I move before I can talk myself out of it, covering her body with mine, feeling her curves press against me in all the right places. Her breath catches, and I feel her thighs part slightly in invitation. My hand slides up her side, cupping her breast, feeling its weight. The pregnancy has made them fuller, more sensitive, and when I brush my thumb over her nipple, she arches into my touch with a moan that goes straight to my cock.
"I want you again," I growl against her throat, my teeth grazing her pulse point. "I'll always want you, Eva. Every morning, every night, every moment in between."
Her hands slide down my back, her nails digging into my skin. "Then take me."
I don't need to be told twice. I enter her slowly, savoring the way her body opens for me, the heat and tightness that makes my vision blur. Eva's legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and we move together with a rhythm that feels both familiar and new.
When Eva comes apart beneath me, her inner walls clenching around my cock, I follow her over the edge with a groan thatsounds almost pained. We collapse together, both breathing hard, our bodies still joined.
"I could stay here all day," Eva murmurs against my chest, her fingers tracing the prison tattoos on my forearm.
"So could I." The admission surprises me. I've never been the type to linger in bed, to waste daylight hours on sentiment. But with Eva, I want to memorize every detail. The way her hair smells like flowers. How her skin tastes. The sound she makes when I touch her just right.
But duty intrudes, as it always does. I think about the Moscow delegates, about Abram Yakovlev circling like a shark, about the empire crumbling while I'm distracted by my wife's body. The guilt that follows is immediate and sharp.
Eva must sense my tension because she pulls back slightly, her brown eyes searching my face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." The lie tastes bitter. "I just need to handle some business today. At the office."
Her expression shifts, becomes carefully neutral. "On Sunday?"
"The delegates are still in town. I need to move quickly." I cup her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip. "But you have plans with Megan,da? Shopping for new clothes?"
Eva's hand drifts to her stomach, and I see self-consciousness flicker across her features. "My clothes are getting tight. The pregnancy…"
"You're beautiful." I cut off whatever insecurity she was about to voice. "More beautiful every day. Buy whatever you need. Charge it to my account."
The offer makes her stiffen slightly, and I see pride war with practicality in her expression. She's still not comfortable with my money, with the wealth I've built. But she nods, accepting the necessity if not the charity.
We shower together, and I have to force myself not to take her again against the tile. Eva's body is a distraction I can't afford right now, not with everything at stake. But watching water cascade over her curves, seeing soap suds slide down her breasts and between her thighs, makes my hands itch to touch.
Later, I watch from the bedroom window as Eva climbs into the SUV with Megan, both women bundled against the December cold. My security detail follows at a discrete distance, and I feel marginally better knowing she's protected. But the anxiety doesn't fully ease until the vehicles disappear through the estate gates.
The drive to the office feels longer than usual, my mind churning through possibilities and strategies. The tower is empty on Sunday, just security and the occasional workaholic. The silence feels ominous as I ride the elevator to the forty-second floor, like the calm before a storm I can feel building.
Lev and David are already waiting in my office when I arrive. Lev stands at the windows, his dark suit immaculate despite the early hour, his expression grim. David sits in one of the leather chairs, his laptop open, his titanium-framed glasses reflecting the screen's glow.
David removes his glasses, cleaning them with methodical precision. His tell when the news is bad. "The IRS audit is expanding again."
I drain my vodka, feeling the burn settle in my chest. "And the banks?"
"Three more institutions have frozen accounts. We're running out of channels to move money." David replaces his glasses, his green eyes troubled. "Every new entity we establish gets flagged within days."
Lev turns from the window, his dark eyes flat and professional. "The Chinese are one incident away from declaring war. The Irish are demanding their sit-down this week. And the Moscow delegates…" He trails off, and we both understand what he's not saying.
"They're watching," I finish, my voice low. "Waiting for me to fail so they can strip me of everything."
"We need proof," David says, his lawyer's mind already working through options. "Concrete evidence that Abram Yakovlev is behind the attacks, the financial exposure, all of it. Without proof, we can't move against him without looking like the aggressors."
I pour another vodka, my mind calculating risks and benefits. "Then we get proof. Whatever it takes."
Lev's expression shifts into something darker, more dangerous. "I have contacts who can grab some of Abram's soldiers. Low-level guys who might know details about the operations. We bring them here, make them talk."
"How many?" I ask.
"Three, maybe four. Enough to cross-reference information, to verify what we're hearing is truth rather than what they think we want to hear."
David shifts uncomfortably, his lawyer's instincts probably screaming about the liability this represents. "Roman, if this goes wrong, if they're discovered missing and it traces back to us…"
