by Lana Sky
“Check on her for me?” he asks as if hesitant that I’ll refuse.
“Of course.” I risk teasing him with another quick peck, and then I head down the hall and cautiously enter Magda’s room. She’s still dead asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling with every soft breath. The semblance between her and her father doesn’t end when they sleep. Though… Something about Magda’s button nose makes her expression less tormented than Vadim’s. More calculating. Even in slumber, it’s like she’s still thinking, still planning.
A trait of her mother’s? It’s a cruel thought that doesn’t leave me as I circle the bed to stand in front of her, copying our positions from yesterday in reverse.
“Morning, sweetie,” I say until she opens her eyes, frowning at the sight of me.
As if oblivious, I approach her window and pull back her curtains, letting in the fresh sunlight. Then I rummage through her end table until I find the wooden brush and climb onto the bed beside her.
“Which of your outfits shall you wear today?” I ask her, while extending the brush before daring to touch her. It’s only when she doesn’t cringe out of my reach that I gingerly stroke through her thick curls and smooth them into place. “The turquoise dress? I loved that one.”
She doesn’t say, choosing to crush It to her chest instead while she endures my brushing. Once I’m finished, I smooth her hair back and enter her closet in search of a headband. Ena—I’m starting to wonder if he may be more of a Saint than a devil—somehow managed to not only unpack every purchase from yesterday, but he arranged them by color and even stocked a glass cabinet with every accessory. I strongly consider extending our truce as I pick out a black velvet headband and turn to find Magda behind me, observing her options with a frown.
In the end, she settles on the turquoise sweater dress with a pair of leather Mary Janes. The resulting look is too darn cute—a little princess, grumpy beneath the weight of her crown.
“I’m hungry,” she declares afterward, tugging on my hand. While I marvel at the fact that she’s touching me at all, she manages to drag me into the hallway. Downstairs, Vadim had the piano placed near the back of the living room by the window.
The second she spots it, her lips part into a smile she can’t contain. “That’s for me?” She runs over to the instrument and tentatively strokes the polished surface.
Vadim stands beside her, his expression slack with relief. “Yes,” he says, stooping down beside her. “It’s yours. I’m still arranging your lessons, but do you want to try it out now?”
She nods, and he lifts her onto the bench and settles down beside her.
I find myself inching closer, riveted as he begins to play a soft, jaunty melody before showing her where to place her fingers to achieve the same sound.
Single Father of the year. My ovaries swoon, but then a part of me resents that statement. Taken man of the year, it insists. Mine.
Rather than immediately quashing the thought, I get lost in their interactions, skipping ahead to imagine dangerous variations on this very scene. Me seated beside them, for one. Another child with his curls perched at his shoulder. Another. Another…
Snap out of it, Tiffy.
“I’ll make us something to eat,” I whisper, excusing myself into the kitchen. I rummage through the freezer and attempt to heat up one of Ena’s meals. In the end, I get distracted and creep right back to the boundary with the living room.
But they’re gone.
Confused, I search the rest of the lower level, finding it deserted. Did they leave? By the time the food is fully heated in the oven, they haven’t returned. I fish out the container and divide the food between three plates. Just as I bring them to the table, a tiny figure races from nowhere, snatching for my hand.
“Magda? What’s wrong?”
Her eyes are bug-wide, but all she does is tug until I warily follow her through the foyer, out the front door and around to the side of the house. There, at the end of the massive driveway, Vadim is unloading his latest delivery. At least now, his suggestion regarding my present takes on newer significance.
A gorgeous white mare nuzzles at his neck as he strokes her ivory mane.
“Will you welcome your new family members?” he asks, while enduring Zzazza’s ruthless affections.
Magda looks on, spellbound, but when a worker guides another animal from the back of a white trailer, she releases me and races over.
“Is he mine?” she exclaims in response to the beautiful chestnut pony prancing at the end of a pink lead rope.
“She is,” he says, reaching out to pat the small horse. “Her name is Dasha. Will you care for her with all of your heart?”
She nods solemnly and inches forward to touch the pony herself. As the filly sniffs her fingers, she smiles for real this time, completely unaware of the expression. And it’s breathtaking.
