Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
LUKA
W e had picked over the rest of our dinner. There was a chocolate pie we hadn’t touched. The candles had melted in giant pools. The bottle of wine was empty.
“So now you know what happened.” Her green eyes seemed steadier than mine. “That’s the story. The mystery, I guess you could call it.”
“And now I should forget it?” I couldn’t help the way the cold seeped into my voice.
“I didn’t say forget it, but you aren’t going out on a vengeance tirade. I will find out who kidnapped me. I deserve that.”
“You deserve more than that.” I strolled across the room. I had been restless while she recounted the story. I crouched in front of her chair. “I’ll make sure you have the names.”
She shook her head. “Not your job.”
I huffed. “If I can use my resources, why wouldn’t you want them?” I had found a way to save us both. A common enemy would be the culprit. I would call Nik tomorrow and have him work up some names who were in New Orleans during the Amato assignment.
“Because I don’t know if it was your father. Your resources are going to be tainted by anything or anyone under the Novikov roof. I can’t trust them.”
My eyes widened. “What? My father is on your list?” Fuck. I needed his name off that list immediately.
She glanced away. “It could have been him. Your mother. Anyone. Everyone.”
“My father was a bastard for what he did to us, but why would he take it that far? I was already in France. He kept us apart. He won.”
Amara shrugged. “I don’t know why he would have done it, other than the motives would all be the same. It wasn’t about you and me. It was about taking the power my father had established so quickly.”
“My father wasn’t threatened by you.” I knew the statement was a mistake and not close to the full truth. In all this time, she hadn’t uncovered that Lorenzo had Ivan murdered. Because if she had the pieces would have fallen into place for her and there would be only one person she would have suspected of such a dark crime.
Her eyebrows rose. “Oh, really? He was pleased that I bought the Vieux Carre? The most prized asset in New Orleans wasn’t his any longer the day I showed up at the bank.”
I scowled. “Fuck. I don’t know what he was thinking while I was gone.” He was underhanded and ruthless. Vengeful. Vindictive.
“Then you have to assume he is as much of a suspect as anyone else.”
I didn’t like the truth in her statement. I’d hated my father for plenty of his sins. I didn’t need to pile another heinous one on top. Did it matter now that he was dead?
I shoved off the floor. “You’re out of wine. Can I get some more for you?” I offered.
“I’ll just call Bella,” she answered. “There’s no reason you have to leave the room.”
“No. It’s late. Let her sleep. I’ll go to the cellar. I’d like to see your collection anyway.” I needed a second to breathe. Clear my head. Make sure I could make this plan work, or else I would lose her.
“Luka.” Her voice softened. “I don’t want to argue about your father. Not tonight. Let’s leave it all in the past.”
“We aren’t arguing.” How did I convince us both that was true? “I’m good. I just want to see what you have. I haven’t seen a solid cellar since I left France.
Her eyes lit up. “You might like what I have then.”
“I’ll bring back my recommendation. Okay?”
She nodded. “I’ll get in the shower while you’re down there hunting for the best bottle you can find. From this end of the house, go through the kitchen and when you turn for the dining room you’ll have to walk through the butler’s pantry. It’s the door on the left. The light switch is inside the door. Pick anything you want.”
“I know my way around wine cellars. I’ll be all right.” I kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll surprise you.” I threw a T-shirt on over my head and pulled it over my chest.
It was the first time I had left her set of rooms in twenty-four hours. I needed air. I needed to think. I needed to reconcile that she might be right about my family. And if she was, what did that mean for us?
I jogged to the first level of the house. Ciro was standing in the foyer. Damn it.
“Leaving?” he asked.
His suit was crisp as if he had just gotten dressed. I never saw the man rumpled. I felt gratitude, for what he had done for Amara but it was almost suffocated by the jealousy I carried. He was the one who saved her—not me. He was the one who was there when Lorenzo died—not me. Fucking Ciro held her when she cried—not me. I was the one behind most of the tears.
