Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Roman
"You've been watching me."
This wasn't the Leah I wanted.
Angry, resentful, afraid. Eyes always filled with pain.
But now, here she stood before me. The cold glow of the screens and occasional flashes of lightning made her face bloodless white.
The moment she saw me appear in the doorway, her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress at her sides, her whole body trembling, yet she still forced her head up to look at me.
I thought—when I got the call and abandoned my meeting, ran three red lights, tore through the storm all the way from Manhattan back to Long Island—
I'd be walking into a reconciliation.
Instead, this. The woman I loved had discovered my darkest secret, and she wasn't accepting it. Those hate-filled eyes were boring into me.
The storm raged on. I straightened from where I'd been leaning against the doorframe, running my hand through my dripping hair.
Water streamed off my suit. I was soaked through, my shoes leaving dark prints on the cement floor.
I hadn't figured out how to handle this. Keep lying? Tell her it was just part of the security system? Make up something she might believe?
My gaze swept past her to the three walls covered in screens, to that cork board plastered with her photos and red string annotations.
No. With all this staring us in the face, any lie would be fucking stupid.
I looked at Leah's red-rimmed eyes. Tears hung on her lower lashes, ready to fall.
This time, I had to come clean.
"When did it start?" Leah asked again, and the tears finally fell, sliding down past those faint freckles on her nose all the way to her chin.
When did it start?
From the first moment I saw you. From that first time in that goddamn club room when I caught the coffee smell lingering in your hair.
Started as routine—vetting a stranger's identity and background.
Didn't require much from me personally.
My people dropped her activity reports on my desk daily. Which grocery store, what time she left, which intersection she'd check her phone at while waiting for the light. Standard procedure, nothing personal.
But then, somehow, some day, it became a hungry habit.
"From the beginning," I admitted.
The answer didn't surprise her.
She just laughed bitterly through her tears, that curve of her mouth carrying a desperation that twisted my gut.
"Roman, do you really have to be so suspicious of me?"
She shoved the table beside her like she'd lost her mind. The monitor crashed to the floor, the sound of shattering glass sharp in the cramped surveillance room.
"Smash whatever you want. Tear this whole room apart if it makes you feel better. But I guarantee you, by tomorrow morning it'll all be back."
I undid my last button, shrugged off my soaked jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair, then took a step toward her.
My movement made Leah instinctively step back.
She was afraid of me. I could see it. Her pupils dilated, her body shrinking toward the wall. Then her fingers moved unconsciously to cover her swollen belly.
That gesture sent a dull ache through my ribs.
She was protecting the child inside her. She actually thought I'd hurt her.
"There's something seriously wrong with you, Roman. No one could be this twisted." Leah's voice was hoarse.
"Yeah. Never said I was normal."
I took another step forward.
Leah's back pressed against the wall. Nowhere left to go. I could smell her—that laundry detergent with a hint of milk, mixed with the warm scent of her own skin.
When did I get addicted to that smell?
Couldn't say.
"Move. Let me out," Leah pushed at my chest.
I wasn't moving. That chance was long gone.
"Roman, I said move!" Leah pushed harder, both palms pressing against my chest.
Her strength was nothing compared to mine. I easily caught her wrists.
"I won't let you go, and I won't change. I need to know where you are. Every minute, every second, I need to see you on those screens, alive and breathing. That's the only way I know you're safe. The only way I can stop the anxiety."
"Listen to yourself!" Leah screamed, desperately trying to pull her wrists free. I tightened my grip.
"I know what I'm saying."
"No, you don't! You think this sounds romantic? Touching? Like you care so much about me? No, Roman. This is called being a control freak."
Leah glared at me, tears streaming down her face.
"If you actually fucking loved me, you'd at least respect my feelings! Nobody wants to be monitored 24/7 like some criminal!"
She was right. I knew I had issues and was a complete fucking psycho.
But it didn't change anything.
I couldn't stop looking at those goddamn screens.
I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop.
"What do you want me to do? Turn off these screens and spend every day terrified you'll run, or someone will take you? I don't like you outside my control. Baby, I can't handle that."
My thumb unconsciously stroked the skin on the inside of her wrist, where her pulse hammered wildly.
"Baby, I can't handle that," I repeated.
