It’s she who breaks the kiss, only to pepper soft kisses over my forehead as she slowly raises herself off of my spent cock.
“Come here baby,” her husky, sated voice beckons, pulling me down to the pillows with her.
Like a lost boy I follow her lead. Once we’re lying down, I snake my arm around her waist and pull her tight to my chest. She buries her face into my neck as her arm goes around me just as tight as mine is around her, and in seconds, I’m dead to the world.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Annika
“Edik,” Kirill’s deep voice snaps like a whip, and the bodyguard moves his hardened gaze off me.
My art taught me to be perceptive of details, but I don’t need to be an artist to catch Edik’s penetrative, constant perusal of me. He’d been like this the last two weeks. Before I would only see him for a few seconds here and there; a trace of Kirill’s shadow. But the last few days? Edik is closer and more visible than ever, always watching me with hisPakhan.
Something is wrong. Something my husband- or anyone else- isn’t telling me. Yana’s watchful presence used to be enough, but not anymore. It’s as if the man was trying to catch me in something, but what, I have no idea.
“Ignore him,” Kirill urges by my side, squeezing my hand. “He’s just in a bad mood.”
I want to believe him, want to smile prettily like a good little mafia wife, but instead I turn my head toward the blacked out limousine’s window. We’re almost to my art show, and if my nerves weren’t rattled enough by that, Edik’s gaze did it. It doesn’t help that my morning sickness is growing more frequent, or that my pregnancy hormones have kept me trapped in a strange tug of war between heavy arousal and paranoia.
“Devochka.”
The deep, gentle command of Kirill’s voice as he says the word has me looking back to him, as if I can’t control myself. And I can’t. Not when he uses that tone.
His piercing blue eyes are kind as I look at them, and he brings my hand to his mouth. Damn it if that small kiss to my knuckles doesn’t send shockwaves through my system; both amping me up and calming me at the same time.
“Your show is going to be amazing,” he tells me.
I can’t help the small smile I give him, and I give into my wants and lean into him.
“It’s not that,” I tell him, already feeling tired. “I just don’t feel my best.”
“Then we’ll make an appearance, meet and greet the potential buyers, then we’ll go,” Kirill replies.
I let out a weary laugh, shaking my head against his shoulder.
“I don’t think Max is going to allow that,” I reply.
I feel the muscles beneath Kirill’s black on black suit stiffen into marble.
“Max won’t have a choice,” he answers. His tone is smooth. Cool. It holds a whisper of menace that I can’t help but like. Because that menace is there to protectme.
We pull up to my art show, a refurbished pre-war building that has a large group of people standing in front of it. I frown as I take in the crowd.
“Is there another event here tonight?” I ask as Edik opens the door for us. He and Yana check the perimeter, making sure it’s safe, then Yana beckons us.
“No,devochka,”Kirill replies, helping me out of the limousine, “I invited our families. I wanted to show them your hard work.”
I feel a little intimidated as I take in faces familiar and new. I’ve drawn a crowd before with my work, but not like this. Not enough to cause a line around the block and worry the New York City Labor and Industry board for over-occupancy. My stomach clenches a little at the sight, and I’m not sure if it's my morning sickness or my nerves that has me ready to lose my dinner.
“I have you,” Kirill whispers into my ear. “And you look beautiful. You have nothing to fear,devochka.”
My anxiety slides away from me like its water, and I take a calming breath.
“I’m beautiful because of you,” I whisper back, and it earns me a deep, throaty chuckle from Kirill.
Except for when I’m working in my studio, I’ve gotten into the habit of letting Kirill pick my clothes. Tonight he chose a floor-length, loose-fitting white dress with a plunging neckline, a slit up the leg that runs all the way up to my thigh, and thin straps at the shoulders. A bold, red slash of color runs diagonally along the dress and matches my high heels perfectly.
Small diamond studs grace my earlobes and around my neck, the million dollar necklace that Kirill bought at the auction. A gift he gave me earlier that day. That probably added to my nerves as well. I’m not used to wearing so much money around my throat.
