Safe in his arms, I fall asleep, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
CHAPTER 19
AMALIE
Iwake to the crackling fire.
I’m totally disoriented at first, unsure of my surroundings. It’s snowing out, soft white flakes drifting down. There’s an insanely soft blanket draped over me. Which is good, because I’m naked.
Lovely memories come flooding back, a smile spreading across my lips as I remember how Roman pleasured me, how he bent me over, how he made me come again and again. It feels like a dream, but it most definitely wasn’t. I’ve got the aches and the afterglow to prove it.
I’m alone now. We’d fallen asleep together in front of the fire, but he must’ve slipped out shortly after. The clock on the wall announces it’s a little after two in the morning.
I sit up and stretch, rolling my neck a bit and savoring the delicious ache between my thighs. Moments later I’m back in my clothes and heading out of the sitting room. Before I leave, however, I notice both of the necklaces are gone.
Strange.
The hallway is dim, lit only by the low amber glow of sconces placed along the walls. The house feels enormous and empty at this hour.
When I make my way up the stairs, I hear a voice coming from the direction of Sasha’s room. My heart skips a beat at the possibility of someone having snuck into the house. Roman’s paranoia is starting to get to me.
However, as I draw closer to the room, I realize I recognize the voice.
I stop, breath catching, then move closer to the door on quiet footsteps, peering inside. Roman is sitting on the floor beside Sasha’s bed, back against the wall, one knee drawn up, forearm resting loosely over it. He’s shirtless, the tattooed symbols and designs curling over his shoulder and down his arm half-illuminated by the soft blue glow of the night-light shaped like a star.
Sasha is asleep. One small hand curls around the edge of his blanket.
Roman’s eyes are closed. He’s murmuring a Russian lullaby under his breath, the words softly rolling out, deep and soothing. I don’t understand the language, but the sentiment clear. It’s steady, grounding, like a hand pressed flat over a racing heart.
I know I should leave, but I remain frozen in the doorway, as if afraid to break the spell.
“He had a nightmare,” Roman says quietly, switching to English. “Happens sometimes.”
Figures that Roman knew I was standing there without opening his eyes. When he does, there’s no sharpness to his gaze, noindication he’s annoyed that I’m intruding on a private moment. But there is exhaustion. And something almost painfully tender.
I step inside slowly, lowering myself to the floor to sit across from Roman. I watch Sasha for a bit, his dark curls framing his perfect little face, his chest rising and falling steadily. Nightmare or not, he’s sleeping peacefully now.
“Does that always help?” I ask.
Roman’s mouth curves a bit. “Always. That lullaby… my mother used to sing it to me. I remembered it the night Elena died. It’s the only thing that seems to calm him down when he wakes up scared.”
He reaches out and brushes his fingertips over Sasha’s forehead, pushing the curls aside. The touch is reverent. Protective.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” he adds, his eyes still on Sasha.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I say softly. “And I’m glad I found you.”
He turns his attention to me, studying my face, my eyes, for a long moment. He looks so tired. In that moment, I see the weight he carries. Not the money. Not the Bratva. But the love he has for his boy, the fear of losing him.
Something inside me nearly breaks. Sitting with this man, watching him sing to a child who is his whole damn world does something to me.
Roman reaches for my hand, gently squeezing it once, quietly grateful. I squeeze back, hoping he somehow understands what I don’t yet know how to say.
In the dim glow of the nightlight, I know one thing with aching certainty.
I’m falling for Roman.
Hard.
