He moved his hand immediately, worry clouding his eyes. I sighed, mad at myself for feeling the need to reassure him.
“Not like that. You not hurting me or scaring me. But you’re the one who said?—”
“I know what I said, and I was dumb as hell. Do you know how hard it is not to touch you, especially when you look like this?” he murmured, his mouth grazing mine.
I frowned. “Like a morning-breath-and-bed-head-having mess?”
He chuckled. “Nah. Like all warm and soft from sleep. Like that pussy wet because you rub that pretty, thick ass body on me and moan my name while you sleep. Like you need to be fucked back to sleep.”
He slowly sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, and the heat that had been building inside me as he spoke threatened to consume me, to burn all my resistance and objections away. I kissed him, not caring about the mixed messages I was sending as I let my tongue tease his. It was just a kiss, I told myself. I hadn’t disagreed with this. And the way his lips felt against mine, I didn’t want to. In fact, it wasTargenwho broke the kiss,Targenwho pulled away even as I moaned a protest, my hands fisting in the crisp, white cotton of his dress shirt.
“You lucky you have plans. I’d make you take all that shit back.” His voice rumbled from him, revealing that he was clearly as affected as I was.
“Ugh,” I groaned, releasing him then pushing hard against the rock wall of his chest. “What plans? You stole me from my life and work?—”
He fixed his shirt, then walked into the closet. He emerged a minute later with what I knew would be a bespoke jacket in charcoal gray. That was going to look so good on him, make his eyes stand out. Dressed up or down, this man was fine. I almost hated him for it.
“Theory, you writing freelance right now. You got a big ol’, tricked out office waiting for you at our place. Your family knows that you with me, so they ain’t worried.”
I ignored the little thrill I always felt when he mentioned “our” house, focusing on his last sentence instead.
“I know my sister and my cousins. They gon’ wanna know why I haven’t called,” I argued.
“They think I got you on a private island stretched out like a quarter to three,” he said nonchalantly, fixing his blue tie.
I gasped. “Targen!”
“Knocking the Mario coins out that tight ass pussy,” he kept on, fucking with me.
Speechless, I climbed out of the bed and marched toward the bathroom. I ignored his laughter behind me. He was fucking infuriating. But that didn’t stop me from kinda missing him when I came out a little later, my morning routines finished. I had discovered that the drawers were filled with loungewear as well as under garments. Opening one, I pulled out a pink, short-sleeved hoodie and matching shorts made from some sort of stretchy, butter soft material. Minutes later, I was dressed and wondering what plans Targen was talking about. His annoying self gave no clues in the little note he left telling me bye, to have a good morning, and that he’d see me around noon. I had just plopped down on the sitting room sofa, remote in hand, when a knock sounded on the door.
“Who is it?” I called.
The situation seemed ridiculous since there was a whole guard outside the door. But it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.
“It is Andrei, ma’am,” a quiet, steady voice returned.
Opening the door, I ushered Andrei into our little sitting room. He’d been by the last couple of mornings, breakfast tray in hand, his formal, calm presence strangely likable. I waited to hear his soft greeting. Their Russian accents weren’t as smooth and flowing as French or Spanish ones, but there was a differentkind of beauty in the hard, almost rough syllables of their words. It was growing on me… kinda.
“Mrs. Sidorov,” Andrei began with his polite little bow. “Dobroye utro. Kak u vas dela?”
Good morning. How are you?His English was flawless, but I had asked him from day one to start saying simple things to me in the primary language of the house. If I ended up having to be around these people long-term, I’ll be damned if they were saying a bunch of stuff I couldn’t understand.
“S dobrym utrom.” My words were slow, my accent horrible as I returned his good morning, but he just looked at me patiently. “Khorosho, spasibo.A vy?”I’m fine, thank you. And you?
A small, approving smile decorated his face, and he nodded once. “I am well, Miss. Your speech is very good. I will not keep you long. I trust you slept well?” he asked as he set the tray on the small table in the sitting room.
“I did. Andrei, I told you I don’t really eat breakfast like this,” I said, even as I waited for him to reveal what the cloche-covered meal was.
“The young Mr. Sidorov insists that you have breakfast to help prepare your body for—” he stopped abruptly, clearing his throat.
I frowned at him. He was crazy if he thought I was letting that go.
“For what?”
“Miss…”
“For what, Andrei?” I pressed.