“No. Sorry to disappoint you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m grabbing another bottle of wine.” I wasn’t sure why I explained myself to him, other than I now had a new understanding of why Amara had kept him on her staff. It didn’t mean I suddenly liked him. I would tolerate him for her sake. For now, he only needed to know was that I was staying in her bed tonight.
He stepped aside so I could turn the corner for the kitchen, ducking into the connection to the dining room. I strolled through. I could still feel his eyes staring at the back of my neck. The door to the cellar was easy to find. I flipped the light switch against the wall.
As soon as I descended into the basement it was like being back in France. The smell of a good wine cellar was something I had learned to discern. It was cool. The perfect temperature. I reached the bottom step.
I liked her setup. There was a small sitting area for tasting, surrounded by cases and ordered rows. I studied the first row. It was taller than me. I was about to slide the ladder in place. People usually put their best wines out of reach. I was about to climb the ladder when I caught a glimpse of what was in front of me. I couldn’t believe it. I spotted the Novikov family crest. There was one bottle after another of Novikov wine. I lifted one from the rack. They were from the years I had worked the vineyards in Epernay. All the years were there. Every grape. She’d never mentioned she had acquired all the wines I worked on since the fire. I was proud of those wines. Proud that I built something out of ashes.
I placed the bottle back, walking to the next stack. Amara had an incredible collection. There were priceless rows of wine and champagne. The woman had good taste. Expensive taste. Exotic taste. She had curated a collection from around the world. Some of the selections were not easy to find.
What the hell? I spotted the label. It was unmistakable. It was a Chateau Pichon. I lifted it carefully. The last time I had read about this bottle it was sold to an unnamed buyer for nearly $7,000. Was it Amara? Was she the mystery buyer? When had she become this interested in wines? She was always a champagne drinker. Although, the girl I had met liked to party a little too late and made questionable social media decisions. That was five years ago. I handled the pricey bottle carefully, placing it on the table used to examine labels and coloration during tastings. I sat in a leather chair, staring at the bottle. It was tempting to pop the cork. I’d heard things about this Bordeaux. It was legendary wine. I was ogling it like a high school kid about to have his first drink.
I looked up just as her feet touched the cellar floor. I’d been too immersed in studying the curves of the bottle to hear her descend the staircase. It was easy for her to be quiet on the tips of her toes.
“About to break into my most expensive bottle I see,” she teased. Amara’s hair was wet from the shower. It was layered in damp tendrils around her shoulders. A robe was wrapped around her shoulders, but the water droplets had seeped through.
“Thinking about it.” I smirked. “Not without you of course.”
“Of course.” She walked toward me in her bare feet. “I wondered what was keeping you down here.”
I chuckled. “Sorry, I got a little lost in your collection. You hadn’t mentioned your hobby.”
She blushed. “A new one. It works well in the business.”
“And the Novikov wines?” I tested.
“You saw those too, huh?” She stood in front of me. I could smell the lotion on her skin. The shampoo on her hair. She drove me fucking wild, even after spending twenty-four hours locked in her room.
“Hard to miss my own name on every bottle on this side of the cellar.”
She laughed. “Okay. Maybe I thought it was like having a little piece of you, having the wine from your vineyards.” She shrugged lightly. “I guess it’s silly when I say it out loud.”
“Not silly,” I replied.
“Embarrassing then.”
“No. Neither. I wished I had something of yours too. Maybe it would have helped.”
“I guess I do have a few bottles.” Her eyes traveled over my head to where the cases began lining up.
“I’m flattered. Doesn’t hurt that it’s good wine.” I waggled my eyebrows.
“I didn’t say I drank it.” She winked.
“Liar.”
“Maybe. Are we going to open the Chateau Pichon?” she asked casually as if she was talking about a twenty-dollar bottle.
“This bottle?”
“Mmmhmm.” I saw the mischief in her eyes. “That one on the table you’re drooling over.”
“What’s the occasion?” I pried.
“This is the occasion.” She pressed her palm to my chest, pushing me backward as she climbed in my lap, straddling my waist. Her robe split to her thigh, exposing her creamy skin. “We can be the occasion. I think we deserve something over the top for once.”
