves comfortable. We have some time before our guests arrive.”
Emma lowers herself onto the edge of the sofa, her spine rigid, and her hands clasping tightly in her lap.
I remain standing, positioning myself slightly behind her, close enough to intervene if needed, looking every inch the paid bodyguard.
Kozlov takes his time selecting a crystal decanter before pouring amber liquid into a glass with unhurried movements, but he’s not as relaxed as he seems. He rolls his shoulders and holds the glass tight in his hand as he fixes his drink, the clink of glass against glass the only sound in the room.
