Chapter 10
Soft, warm staccato presses interspersed with lazy little licks slowly crept up my spine—Lord, this man’s lips and tongue oughta be against the law. I lay there as Targen worked his way up my back, against my nape, across my shoulder.
“Theory, milaya, wake up,” he whispered, mouth pressed against the shell of my ear.
“No.”
My refusal was immediate, my voice sleep-rough as I squeezed my eyes shut like a stubborn child. I just wanted to lie here and luxuriate in his rich, warm scent and his sweet kisses. But that feeling ended the moment he spoke again.
“Yes. We have a lot to do this week before the wedding Saturday,” he announced.
My eyes flew open then.
“Real and Everly’s wedding is weeks from now, so unless you know someone else getting hitched—”
“I do.”
“Good.”
I yawned, then indulged in a long, lazy stretch.
“Us,” he continued, making my body seize mid-motion, before I flipped to face him.
He sat on the side of the bed, going through the same movements he had the last few mornings.
He always woke before me, and I wasn’t a late sleeper.
He’d kiss my forehead and slide his body from under mine.
No matter where I started each night, I somehow ended up tangled all around him the next morning.
The next thing I remembered would be hazy images of him handling his morning routine before pressing a kiss against my lips and leaving.
“We’re having lunch so you can finally meet my crazy ass brother. Before—”
“Targen, I haven’t agreed—”
“You will,” he announced. He made me sick, all confident as he fastened the diamond and sapphire studded AP around his wrist. “You have things to do before lunch, so get up, baby.”
He stood, then leaned over me. His lips found mine as he rubbed, then lightly smacked, the outside of my thigh.
“You’re not supposed to touch me,” I said petulantly.
He moved his hand immediately, worry clouding his eyes. I sighed, mad at myself for feeling the need to reassure him.
“Not like that. You not hurting me or scaring me. But you’re the one who said—”
“I know what I said, and I was dumb as hell. Do you know how hard it is not to touch you, especially when you look like this?” he murmured, his mouth grazing mine.
I frowned. “Like a morning-breath-and-bed-head-having mess?”
He chuckled. “Nah. Like all warm and soft from sleep. Like that pussy wet because you rub that pretty, thick ass body on me and moan my name while you sleep. Like you need to be fucked back to sleep.”
He slowly sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, and the heat that had been building inside me as he spoke threatened to consume me, to burn all my resistance and objections away.
I kissed him, not caring about the mixed messages I was sending as I let my tongue tease his.
It was just a kiss, I told myself. I hadn’t disagreed with this.
And the way his lips felt against mine, I didn’t want to.
In fact, it was Targen who broke the kiss, Targen who pulled away even as I moaned a protest, my hands fisting in the crisp, white cotton of his dress shirt.
“You lucky you have plans. I’d make you take all that shit back.” His voice rumbled from him, revealing that he was clearly as affected as I was.
“Ugh,” I groaned, releasing him then pushing hard against the rock wall of his chest. “What plans? You stole me from my life and work—”
He fixed his shirt, then walked into the closet. He emerged a minute later with what I knew would be a bespoke jacket in charcoal gray. That was going to look so good on him, make his eyes stand out. Dressed up or down, this man was fine. I almost hated him for it.
“Theory, you writing freelance right now. You got a big ol’, tricked out office waiting for you at our place. Your family knows that you with me, so they ain’t worried.”
I ignored the little thrill I always felt when he mentioned “our” house, focusing on his last sentence instead.
“I know my sister and my cousins. They gon’ wanna know why I haven’t called,” I argued.
“They think I got you on a private island stretched out like a quarter to three,” he said nonchalantly, fixing his blue tie.
I gasped. “Targen!”
“Knocking the Mario coins out that tight ass pussy,” he kept on, fucking with me.
Speechless, I climbed out of the bed and marched toward the bathroom.
I ignored his laughter behind me. He was fucking infuriating.
But that didn’t stop me from kinda missing him when I came out a little later, my morning routines finished.
I had discovered that the drawers were filled with loungewear as well as under garments.
Opening one, I pulled out a pink, short-sleeved hoodie and matching shorts made from some sort of stretchy, butter soft material.
Minutes later, I was dressed and wondering what plans Targen was talking about.