My thumb traced over her skin. My fingers curling to the inner softness of her thigh. I grinned widely at the goosebumps forming along her flesh.
“Cold?” I taunted.
“It’s not easy going from a hot shower to the wine cellar,” she answered. She breathed over my ear as if ice crystals would form in the air.
“So many ways I could help you with that,” I offered.
My mouth covered hers. My hands tangled in her wet hair. The contrast between the cool touch of her skin with the ember she had already stoked under my ribs was like fire and ice. I slipped the robe off her entire body, tossing it on the cellar floor. I bit her shoulder gently before making a trail of kisses along her throat. I growled at the perkiness of her breasts. Her nipples hard and pointed at my chest.
“Still cold?” I growled.
She sought my lips and my tongue pushed deep inside her mouth.
My lips brushed over hers, taking my time to touch every corner. Suck every edible inch of her fucking delicious lips. My tongue twined along hers, dancing in a new rhythm. One that wasn’t desperate, but one that was content with what we had found. A fire that never burned out. A fire that could easily be flamed into a raging blaze.
She moaned against my tongue. Her hands trailed along my shoulders. Her nails raked under my shirt, moving lower to my hipbone. I growled when she wrapped her slender fingers around my cock. It throbbed against her palm.
“Luka,” she pleaded, trying to gather my T-shirt in fistfuls. I smiled, helping her yank it over my head.
I loved hearing her call my name. How much she wanted me. How much she wanted us. Could she hear all that when I said her name? Did she know I would go to war for her? That I would kill for her? Protect her. Shield her.
She raked her bottom lip under her teeth as she began to slide off my lap. I watched in awe as she dragged the athletic pants with her, throwing them as far as the T-shirt had landed. She wiggled between my knees. Damn. She did something to me. It wasn’t only the physical way she made me want her. Every time I touched her, I was it was like I was sliding off a cliff. There wasn’t a harness strong enough to keep me from falling over the edge. It was every kiss. Every touch. Every breath.
“What do you think you’re doing in front of the Pichon?” I tilted my head sideways.
“Taking something I want. Again.” She smiled wickedly.
She only had eyes for my cock. She licked her lips before leaning forward, touching her tongue to the tip. I wrapped my hands in her hair as she licked my shaft and then sucked it lightly, before I pushed it in her hot wet mouth.
“Shit,” I growled. I never expected it to feel as good as it did. Not this fucking incredible.
She never stopped surprising me. Never stopped pleasing me.
Her tongue moved with expert precision over the head and then down the length before moving back again. I thrust against the back of her throat. She moaned, sending a vibration along my dick that made me gasp for air. How the hell did she do that? I was in awe. In lust. In love.
I looked down into her eyes. They sparkled with the kind of thirst for me that drove me crazy. After everything we had been through maybe Amara was right. We did deserve to celebrate. We had created our own occasion. Our own victory.
I fucking loved this girl. Did she know I’d go to the ends of the earth for her? I’d do everything in my power to make her happy. I pumped inside her again, before grabbing her by the arms and lifting her to the leather couch.
“But I wasn’t…” she protested meekly as she slid along my body. Her skin blistered with heat.
“Shh.” I silenced her. “My turn. I’m taking what I want.” Giving her something in return. Promising her that this was only the beginning of a lifetime of nights like this one.
“In front of the Pichon?” she teased.
“Oh yeah, I’m fucking you in front of the Pichon.”
My hand slid between her legs, swirling and flicking over her clit until she rocked into my fingers with an urgent hiss. I strummed against her slick skin, teasing her, toying with her until she could barely take a breath.
“Please,” she begged.
“Please what?” I taunted her. It was my favorite part. It never got old. It never would. Hearing what she wanted was a turn on. Dirty words dripping from her lips.
I nuzzled my face into her neck, inhaling her scent. The woman I knew now I couldn’t live without. Not again. Not ever. I lifted her hips, knowing she was wet and ready for me. I brought her just to the head of my cock. Slick from her mouth. Pulsing and swollen from needing her. Needing this.