“And for you.” Vadim turns his attention to me, his voice lowering. “It took me a while to find a creature to fit your specifications. Does he suffice? His name is Magnus.”
I gasp as a second worker leads another horse from the trailer. Majestic and completely ebony, he’s the second most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. The first watches me intently, gauging my reaction.
“He’s incredible,” I whisper, advancing toward the beautiful stallion. He watches me with lipid eyes, snorting as I extend my hand for him to smell. I can’t even begin to imagine his cost, and the enormity of the gesture makes me sway.
“Shall we show them to their new home?” Vadim asks, speaking to Magda.
She nods, and together, they and the workers lead the horses down the path toward the stable. I watch them go, sensing the need to hang back this time. I can only pray that Vadim can continue to make progress without me. Still, my thoughts are solely focused on them as I return to the kitchen and continue setting the table. It seems, however, that a pony delivery may appeal to Magda more than chicken nuggets.
Sure enough, after an hour passes, I venture out to find them in the stable. Near the one apparently earmarked for Zzazza, Vadim holds Magda by her waist, high enough for her to brush the mare’s ivory mane.
His eyes meet mine from over her head, brimming with a tenderness that warms my heart. I keep my distance until Magda spots me. It’s like a switch is flipped, and being caught near Vadim is a slip in her façade she can’t maintain. She wiggles from his grasp and backs away, crossing her arms.
“Can I ride my pony whenever I want to?”
Vadim frowns, and as if his hands mourn the loss of contact, he braces both against Zzazza’s broad back. “You can with supervision,” he says. “Either myself, or Mr. Ena. Horses are beautiful creatures, but they can be dangerous.”
She nods and exits Zzazza’s stall, extending the distance between them. And I know she has no clue as to the pain that slices through him like a knife. I can’t stop myself from approaching his side and covering one of his hands with my own.
“Can I go to my room now?” Magda asks.
“Yes,” Vadim rasps. “You can.”
“Make sure you grab some lunch first before you head up,” I call after her.
The second she’s out of earshot, I loop my fingers around his neck, burying my face against his shoulder.
“I’m trying,” he says hoarsely. I notice his hands withdraw from Zzazza and curl into fists. “Like hell, I’m trying. But I feel like she’s putting up a wall every time I get somewhere.”
“Give her time.” I stroke my fingers down his front, sensing the muscle lurking beneath the tailored fabric. “I think you’re wearing her down.”
“I think I’m worn down.” He captures my hand, bringing my fingers to his mouth. Our eyes meet as he brushes his lips over my knuckles. He eyes me reverently, like a man lying prone before an altar, desperate for mercy.
It’s too darn intense. Awed, I stroke through his hair, driven to give him some kind of reassurance, even against my better judgment. “I’m here with you,” I tell him. “I’v
e got your back.”
“Just my back?” His sly smirk makes me chuckle and arch into him, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“When do I get my day of special deliveries?”
“You’ve gotten them,” he says cryptically, his gaze unreadable. “If you are a good girl, I’ll let you unwrap them.”
In the absence of prying eyes, I kiss him, groaning as his lips part against mine, and his tongue matches my own thrust for thrust. It feels so good, stealing these moments with him. I shamelessly tease the erection hardening beneath his slacks, but with a groan, he backs away.
“I would have you on the ground,” he swears in a tone that makes my toes curl. “Naked beneath me. But—”
“With our luck, Magda would come skipping in,” I finish for him. “I understand, Mr. Dad.”
Chuckling, he takes my hand, and we return to the house together. Up above, a smattering of dark clouds thickens, promising a storm—the first drops of which start to fall the second we escape into the kitchen.
Magda’s plate is missing from the three on the table, and Vadim and I eat in silence. He’s brooding again, I suspect, stressing over her reaction to him. A reaction that confuses me the more I think about it. Apart from Maxim, Magda had been…challenging, fitting the term Ms. Anderson used, but when it comes to Vadim, it’s as if she deliberately stops herself every time she starts to soften toward him.
Like she’s refusing to soften toward him. Curious as to why, I place my dirty plate in the sink and head for the stairs. “I’ll check on her.”
