Chapter 23 Ivy
IVY
Iwake suddenly with the feeling of being watched.
And I’m not wrong. Mila’s face is the first thing in focus when my eyes blink open.
She sits in a chair at the foot of my bed, one leg crossed over the other, filing her nails with leisurely strokes.
The sound is a soft rasp, over and over, a little metronome for dread.
My heart rate spikes before my brain catches up. The lamp on the dresser throws a pool of warm light across her cream coat and glossy red hair. Her gaze never leaves me. It’s a cool, fixed glare that says she’s here for a purpose and plans to enjoy every second of it.
“How did you—” The question comes out hoarse. Sleep still clings to my voice.
She smiles without warmth and pauses with the nail file just inches from her fingers to cock her head at me. “You should get used to no privacy if you plan to live here.”
My mouth tightens in anger as I push myself into a sitting position. My first thought is to pull the blanket up to my chest, but I disregard that. Doing so would give the impression that Mila intimidates me, and I’m not going to give her that satisfaction.
“Get out.” My voice is calm and controlled.
“Not yet.” Her tone stays light, like this is a social call. “I came to do you a favor.”
“Breaking into my room isn’t a favor.”
“Convincing you not to ruin your life is.” She sets the file on the arm of the chair and leans forward, elbows on her knees. Her green eyes narrow. “Don’t marry Konstantin.”
I lift my chin and meet her gaze squarely. “What I do or don’t do is none of your business.”
“Konstantin is mine,” she says with a low growl. “He always has been.”
“Does he know that?” I ask sarcastically, drawing an irritated frown from the other woman. “Because, last I checked, he asked me to marry him—not you.”
I lean back against the headboard, my arms crossed over my chest as I try to act as casual as possible.
I may not want Mila to know she intimidates me, but she does.
Mostly because I don’t know anything about her.
Because she’s like the equivalent of a princess in her Mafia family.
For all I know, she could be hiding a gun under that fur coat she’s wearing.
My eyes drop to her lap as fear skids across my nerves.
Does she have a gun? Has she come here to kill me and get me out of the way so she can marry Konstantin?
“He’s only marrying you because there’s a price on your head and he has some kind of blood oath to protect you,” Mila says, dragging me out of my panicked thoughts. “He doesn’t love you.”
My chin jerks up a notch. The insult hits home. I know Konstantin doesn’t love me. I don’t love him either, but it still hurts that my marriage will be so—impersonable.
Not after that kiss. Not with the way his heated gaze follows me around. Not with the desire barely banked in his eyes. Things between us will definitely be ‘personal’.
But no love.
“He doesn’t love you, either, Mila.” I’m surprised at how calm my voice is. “Now, please get out of my room and find someone else to bother. I have a wedding to prepare for.”
The last bit was a tad childish, but I can’t help it. She’s touched on too many of my own insecurities and I just want her out of here.
Silence stretches. “He will hurt you,” she finally says as she slowly gets to her feet. “You’re too innocent. You don’t belong in our world, and soon, you’ll realize just how out of place you are, but it will be too late.”
Mila gets to her feet, retrieves her nail file, and leaves my room. I let out the pent up breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding as the door clicks closed quietly behind her. My shoulders sag in relief, but that feeling is short lived. I’m pretty sure I just made an enemy.
Steam follows me out of the bathroom and turns the bedroom lights into a soft haze.
The towel is cinched high over my breasts and skims the tops of my thighs, and the air is cool enough to pebble my skin.
Konstantin is already in the room, standing at the window with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled to his forearms. When the latch clicks behind me, he turns, and the look that moves over my body is not casual or polite.
His gaze devours, slow and unashamed, as if he plans to memorize every inch that the towel fails to hide and every curve it tries to protect.
The heat that answers has nothing to do with the shower.
He doesn’t step forward immediately. He lets his eyes return to mine with deliberate control. “The guard said Mila came here,” he says, his voice even despite the way he’s looking at me. “Are you okay?”
I shrug. “She wanted me gone. It didn’t work.”
A flicker of approval touches his mouth. It’s not quite a smile. “She is… well, she can be intense. Her father spoiled her, and she expects to get whatever she wants.”
His attention slides down again with that consuming hunger, and desire unfurls so quickly my breath catches. The towel suddenly feels far too slight. His fingers lift, and then he stops himself a breath from my shoulder.
“And she wants you,” I say, my voice a bit breathy.
His hand finally settles on a damp curl tucked behind my ear, and the lightest drag of his knuckles along my neck leaves a trail of sparks along my nerves. The towel holds, but my balance sways toward him because the simplest touch from him draws me to him without any conscious effort.
“Come here,” he says, and the command is like velvet.
I take that step, almost without thinking or even realizing what I’m doing.
The distance collapses, and the scent of him—clean linen, cedar, the faint shadow of smoke—wraps around me, encasing me in a cocoon.
His palms bracket my hips, and his fingers press into the edges of the terrycloth.
Not too hard, but with the authority and confidence that turn me on like nothing else.
He inhales once, deep enough to make his chest rise against the towel where it covers me. The edges of his control turn razor-sharp. “What you do to me.”
His voice is raspy, urgent, and almost desperate.
I’m not even sure he realizes that he said that confession out loud.
I feel the confession down to the depths of my soul.
Somewhere in between all the running, escaping flying bullets, and realizing my entire life has changed, I’ve fallen for Konstantin.
I want to marry him! I’m not sure when that changed, but it’s true. I want to marry Konstantin, and not just for the protection he can offer. I want to be his wife, to share his bed—especially that! Somewhere along the way, feelings for him slipped inside my heart, took root, and grew.
“You do some things to me, too,” I say, my voice low and throaty.
My hand lifts to the open collar of his shirt. The ink that climbs his throat disappears into linen, and my fingers follow the line without moving the cloth, because restraint can be its own form of intimacy. “I want you.”
The effect is instant. Hunger flares hotter behind his eyes, and the patience he has been wielding like a blade cuts closer to the edge.
He slides one palm from my hip to the small of my back and draws me forward until my body fits to his.
The careful angle of his mouth hovers a breath from mine before it settles in a kiss that begins gentle but quickly turns impatient. He tastes like tea and winter.
His tongue slips into my mouth, both gentle and commanding at the same time. The hand at my spine anchors me like a brand, which is a good thing because my body seems to have turned to Jell-O and I’m not sure I could stand up on my own right now.
The kiss deepens and a soft sound escapes my throat that makes him groan into my mouth, vibrating all the way down to my belly. And lower.
“Enough,” Konstantin says reluctantly against my lips. He rests his forehead against mine and steadies us both while his thumb makes a slow circle at the base of my skull. “If we keep going, I will take what I want before we’ve said our vows.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
He visibly shakes then steps away and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t tempt me,” he says, meeting my eyes firmly. The fire there heats my blood even more.
“Or?” I can’t help asking. The corner of my mouth tilts up slightly. I’m teasing, but I’m not. More than anything, I want to be back in his arms, his mouth devouring mine.
His eyes narrow slightly. “Or I will take you now and you will arrive to your wedding looking thoroughly fucked for all the guests to see.”
Oh, God! Heat fills my cheeks, making my face so warm, I’m sure my skin is hot to the touch. Now all I want to do is throw him on the bed and have my way with him. His words clamor through my mind, flood my body with desire. But then he speaks again and I stiffen, suddenly anxious and nervous.
“Get dressed, Ivy.” His voice is low and controlled. “We marry in an hour.”
He nods his head toward the bed and for the first time, I notice my wedding dress, the one we picked out at his cousin’s bridal boutique, is laid out atop the covers. Waiting for me.