by Zoe Blake
My brow furrowed. “Why?”
“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. That nastiness with Samara’s parents. Before she died, her mother hinted that Egor Novikoff was going to come after Nadia after I deprived him of Samara.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Fuck.”
“Egor’s in Russia right now, and I haven’t been able to find anything to substantiate it, but I’ve taken some precautions just to be on the safe side.”
“Like what?”
“I had Mikhail wire up some additional security cameras inside her shop,” he said quickly before draining his glass. “That way we can monitor her when I finally allow her to return to it.”
I whistled. He had the decency to at least look abashed. We both knew how Nadia felt about us being overprotective. She had suffered through a childhood being surrounded by bodyguards and constantly being told she couldn’t do things her friends could simply because she was an Ivanov. Now that she was in her twenties and our father was dead, she liked our interference in her life even less. “And what does our illustrious Head of Security say about all this?”
“Mikhail? Hell, he wanted to do worse! He argued for me to send her away to some convent in the mountains of Switzerland until we could take care of Egor. He’s pissed. He thinks I’m not taking the threat seriously enough.”
The fire had started to die. I stood and lifted the iron poker near the fireplace and jabbed it into a smoldering log. Using the poker, I shifted it into a better position on top of the pile of logs where it would catch flame. “Well, he’s always had a special interest in Nadia.”
“I’m aware.”
“Does he still understand it’s not possible?”
Gregor nodded. “He knows this is about family honor and nothing personal.”
“Maybe it’s time we arranged for Nadia’s marriage to someone we trust?”
“Yes, I agree. After the holidays we’ll start vetting candidates.”
We clinked glasses. With that settled, my mind returned to Yelena.
I sat and stared at the fire as a log popped and crackled before catching. The orange and crimson flames were reflected in the glass I was holding.
I sighed. “I’m an idiot.”
Gregor just laughed.
Chapter 38
Yelena
I returned to the guest bedroom where I had been staying in Gregor and Samara’s house for the past week. Damien had not been pleased, but I insisted. I needed time to think… and space. When I was around him, it was hard to know my own mind. He was just so big and overwhelming and strong. The man radiated masculine energy. It was hard to resist.
On my bed was a large black box wrapped with a glittering gold ribbon.
Damien.
He had been leaving gifts for me all week. Each gift accompanied by my daily horoscope. All suspiciously pointing to a future alliance with a Scorpio mate.
Attached to the ribbon was a cream vellum tag with gold foil. In his deeply slanted, masculine writing was today’s horoscope.
The moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter is aligned with Mars.
Now is the perfect time to align your star with Scorpio.
I’m pretty sure half of that was taken from that Aquarius song. Still, it was sweet.
Lifting the lid, I pushed aside the cream tissue paper and gasped. I pulled a gown out, pressed it to my chest, and twirled about the room. It was a black sheer tulle gown from Valentino’s recent Spring collection. Embroidered over the long ruffled skirt and empire waist hem were incredibly elaborate zodiac signs and stars. It was perfect.
The gifts had a theme. All pointing to a future together.
First, there was the Cartier Diamond Destinee necklace. It was a stunning five carat diamond surrounded by pave diamonds on a delicate gold necklace.
Next, there were the first-class tickets to Paris just in time for the Spring shows. Included with the tickets was a letter from the head seamstress for Yves Saint Laurent agreeing to meet Damien and me for lunch to discuss a possible internship for me.
Finally, there were the two tickets for a performance of the National Symphony Orchestra for tonight. It was for a concert of Tchaikovsky’s best-known works.
It would be the first time I was actually seeing him in a week.
I twirled around the room again.
I could hear his deep voice downstairs in the entryway. Despite growing up mostly in America, he still had a sexy Russian accent. I just loved the way he rolled his Rs.
He looked up as I stepped onto the landing above him.
Even from a distance, I could see his dark sapphire eyes glitter with desire as he watched me slowly descend the staircase. I swished my hips a bit so that the long ruffled skirt fanned out around me with each step.
He looked so handsome in his tuxedo. Just as I imagined he would. The perfectly tailored coat emphasized the hard planes of his chest and broad shoulders. The glimpse of his tattoos added a seductive hint of danger. Although unlike what I'd imagined all those years ago, because this time it wasn’t some faceless model on his arm — it was me.
