"Then I'll give you something else to think about." His mouth crashes down on mine, the kiss desperate and claiming.
I taste pride and possession and something deeper, and my body responds with urgency. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, letting him take what he needs while my fingers thread through his hair.
When he finally pulls back, both of us breathing hard, his hand slides down to splay possessively across my stomach. The baby kicks against his palm, responding to its father's touch, and Nikolai's expression softens into something that looks almost like wonder.
"Our child is going to grow up watching you build empires," he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles against the curve of my belly. "Learning that strength comes in many forms."
"Empires?" I arch an eyebrow despite the heat flooding through me. "I thought this was just a restaurant."
"Nothing you touch is everjustanything." His other hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. "You've created something that matters, Aria. Something that will outlast both of us."
The intensity in his eyes steals what little breath I have left. I rise on my toes to kiss him again, needing to feel his solid warmth, needing to ground myself in this moment before reality intrudes.
His hands slide down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard length of him pressing into my stomach. The knowledge that he wants me like this, even big, pregnant, and exhausted, makes desire spike through my veins hot enough to burn.
"Nikolai," I gasp against his mouth. "We should go home."
"We should." But he doesn't release me, just holds me tighter while his mouth finds the sensitive spot below my ear that makes my knees weak.
Then I feel it. A sudden rush of warmth between my thighs, liquid soaking through my underwear and running down my legs in a way that has nothing to do with arousal.
My water just broke.
I pull back from Nikolai, my hands gripping his shoulders for support as another sensation hits. Not pain, exactly, but pressure. Tightening. The beginning of something I'm not ready for.
"Nikolai." My voice comes out strangled. "The baby. It's coming."
His carefully controlled expression shatters into something close to panic.
52
NIKOLAI
The hospital corridor stretches before me like a prison sentence, each fluorescent light buzzing overhead making my jaw clench tighter. I've paced this same twenty-foot section so many times, the nurses have stopped asking if I need anything. My hands curl into fists at my sides, then release, then curl again. The serpent tattoo on my neck feels like it's writhing with the tension coiling through my muscles.
Three hours. Aria has been in that delivery room for three hours, and no one will tell me anything beyond "everything is progressing normally." Normal. The word means nothing when the woman I love is behind those doors, her body doing something I can't control or protect her from.
I'm not allowed in the room with her because of the circumstances. I guess they feel I might go crazy on them if there's any problems. And they're probably right.
A scream cuts through the sterile air, and my blood turns to ice in my veins. That's her voice. I'm moving toward the doors before conscious thought catches up, but a nurse materializesin my path with the kind of calm that suggests she's dealt with panicked fathers before.
"Mr. Alekseev, your wife is doing fine. Labor is intense, but she's handling it beautifully."
"I need to see her." The words come out rougher than I intend, my accent thick with emotions I can't suppress.
"Soon. The doctor will come get you when it's time."
I force myself to step back, to resume my pacing, but every instinct screams at me to break down those doors and get to her. The Pakhan who commands an empire with brutal efficiency is utterly helpless in the face of childbirth, and the irony would be funny if I wasn't so terrified.
My phone buzzes against my thigh. Cyril's name flashes across the screen, but I ignore it. Whatever crisis needs handling can wait. Nothing matters except what's happening behind those doors.
Another scream, this one followed by voices I can't quite make out. Then silence that stretches too long, making my heart hammer against my ribs hard enough to crack bone.
The doors swing open, and a doctor emerges, her scrubs splattered with blood that makes my vision tunnel. She's smiling, which is the only thing keeping me from putting my fist through the wall.
"Congratulations, Mr. Alekseev. You have a healthy baby boy."
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing what little breath I have left. A son. I have a son. The miracle I never thought possible, the future I'd convinced myself I didn't want because wanting it would mean acknowledging the loss.
