Chapter 7
AMALIE
Morning light spills into the breakfast room in soft, golden sheets. Everything looks domestic. Even a little harmless.
A lie. A pretty lie, but a lie, nonetheless.
Sasha’s already at the long breakfast table, swinging his legs under the chair as he carefully cuts his pancakes into perfect squares, a glass of orange juice close at hand.
Andrei is seated in his usual corner, the Chicago Tribune in his hands, a mug of black coffee nearby.
He pulls the paper down just enough to see it’s me before returning to his reading.
“Good morning, little man,” I say.
Sasha gives me a little pursed-mouth smile in return, as if not quite sure how to relate to me just yet. We had a blast yesterday—tons of drawing, playing, and napping. But it was only one day. If we’re going to build the kind of relationship he needs in his life, it will take many good days.
I slide into the seat next to him. He doesn’t bristle—that’s a good sign. He’s dressed in a tiny tennis polo.
“I like your outfit,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “You look like a little country-club owner.”
“It’s tennis,” he says. “Papa says I have to win today.”
“Is that so?” I ask with a smile.
He nods. “Yep. Because if I don’t, Coach Viktor will make me run again. And I hate running.”
“That sounds motivating.”
A familiar presence enters the room. The air tightens.
Roman moves like he doesn’t just own the house, but also the people inside of it. My stomach tenses at the sight of him. He steps over to Sasha, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his curls.
“I’m ready to win today, Papa.”
“Winning is important,” Roman replies. “Very important. But what I want to see is discipline, heart. Which are much, much more important.”
Sasha nods, sitting up a little straighter. My heart tingles at the sight of him with Sasha. I can tell the tenderness he shows to his son is something the rest of the world never sees.
Roman’s gaze flicks to me. Just for a heartbeat, but a heartbeat is more than long enough.
I look away first.
One of the members of the staff comes in and announces it’s time for tennis. Sasha takes one last bite, then hurries out of the room. The moment he disappears down the hall, the temperature of the room shifts. It’s not cold or uncomfortable, just different.
“Tennis?” I ask.
“We have a court in the back. Heated during winter.”
Of course.
“Come with me,” Roman says. His tone makes it clear it’s not a suggestion.
Shit. Are we having the talk now? Better to get it out of the way, I suppose.
“Andrei, please accompany Sasha to the courts.”
“Of course.” He rises calmly, folds his paper, and takes one slow sip of his coffee before leaving.
Roman and I are alone. Memories of last night come rushing back—the way his fingers felt inside me, the way he squeezed my breast as he made me come, the command from him that sent me over the edge…
“Come. This way.”
He crosses the room in long strides, holding the door for me once he’s out in the hallway.
I have no idea where we’re going. He leads me through the side corridor, past the wine storage, to an unmarked panel I would’ve never noticed on my own.
He presses his thumb to a concealed reader.
A ding sounds and the wall opens with a whisper.
The room beyond stops me cold. The lighting is low and cool, built into the ceiling. The walls are polished wood. There are a few comfortable chairs and what looks to be a small storage area with canned food and bottled water.
I step inside, placing my fingertips against the wall of hard steel, probably a foot thick.
Along one wall is a command console complete with controls and monitors.
On the screens I can see just about every angle of the house.
The room feels like the command center of a spaceship or futuristic submarine, totally sealed off from the outside world.
I realize what it is after a moment’s study. “A panic room?”
He nods, stepping into the space behind me. “This is where you go if anything ever happens. You take Sasha here and wait.” He points to a button next to the door inside of the room. “This shuts and locks the door.”
He presses the button and the door slides shut. A metallic click deep inside the walls lets me know it’s sealed. Then a small red light illuminates above the button.
“Red means locked. When you’re in here, you open the door for no one but Andrei or me.” He points to a feed on one of the monitors which shows the area right outside of the room we’re in now. “That’s the footage you check. Open the door for no one other than us.”
I scan the room. “No secondary exit. That’s a problem.”
“You don’t need one. That door could survive a battering ram, and that’s assuming any invaders would even be able to find it. As I said, if anything happens, you come here with Sasha, lock the door, and let no one other than Andrei or me through. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Say it. Repeat my instructions.”