As I got closer, his expression changed. His jaw tightened as his brow furrowed.
I stopped right in front of him. Instead of telling me how beautiful I looked in the dress he'd bought me, he scowled as his gaze went from the top of my head to my toes and back, only to then settle on my breasts.
Damien stretched his arm out and pointed upstairs. “You’re not going out in that. Go up and change.”
Grasping the gossamer tulle fabric of my skirt I spread out my arms and twirled. “What are you talking about? I love it! It fits perfectly.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “I mean it, Yelena. I’m ordering you to go upstairs and change.”
I pointed my finger at him and jabbed it in his chest. “You’re ordering me? You’re the one who got me this dress!”
“Obviously”— his gaze traveled pointedly to my chest —“that was a mistake.”
I looked down.
Realization dawned. The dress was a little see-through. Although not blatant, in the right light you could make out the outline of my breasts and just the slightest hint of nipple. I, of course, wasn’t wearing a bra. The provocative glimpse of flesh was part of the haute couture allure of the dress. That is what designer fashion was about, pushing boundaries. Apparently, Damien hadn't realized this when he'd bought it for me.
I placed my fists on my hips. “I’m not changing.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “And I’m not letting another man see you in that dress.”
We stood there staring each other down. Finally, Damien ran a hand through his hair and cursed low in Russian. One of these days, I was going to have to learn Russian curse words so I knew what he was always saying about me. Letting out an angry breath, he ordered, “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
He started to storm off and then swiftly turned. Without saying a word, he grabbed the small gold beaded clutch from my hand. Opening up the latch, he pulled the two symphony tickets out and, with a pointed look at me, he placed them in the inside jacket pocket of his tuxedo.
He then turned and left.
Angry that he had once again read my mind and deprived me of the dramatic gesture of attending the symphony without him, I stomped off to find Nadia and Samara and a glass of wine.
Thirty minutes later, Damien returned. Carrying a black garment bag into the kitchen, he tossed it onto the counter near the stool where I was sitting. He unzipped it and pulled out one of the most magnificent garments I’d ever seen.
It was a capelet, designed to delicately drape over your shoulders while not obstructing too much of your gown. This one was made entirely of glossy black feathers with the tips dipped in shimmering gold.
“Oh my God!”
Damien lifted it and placed it over my shoulders. “A feathered cape for my malen'kiy padshiy angel.” He gently placed his warm palms against my neck as he lifted my curled hair out from beneat
h the capelet and swept it behind my shoulders.
He snapped the gold and diamond clasp closed over my breasts then took a step back. He surveyed me from head to toe then nodded his approval. He then stepped close and offered me his arm. Placing my hand in the crook of his elbow, I let him lead me out to his car.
Giving him a sidelong glance, I asked, “So how does it feel to have to compromise?”
He gave me a playful growl. “I don’t like it one bit. Don’t get used to it.”
After taking our seats in a box at the Kennedy Center, Damien fidgeted through the entire suite from Sleeping Beauty.
Covering my mouth with my program, I leaned over and asked, “Are you okay?”
He ran his hands down his thighs. “Fine. I’m just sitting here thinking about you in that damn dress.”
I placed my hand on his thigh. Inching it further, I could feel the hard ridge of his cock as it pressed against his tuxedo trousers. Now I was the one fidgeting and squirming in my seat. Images of him flipping up my skirt and unzipping his pants right here and now in front of all these people floated across my mind. I licked my lips.
A low growl emanated from Damien. “Dammit, woman. Don’t lick your lips like that, or I swear to God I’m going to grab you by the waist and have you straddle my cock here and now.”
My stomach flipped. And just because it had been a whole week since I could push his buttons, I ran the edge of my palm down his shaft.
Damien grabbed me
Pulling me onto his lap, he claimed my mouth in an act of pure possession. His tongue swept in to duel with mine the moment the symphony swelled to new heights as they played the intensely dramatic final moments of Swan Lake. My hand reached inside his jacket to caress the warm expanse of his chest through the thin silk of his shirt. His hard arousal pressed into my hip. Uncaring of the audience seated quietly below our balcony, I reached between us for the zipper of his pants.
Just as our balcony was flooded with light.