In the hall, a strange haunting tune teases my ears, drifting from Magda’s room. That foreign lullaby.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, finding her slumped on her bed while tossing the hapless It into the air. “Did you learn that at school? What language is that?”
She frowns and lets the bear fall onto the bedspread. “No.” Rolling onto her knees, she eyes me warily as if deciding something on the spot. “Will you play with me?” Her defensive tone makes me suspect that it’s a request she’s used to having denied.
The Robinsons and their ineptitude strike again.
“Of course.” I sink onto the bed beside her and kick out my legs. “What will we play?”
“Tea party,” she says innocently. “I’ll be the queen, and you’ll be my loyal subject.” She looks me dead in the eye as she adds. “And I’m going to poison you.”
“You’re supposed to be dead!” Magda shrieks in indignation, her cheeks pink. But her lips twitch, fighting a grin she ultimately succumbs to as I writhe, still in the midst of my “death throes.”
“I am dead,” I tell her mournfully. “Or maybe I’m not? Maybe I’ll…” I shoot to my feet and lunge, my fingers drawn, aiming for her armpits. “I’ll stage a coup and decide I’m the new queen!”
“N-No!” she exclaims between giggles. “You can’t!”
We collapse into a heap, laughing hysterically before I even register how odd that fact is. She’s laughing, batting at my hands as I tickle her ruthlessly. It’s such a strange, unexpected moment. I can’t explain what it feels like.
My shock must match Vadim’s as he appears breathless in the doorway, presumably assuming the worst from Magda’s high-pitched shrieks. “Are… Is everything okay?” he asks, his hair mussed, his suit ruffled.
Just like that, Magda falls silent and sits upright, her frown firmly in place. “I’m tired,” she says.
Sure enough, the sky is darkening. We’ve spent almost a full day already though it feels like snippets of time.
“I’ve made dinner,” Vadim says softly.
We follow him downstairs, and Magda makes a show of picking at the food on her plate, though in the end, she eats a majority of it. Then she heads back up to her room with Vadim and I hot on her heels.
“Do you want me to brush your hair?” I ask her, unable to resist tugging on the end of one curl as she climbs onto her bed.
She seems to hesitate. Then she shakes her head, her eyes on Vadim. “I’m not a baby.”
“Okay.” I stand and join Vadim, closing her door behind me.
“We’ll be here if you need us,” he says.
I can’t stand his tormented expression as we head to the bedroom. Literally. The only way to salvage my selfish pain is to close the door, lock it, and boldly strip my dress as he watches. I saunter to him slowly as he backs up toward the bed and sits on the edge, waiting for me.
I straddle him and kiss him as deeply as I craved to in the stable. When he relaxes, I slide my hand down between us and grip the erection throbbing inside his slacks, freeing it. Sinking to my knees, I worship him, taking him into my mouth as deep as I can.
I relish in his groans and the reverent way he strokes my hair even while on the verge of pleasure. I’m so drugged on the moment, that I’m tempted to break my one last rule. Drawing back from him, I breathe against the pulsating head of his cock, watching his piercing jump.
“I could stay…”
Mayday. Too far! I look up in horrified anticipation of how he’ll react. Gloriously. Like I said, the most beautiful, magical words in existence. Eyes glowing, he fists his fingers through my hair, guiding me up so that our lips meet.
“Again,” he commands against my mouth in a tone radiating authority. “Tell me I can have you.”
Too dangerous. Too…wrong. Right? We barely know each other. A few short weeks can’t be enough time to breach such a raw, intimate boundary.
Not even if he’s begging and desperate, his hollow eyes open, craving affection no matter how small. In this moment, I can’t deny him. Not of a lie. Not anything.
“I’ll stay,” I whisper, brushing my lips over his once. The phrases he demanded I repeat while manacled on the bed return to the forefront of my mind, ample fodder to feed his pleasure. “You can have me. I desire you. You deserve—”
He shifts, trapping me beneath him, and I surrender to his thrusts as he slams inside me, moving in a brutal rhythm. The entire time, I continue to speak to him, my voice rasping, my thoughts scattering.
Chapter Twelve
We collapse breathless and spent beneath the sheets. Before we even fully come down from the high, he’s dragging me into his arms.
