Chapter 18
18
S ofia woke slowly.
She felt groggy and unsettled. Confused about where she was.
Glancing around, surprise filled her as she realized it was morning. Maybe even later.
She’d actually slept? And for more than an hour? Without nightmares?
It was almost unheard of.
The only issue was that she kind of felt worse than when she’d gone to sleep.
She rubbed her temples where a headache had formed and tried to stretch out her neck. It was stiff and aching.
The last thing she needed was to add to her aches and pains.
The door opened and she tensed. Surprise filled her as Colm walked in.
Not because she was surprised to see him... but because he was carrying a tray of breakfast.
And most importantly, coffee.
All thoughts of being embarrassed over last night or trying to keep him at arm’s length today disappeared.
Because, you know, coffee.
She held her hands up and made grabby motions. “Gimme. Gimme.”
He raised his eyebrow, giving her a stern look as he put the tray down on the bedside table.
Wow. He was hot.
Why hadn’t she taken the time to notice last night? He had a pair of black pajama pants on.
And nothing else.
The. Man. Was. Fine.
Wide shoulders. A muscular chest. Abs... oh God, those abs. She wanted to run her tongue down his chest and stomach. To push those pajama pants down and find out what he had going on underneath.
Calm down.
She couldn’t. She shouldn’t.
But it didn’t stop her from wanting to.
He had tattoos all down his arms and chest. They were such a mix of things that she couldn’t figure them all out at once. The chest tattoo was some sort of bird. Maybe an eagle.
It must have taken hours and hours to get the feathers all done.
Then he cleared his throat and she glanced up, embarrassment filling her as she saw the look of knowing on his face.
“You finished, baby? Looked your fill?” he asked in a low, husky voice.
His face was filled with heat. With knowledge.
She moved her gaze away, and thankfully, it hit on the one thing that might distract her.
Sort of.
Reaching out, she grabbed the coffee. Her hand shook slightly, though, making the cup wobble.
“Whoa, careful there, baby. Maybe caffeine isn’t what you need,” he said with clear concern as he steadied the cup.
“It is. I’m just wobbly because I need more caffeine.”
“Hmm. We’ll talk to the doctor about that. You’re already sleep-deprived. The last thing you need is to add stimulants.”
Wait. What?
They’d talk to the doctor?
About her and her caffeine?
Yeah, not happening, buddy.
“No one gets between me and my coffee,” she growled, pulling the mug toward her mouth.
He let it go, observing her carefully.
“If it’s affecting your sleep and health, I will get between you and your coffee.”
Uh-uh.
“Those there are fighting words,” she told him. “As in, I will fight you to the death to get my coffee.”
“To the death?” he queried, his lips twitching.
Did he think she was joking?
Because she really wasn’t.
“It’s all right, baby,” she whispered to her coffee before taking another sip. “I’ll look after you.”
Lord, it was even prepared perfectly with just the right amount of creamer.
How did he know?
Hmm.
“Miller prepared your coffee,” he told her as though reading her mind. He sat on an armchair by the bed. Had that been there last night? “She told me you’re quite particular about how you take your coffee. Although I think you would have drunk it no matter how it came this morning.”
He wasn’t wrong.
But she preferred it this way.
“It’s my favorite thing. I don’t need chocolate or donuts or cupcakes. Just coffee.”
“And a good nutritional, well-balanced diet,” he told her.
“That sounds boring.”
“It’s your life now,” he warned her as he grabbed the plate of food off the tray. She glanced down to see it held an omelet.
Hmm. Not too bad.
A bowl of cut-up berries and some yogurt were also on the tray.
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t eat yogurt.”
“No?”
“It’s so fake.”
“The yogurt is fake?” He looked confused.
“Yeah, it’s like it’s pretending to be healthy, but seriously, some of it has more calories and sugar and stuff than ice cream. And I’m just like... be who you are, yogurt. You know?”
“Not really,” he murmured, his gaze running over her face. “But I like you like this.”
She started to feel self-conscious. She probably looked like an absolute fright with crazy hair, plus she hadn’t properly removed her make-up last night, so no doubt that it was smudged all over her face.
She hid herself behind her mug.
But it seemed he wasn’t going to let her get away with that. Reaching out, he moved the cup away and tilted her face up with a finger under her chin.
“I like you like this,” he repeated in a firm tone. “Happy. Relaxed. It makes me realize that in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve always carried some stress. Which shames me.”
She frowned. “Why would that make you feel ashamed?”
“Because I never did anything to try to alleviate that stress. Because I didn’t push harder to find out the truth. I didn’t want you to retreat from me, so I avoided topics I thought might make you run. But I shouldn’t have because it put you at risk.”
She was confused. How had he put her at risk? Was he talking about last night?
“What happened last night wasn’t your fault,” she told him. “Oleg kidnapping me wasn’t something that anyone could have predicted.”
“Wasn’t talking about that, lass,” he said as he forked up some omelet and held it to her lips. “Eat.”
“I can feed myself.”
“Hmm, I’ve yet to see evidence of that.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He popped the omelet in before she could close her mouth again.
So sneaky.