Breaking our kiss, we both turned but were blinded by the theater spotlight trained directly on us.
“Oh my God!” I buried my face against his neck.
This was beyond humiliating. I was about to be thrown out of the Kennedy Center for a lewd act in public. I’d never be able to go to a symphony again.
Damien chuckled as he rubbed my back. “Baby, look up.”
“No,” I murmured, my voice muffled by his shoulder.
He placed a finger under my chin and forced my gaze to his. “I promise. It’s not what you think.”
Placing his hands around my waist, he lifted me off his lap and onto my feet. He then stood. Hastening a quick glance to my right, I could see countless opera glasses trained on us as a wave of hushed whispers and coughs swept through the audience.
The pianist played the dark and ominous opening cords of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number Two. The song that was playing that infamous night in Damien’s car. Confused, I turned my eyes back to Damien. This was supposed to be a concert of only Tchaikovsky.
He gave me a wink and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small red leather and gold embossed Cartier box just as the violins began to play in earnest.
My hands covered my mouth as he slowly lowered to one knee. He opened the ring box which had the largest, most gorgeous diamond ring I had ever seen in my life.
The breath left my body.
“Oh my God!”
He clasped my shaking left hand and placed the ring on my finger. “I know sometimes it feels like the stars are against us. But you truly are my angel. You bring light and warmth to my world, and even though you challenge my patience and my sanity at times, I know that life will never be boring with you around. I want to be there for every smile, every laugh, and every kiss. I love you, so Yelena Marie Nikitina, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes! Oh my God, yes!”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him as he rose to his feet and, placing his arms tightly around my waist, lifted me off the ground.
The audience sprang to their feet and broke into applause, several even whistling and cheering. The symphony started to play the Wedding March by Wagner.
“I love you,” I declared over the rousing music and applause.
He cupped my cheek. “I know… just remember who said it first.”
My mouth dropped open but before I could argue with him, he started to kiss me again.
Such a Scorpio thing to do!
Epilogue
Mikhail
Something was wrong.
I punched in the thirteen-digit code for the surveillance system.
Working off its default protocols, the computer immediately brought up my first priority project: codename Kroshka.
As the screens glowed to life, I scanned the numerous camera angles.
Her brothers knew of my surveillance. Nadia did not. I’m sure she would be madder than hell if she knew we’d been watching over her, even after she’d left her brother’s house. She had wanted her independence and having this small apartment gave her a sense of that.
But that didn’t mean I stopped protecting her.
I would never stop protecting her.
Anxiously, I clicked in the command to shuffle through the various security screens. All seemed quiet. Then I saw her cellphone plugged in on the tiny shelf near the cash register. That meant, she was somewhere on property, not at her brother’s house tucked safely in bed like she was supposed to be. I continued to click through the security screens searching for her. If I didn’t set eyes on her, it meant she was up in her apartment, either way I was going to head over there and drag her back to her brother’s.
Finally, I found her.
She was alone tinkering with something at her workbench.
I shifted to the next screen which showed the outside of her jewelry shop.
I watched as a large SUV with no plates pulled up. Three men dressed all in black got out. They had ski masks over their faces, and one of them was tucking a handgun into his waistband.
Fuck.
She was completely unaware of the coming danger.
I was down in the garage and behind the wheel of my Maserati Levante SUV in less than two minutes. It would take me three excruciating minutes to reach Nadia.
I hit the steering wheel with my fist.
Goddamn it.
I had been a bastard and a fool.
The time for just standing in the background and watching Nadia from afar was over. I was finally going to claim her as mine.
Read Mikhail and Nadia’s story, Betrayed Honor, Ivanov Crime Family, Book Three
About Zoe Blake
USA TODAY Bestselling Author in Dark Romance
She delights in writing Dark Romance books filled with overly-possessive Billionaires, Taboo scenes and Unexpected twists. She usually spends her ill-gotten gains on martinis, travel and red lipstick. Since she can barely boil water, she’s lucky enough to be married to a sexy Chef.
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That’s why she ran.
I should’ve just let her go…
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None of this was her choice.
Unfortunately for her, I don’t care.
I own her… and after three years of searching… I’ve found her.
My runaway bride was about to learn disobedience has consequences… punishing ones.
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When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.