“Don’t regret now,” he warns, his tone gruff. “I know I need to earn those words. But hearing them? I will pay any price to hear you say them again.”
“No price,” I insist tiredly. “Just honesty.” Something that’s been on my mind all day chooses now—of all times—to resurface. “Why did you leave her, really? What made you think you couldn’t take care of her?”
Just from how he interacts with her, his nurturing instinct is wholly intact. Something deeper must have shaken his confidence. A hint as to what shapes his expression now—raw, unbearable pain.
“My real surname isn’t Gorgoshev,” he admits—an unsurprising admission given his accent. “My mother never gave me one, and my father denied me his… I was worthless, a bastard unworthy of belonging to any family. I never envisioned starting one of my own.”
I brace my hand over his forearm, my throat tight. No man should sound so depreciating—especially not him. So beautiful, so intelligent. Can’t he see that?
No, I suspect, reading his stricken gaze. He can’t. He’s blind to that aspect of himself entirely.
“Back when… In my captivity,” he says hoarsely, “we had no say over our clients, mind you. I’ll let you interpret that statement as you may. Reading people became a strict criterion for survival. I was adept at it. Until one day, a man came before me who wasn’t like the others. He had been promised a luxurious getaway on my employer’s estate—which in reality was a setup to frame him, allowing my employer to use his presence there as blackmail. This man was a professor, and a researcher in a prominent biotechnical company. His knowledge and skillset made him a tempting target for those in the realm of garnering black-market information. In pharmaceuticals. Genetics. Biotechnology. You’d be surprised the price such k
nowledge can fetch.”
I listen to him in silence, my heart throbbing at his clinical, detached tone. He almost sounds like he’s reading from a script, not recalling his own past in chilling detail.
“The man’s name was Hiram Gorgoshev,” he says. “And rather than utilize his power to abuse me, he saw through my act. We were well trained, you see, expected to lie to our clients, creating the façade that we were willing participants rather than the victims we were. Slave owners, you see, cringe in abject horror when faced with their victim’s chains—but as long as they’re hidden out of sight, they can sleep at night.” Real emotion colors his tone—disgust. Rage. Hatred so searing, I flinch as if burned.
Reflexively, he grips me tighter, preventing me from pulling away, even if I wanted to.
“Hiram saw me,” he says. “He spent his time with me reciting the laws of physics rather than refuse outright and risk having me beaten. He sacrificed his own leverage just to ensure that. I didn’t understand the risk he took back then. I had no idea…” A rare, broken smile shapes his lips for a fleeting moment. “He even offered to help me escape—but I couldn’t. Not then.”
My brain mulls obsessively over his potential reasons why. For Irina?
“When he finally did leave, he slipped a piece of paper into my hand with an address on it,” he explains. “But it wasn’t until a year later that I finally gained my freedom.”
“And you went there?” I ask, craning my neck to better see his face.
He nods. “I wound up before a modest estate in Germany, wearing rags, my mental state in ruins. I think at that point, Ena had to force-feed me bits of bread during the trip, or I would have died from starvation by then. When Hiram saw me, shivering on his doorstep, he brought me into his garden. Gave me a cup of tea. He offered his home to me so that I could rest… And I don’t think I left once for six whole months.” A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he strokes the flesh with the tips of his fingers. “And that entire time, he kept me fed. Clothed. He let me heal my fractured psyche, and when I was ready to reenter society, he gave me his name. More than that. He used his connections to get me a world-class education more comprehensive than what the children of some dignitaries are privy to. He guided me to a prominent position in his own company, Eingel Industries, which was a fledging, but promising, venture. When the time came, he ceded control to me, and even when my wealth far surpassed his, never did he ever ask me for anything. Not once. I think… He was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father.” He sounds confused, even as he says it. As though it’s a realization he’s only just come to. “He was the one who helped me navigate Magdalene’s sudden appearance,” he adds. “Nothing ever caught him off-guard, not even her existence. He encouraged me to gain custody of her, in fact. When she was sick, he was preparing to come on the next flight from Munich just to see her. That bear she has? That came from him. His idea anyway. But in the middle of her illness, he died suddenly of a heart attack, and I couldn’t even leave her side to go mourn him.”