“You know exactly what I want,” she whispered.
“But it’s so much better when you say it.” I’d already fallen in love with the Amara who looked at me with wide-eyed innocence, but falling for this assertive independent woman was a new experience. One that continued to surprise me.
“Fuck me,” she demanded.
“So damn bossy.”
She nodded. “Yes.” She held on to me with a strong grip as I brought her crashing down on my shaft.
She screamed out and I growled. But it only fueled our passion. Amara began to ride me with hunger. Her tits bobbed and brushed against my chest. Her head flew back. This woman was made to fuck me.
I filled her, thrust deeper, consumed every part of her lips, licked her throat. I wanted to be buried inside her like this the rest of the night. My fingers dug into her waist while her hips moved with magic rhythm. A fucking sinful rhythm. Was there music she could hear that I couldn’t? Her hands moved from my shoulders to the back of the couch where she could use the traction for a deeper angle. A profound angle. I didn’t know if her body had started to consume mine or if it was the other way around. It didn’t fucking matter. We belonged together.
“Oh, God, Luka,” she whimpered. But we couldn’t stop. We couldn’t hold back. Our eyes locked on each other and I knew what she was thinking. I could feel it. See it. It was running through my veins too.
I didn’t need much to send me over the edge with her. Her body was my drug. My addiction. She was my craving.
“You feel too good,” I groaned. We’d lost control. I’d lost my damn mind once I was inside her. I’d lost the chance of ever being happy without her.
“Yes,” she moaned a ragged breath, grasping at my shoulders. Her nails dug deep.
I couldn’t hold off. She sank over my cock and my spine clenched with power as I spiraled into blackness, taking her with me.
She breathed heavily against my ear before convulsing and panting from her own orgasm. I held her tightly while her body vibrated with the aftershocks. I loved it when she came like this. Our mouths found each other again. I kissed her hard, pulsing through the end of our climaxes.
Amara smiled. She ran her hand against the side of my face. “I’m going to have to take you back upstairs to shower.”
I nodded, trying to gulp in air. My heart still pounded. My entire body pounded.
“But first, we have to open this bottle.” She tossed a look over her shoulder.
“You’re not serious?”
“Of course we’re opening it.” She nipped at my bottom lip, dragging it between her teeth. “It’s for us. After what it just witnessed, we have to drink it. It’s the right thing to do.”
I chuckled. I always liked the playful side of her when she let her guard down enough for me to see it. “You realize there are only a hundred of those in the world.” It didn’t want to dissuade her, but she should know how rare the Pichon was.
“I know exactly what it’s worth.” Her finger made a circle on my shoulder and along my bicep. Our palms met and she threaded her hand against mine. “Do you want to open it?” I spun her off my waist, depositing her on the couch. She squealed. “I guess that’s a yes.” She laughed.
I had already twisted the cork from the bottle. She brushed against my back. “Well?”
I smelled the cork. “So far, it’s a good investment.”
I didn’t know if she cared. She scrambled to her feet, lifting her robe off the cellar floor. She wrapped it around her and walked to the cabinet for a couple of glasses. She didn’t bother tying the belt. I admired her body as she sashayed toward me.
“Here.” She deposited them on the table.
I poured a few splashes and tasted the wine. Fuck. It was good.
I filled both halfway to the top.
“We need to toast to something.” She looked at me expectantly.
“Agreed. But nothing dramatic.”
“Oh, no. We don’t want dramatic. We’ve had enough dramatic situations to last the rest of our lives. Don’t you think?” She smiled.
“Then what should we toast to?” I eyed her.
“How about to finally getting what we want?”
I kissed her slowly before drinking the wine. Her lips were warm. The kiss was knowing, as if we had both finally come home, but neither of us quite knew how to say it. I met her gaze.
“I like that one.” I winked. “To finally getting what we want.”
I don’t know what time it was when we finally left the wine cellar, but there wasn’t a drop of the Chateau Pichon left in the bottle.