“Here with Sasha. Lock the door. Only open it for you or Andrei.”
He nods with approval. Part of me wants to ask if he really believes there’s a chance his home might be invaded. But I realize instantly that’s a silly question. Why would he build a room like this if he didn’t think it was a possibility?
When he turns his eyes to me, narrowing them slightly, the room seems to get hotter. His voice lowers. “You ran from me last night.”
Shit. We are doing this now.
Heat blooms deep in the pit of my stomach. “You gave me a reason to.”
“Did I?” He flashes me a faint, but dangerous smile. “Or did you give yourself one?”
“Roman…” His name comes out in the tone of a warning.
He leans in, just enough to push into my personal space. “You’re already blushing.”
Without thinking, I raise my hand to my cheek. “It’s not—”
He tilts his head, eyes dark with restrained amusement. “Last night shook you.”
“Yeah. It did. Especially your honesty about certain subjects.”
“Like my attraction to you?”
My pussy clenches. Part of me wants to push him out of the panic room with a shove and close the door.
“No. The other stuff.” I make a finger gun with my hands. It’s probably the most immature way I can think to insinuate killing people, but I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
He considers that for a beat. “Yet you stayed after I told you.”
“Barely.”
He laughs. “It counts.”
He steps just a bit closer, testing me to see if I’ll move back. I don’t. I’m not sure if it’s because his nearness turns me on or because I don’t want him to see how shaken I am. Maybe both.
I’m painfully aware of every nerve in my body, all of them tuned to his proximity.
He reaches forward. I gasp when his hand finds my waist, tugging me flush against him. The heat of his body seeps through my clothes along with his hardness.
Fuck.
I tilt my chin up in defiance, but my shallow, quick breaths give away just how turned on I am. “Roman—”
The protest vanishes as soon as his mouth crashes into mine.
His tongue finds my own, stroking along the side, the invasion of his body blasting away any rational thought along with my resistance.
I kiss him back fiercely, my fingers twisted into his shirt, pulling him closer.
The taste of him, the smell of his musk, ruins me.
His hand slides lower, cupping the curve of my ass before moving between my thighs. He presses on my pussy through the thin fabric of my pants, fingers tracing my slit with perfect precision. He rubs slow, firm circles over my clit, the pressure building and building. My hips arch into his touch.
“Goddammit, Roman.”
He chuckles, knowing he’s got me right where he wants me. “Look at you,” he says. “Grinding against me. You’ve wanted this since you woke up this morning, haven’t you?”
I wince, both from the pleasure and the fact that he’s right.
A moan tears from my throat. It’s insane how he knows just how to work me. His thumb circles harder and he brings me right to the edge, teasing. I’m soaked, my pussy throbbing, the edge approaching so quickly. I’m nearly there, so damn close—
A flicker on the monitor catches my eye. A maid rounds the corner, cleaning supplies in hand, just steps away. Roman sees it too. He stills and pulls back. His hand withdraws, leaving me clenched around nothing. He glances full-on at the screen, then at me.
The door slides open with a soft whoosh. The maid freezes when she sees us. I freeze too, breathing heavily, my cheeks on fire, my body buzzing like I’ve been struck by lightning.
Roman stands there casually, like he hadn’t just ten seconds ago been rubbing me to near-climax.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” the maid blurts out.
“It’s fine, Irina,” Roman says. “I was just showing Amalie the panic room. I should’ve remembered this was your morning to clean it.”
“No,” the maid says, a heavy Russian accent on her words. “I should have knocked first.”
“It’s quite alright,” Roman replies. “Typically no one is in here.”
I squeak out something that might be a greeting or the impersonation of a dying animal. Then I scramble out from between Roman and the wall, nearly tripping over my own feet. My pulse feels like a series of explosions in my head.
“Sorry, sorry,” I babble on the way out, nearly knocking Irina over. “Sorry!”
Behind me, I swear I hear Roman laugh as I run away, just like I did last night, painfully aware that this man finds my loss of control amusing.