“You’ve lost a lot of weight. You haven’t been eating. I don’t remember you ever eating at the restaurant. You were too busy running around putting out fires that your manager should have taken care of.”
Oh. Right.
“If I had dug deeper into what was going on with you, then I could have ensured that you were eating properly. And getting enough sleep. And I could have kept you safe from that ass-pig.”
She decided to be brave and reached over to cup his hand with hers. “You can’t take on all my shit as your own.”
“Ah, lass. That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
He was joking, right?
“But last night was just last night . . . you said that just for a few hours I’d be . . . well, I would be . . . um . . .”
“Mine,” he stated as he forked up some more of the eggs. She had to admit they were delicious, but her stomach was churning and she wasn’t sure she could eat anymore without it coming back up. “Open up.”
“Colm,” she whispered.
“Don’t worry about it right now, baby. I’ll take care of it all.”
She closed her eyes. How could she explain all of it? Make him see?
Because they still couldn’t be together, which is what he seemed to want.
God, Colm Finlayson wanted her.
It was her every wildest fantasy coming to life.
But it wouldn’t work.
There was no way. Sacha wouldn’t allow it to happen and she couldn’t lose him. Either of them.
Not to mention the fact that she was... broken.
That was the only word she could come up with to describe herself.
Oleg had broken her.
And now she couldn’t see a future in which she got to be happy. Where she could be free of all the restrictions. Of all the fear and worries.
While she enjoyed his touches and kisses... she couldn’t help but think he’d get sick of all of her issues.
The nightmares.
The way Oleg’s voice got into her head. Telling her how worthless she was.
Useless.
Not good for anything.
Except a fuck.
Sofia knew she shouldn’t let Oleg get to her... but sometimes it was hard to see how she could repair the damage he’d done, even though she’d tried as hard as she could to tune him out.
Colm wasn’t Oleg.
She knew that. But what if she got caught up in the moment and forgot who was holding her, who was kissing her? What if she reacted badly without meaning to?
No, Colm needed someone with less baggage. Someone worthy of him.
And she hadn’t even touched on her damaged back or her other secret.
“Baby, look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
“I don’t like that look on your face. Tell me what’s going on inside your head. You keep everything to yourself and that’s not healthy.”
“An Anisimov has to keep up a standard. An Anisimov cannot break down, and certainly not in front of others.”
He gaped at her in shock. “Who told you that? Your cousin?”
Crap. She hadn’t intended to say that.
“No! My, uh, my father.”
“Is that why you rarely tell people how you’re feeling? Because you think you need to keep up your family’s reputation as cold robots?”
“That’s not my family’s reputation!” she protested.
He just stared at her.
“I guess,” she admitted. “And I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You could never be a fucking burden.”
He said that now . . .
“Sofia, I don’t like the way you’re thinking, but I also know I don’t have time to convince you. Luckily, I plan to have all the time in the world to show you just how precious and amazing and worthy you are.”
God.
She wished they had that.
“I also don’t like that you barely eat. I’m this close to taking over again and ordering you to eat.”
“I don’t think that will work anymore,” she told him.
“You don’t?” His voice sounded . . . curious.
“No, last night I was in a... in a different mindset. I don’t think that I can let myself go there again.”
“Baby, you think you can resist me if I want to take you there?” he said in a low voice.
A touch of nervousness filled her, and he obviously saw it as he put the plate down and cupped her face with his hand. “I’ll never use my power to abuse you. That’s something I will promise you right now. And if I ever did, you’re to go find Rogan straight away and tell him what I did. He’ll keep you safe.”
He seemed to think that she was his.
“Colm . . . you . . . I . . . your power?” she finally had to ask.
“Hmm. My power over you. I only used a fraction of it last night. But you know I have the ability to do what needs to be done. You felt the urge to submit to me, didn’t you?”
Had she?
Maybe she had, and honestly, that was kind of terrifying.
“I don’t want to be a doormat. I won’t be. Not again,” she told him as firmly as she could.
Even though a part of her was screaming that she should give him whatever he wanted if it meant he’d love her.
God. What was wrong with her?
“And, again, I ever treat you as anything less than my fucking queen; you go to Rogan and you tell him to take me out. And I will tell him the same thing. Sofia Anisimov is no one’s doormat. She is no one’s punching bag. Or pavement.”
“Pavement?” she whispered, barely able to speak around the lump in her throat.
“For someone to walk over,” he explained.
Wasn’t that exactly who she was?
Someone to be used. To lie to and manipulate.
“Sofia Anisimov is a queen who everyone should fucking bow down to and worship,” he told her fiercely.
“I don’t want anyone to worship me.”
No one except him.
And, really, all she truly wanted was to be loved.
“Too late,” he whispered. “But even queens need looking after. In fact, they need it more than most because they can forget to take care of themselves. They need soldiers willing to do what it takes to ensure they are healthy and happy. That’s what you get. The soldier. The caretaker.”
“Hmm, I think you’re more warrior than soldier,” she told him.
“Is that so?” He grinned. “Your warrior?”
She sighed. She wished. If he could be her warrior, she’d always be safe.