Leah shook with rage. She jerked her hands free, stumbled back, her spine hitting the cork board. Photos and pins swayed behind her.
"You can't handle it? YOU can't handle it?
I'm the one who can't fucking handle you anymore, Roman Volkov!
You stalk me, spy on me, then tell me it's because you can't handle it?
Not everyone is Irina! I'm not her! I never betrayed you!
But you don't care, do you? To you, every woman who gets close will eventually stab you in the back, right? "
Her voice broke on the last word.
Fresh tears spilled over, sliding down her chin, past her trembling lips.
I stared at that tear.
It traced her lip line slowly, stopping in the reddened indent in the center of her lower lip where she'd bitten down hard.
I stepped forward and kissed her.
She froze for a second, then turned her head frantically to escape. I cupped the back of her skull, fingers threading through those chestnut curls, holding her in place.
Leah made a short sound of protest that I swallowed whole.
I wanted to end her endless resistance, freeze this moment, lock her in my arms forever.
But the kiss didn't last. Leah opened her mouth and bit down hard. The taste of blood spread between our tangled tongues.
I pulled back half a step, licked the blood on my lip.
Leah leaned against the wall panting, glaring at me. Lips swollen and red, chest heaving. Half her chestnut curls had come loose, sticking to her sweat-dampened neck. One strap of her nightgown had slipped, exposing a wide expanse of delicate skin below her collarbone.
That look.
Fuck, I was hard again.
At a time like this, when she was angry enough to kill me, I was hard. I glanced down at the unmistakable bulge at the front of my dress pants and felt genuine self-loathing rise in my chest.
I really was beyond saving.
"I'm not your property, Roman. You can't kiss your way out of this. I'm not your asset, not your cargo, not one of those guns or those damn smuggled goods in your basement. I'm a person. A living, breathing person."
"I know."
That was exactly the problem.
"You don't know. If you knew, you wouldn't treat me like this. I want freedom. I want out. I want you to tear all this shit down and love me like a normal fucking adult. Can you do that?"
I hesitated, because I had no way to answer that question.
Leah waited a few seconds. Disappointment rose layer by layer in her eyes, slowly drowning out the anger.
"I'm scared of this obsessive kind of love, Roman. I'm scared of living under constant suspicion."
Finally, Leah took a deep breath.
"Let's end our arrangement. Let me leave."
Leave.
She could actually say those words so easily? After she'd shamelessly invaded my life, claimed every ounce of my attention?
"Too late."
I wasn't giving her that chance anymore.
I closed the distance, bent and scooped her up. Leah screamed and struggled, fists pounding my shoulders and back, knee driving toward my stomach. I turned aside to dodge it.
I set her on the console table. She immediately tried to jump down. I pinned her with my body.
I yanked off my tie, still damp from the rain, grabbed both her flailing wrists, wrapped the silk twice around them above her head, tied it tight.
"Let me fucking go! Roman! Let go!" Leah twisted violently, her bound hands struggling uselessly, the tie leaving red marks on her wrists. Her foot kicked my thigh. I caught her knee and forced her legs apart, spreading her open with nowhere to hide.
This was how it should be.
I should've done this from the start. From the first time she appeared before me, from that afternoon she snuck off to see Trent in that alley.
I should've tied her up, locked her away where she couldn't go anywhere.
"Let me go, Roman. Please." Leah's voice trembled, her struggles weakening.
Today she kept saying things I hated.
As punishment, I kissed her again.
Leah was crying. I tasted salt. That bitter flavor seeped between our pressed lips, mixed with blood, mixed with however many tears she'd cried tonight.
I pushed her nightgown up, the thin cotton bunching above her waistline. My palm covered the outside of her thigh. Her skin burned, muscles twitching under my touch.
She buried her face in the crook of my neck, breathing ragged and hot against my pulse.
Her body went rigid when my fingers found her. She was wet—shamefully, helplessly wet despite everything. The slick heat of her arousal coated my fingertips instantly, a betrayal that made my cock throb with dark satisfaction.
"No," she whimpered against my throat, her voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the storm. "Don't—"
But her hips rolled forward involuntarily when I stroked her, betraying every word. That subtle, instinctive grind sent a surge of possessive hunger through me, her body craving what her mind fought so desperately to reject.