His annoying self gave no clues in the little note he left telling me bye, to have a good morning, and that he’d see me around noon.
I had just plopped down on the sitting room sofa, remote in hand, when a knock sounded on the door.
“Who is it?” I called.
The situation seemed ridiculous since there was a whole guard outside the door. But it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.
“It is Andrei, ma’am,” a quiet, steady voice returned.
Opening the door, I ushered Andrei into our little sitting room.
He’d been by the last couple of mornings, breakfast tray in hand, his formal, calm presence strangely likable.
I waited to hear his soft greeting. Their Russian accents weren’t as smooth and flowing as French or Spanish ones, but there was a different kind of beauty in the hard, almost rough syllables of their words. It was growing on me… kinda.
“Mrs. Sidorov,” Andrei began with his polite little bow. “Dobroye utro. Kak u vas dela?”
Good morning. How are you? His English was flawless, but I had asked him from day one to start saying simple things to me in the primary language of the house. If I ended up having to be around these people long-term, I’ll be damned if they were saying a bunch of stuff I couldn’t understand.
“S dobrym utrom.” My words were slow, my accent horrible as I returned his good morning, but he just looked at me patiently. “Khorosho, spasibo. A vy?” I’m fine, thank you. And you?
A small, approving smile decorated his face, and he nodded once. “I am well, Miss. Your speech is very good. I will not keep you long. I trust you slept well?” he asked as he set the tray on the small table in the sitting room.
“I did. Andrei, I told you I don’t really eat breakfast like this,” I said, even as I waited for him to reveal what the cloche-covered meal was.
“The young Mr. Sidorov insists that you have breakfast to help prepare your body for—” he stopped abruptly, clearing his throat.
I frowned at him. He was crazy if he thought I was letting that go.
“For what?”
“Miss…”
“For what, Andrei?” I pressed.
He cleared his throat again. “Miss, pregnancy can be extremely taxing on the body. Your husband wants you to be nutritionally prepared.”
This mothafucka. I managed to smile, despite the irritation percolating inside me.
Targen and this baby shit—I was over it already!
Avoiding Andrei’s thoughtful gaze, I glanced down at the China, with its delicate blue trim.
A fluffy, bright yellow omelette rested beside a serving of perfectly browned sausage.
There were also small bowls of fruit and kasha—a Russian breakfast porridge.
He had remembered that I liked orange juice, I saw, but that didn’t stop him from also bringing back the kefir drink which he claimed would be good for me.
“Thank you. Please tell the chef that it looks wonderful.”
“Yes, Miss. Will there be anything else?”
At this point, I usually politely declined. Andrei was expecting that, had even started to move toward the door. I think I surprised both of us when I said, “Yes!”
He turned to me, waiting silently as I scrambled to get my words in order. After a small cough, I squared my shoulders and met his eyes.
“Apparently, I’m meeting Maxim today. What should I expect?”
He paused for a long moment before saying, “Honestly, Miss, you must learn to expect nothing and everything with the Sidorovs.”
I sighed, a little frustrated by his cryptic answer.
“Targen keeps introducing me to people like we’re…
well, anyway, I can tell he thinks a lot of his brother.
I’m just not trying to embarrass him, get him kicked out of the lil’ secret club they in or whatever,” I snarked, waving my hand dismissively.
Andrei’s face softened the tiniest bit. “Excuse my overreach, Miss, but I do not believe you have to worry about that. The young Mr. Sidorov seems absolutely captivated by you. Now, please eat your breakfast. I will be back soon; your husband has adjusted your schedule slightly for today.”
And before I could respond to that particular piece of news, he was gone.
Sighing, I settled into a chair and picked up my fork.
I had thought about launching a hunger strike to protest being practically kidnapped, but two things stopped me.
One, this chef was a damn good cook. Two, I was already mad; there was no reason to be mad and hungry.
An hour later, Andrei came back, clearing the table and quizzing me on simple Russian phrases like he was determined to make me bilingual fast as hell.
I leaned back in the chair and sighed. “So, what’s next on my schedule?” I asked.
Andrei’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. He lifted one brow, but before he could answer, a soft knock sounded at the door.
“I am sure that is your next appointment,” he said, all mysterious.
I kissed my teeth and pushed up from the chair. “Y’all love being dramatic,” I muttered, walking to the door.