Chapter 23
I spent a lot of the week after the wedding in my office.
That office was… ridiculous. But I had to grudgingly admit that I meant that in the best, most over-the-top way.
It was beautiful, all sunlit and soft. It suited me so perfectly that it got on my nerves.
It had big windows that let in the light of the bright Texas sun, warming the gorgeous wood floor and everything it touched.
The centerpiece of the room was the desk, no doubt.
It was hand-carved and somehow elegant but functional, with intricate designs and a beautiful inlaid map.
There was enough space for my notebooks, my pens, my laptop, a drink, all the little things I liked to keep near when I wrote.
The shelves were lined with books, pretty editions mixed with my favorites, taken from my house.
Off to one side was a sitting area with a plush couch and a chair that looked and actually felt good.
Someone had folded a soft throw over the arm like they knew I liked to be warm when I curled up to read or write.
There was a fragrant selection of candles, all the kind of sweet, fruity scents I liked.
The room was feminine and luxurious and I loved it.
It felt like a place where words would come easy, where I could build whole worlds.
And what irritated… and endeared me most was that Targen had it built for me.
I thought about that every time I walked in there.
It would’ve been okay if it were some random room in some random big ass house.
But, oh, no. He clearly designed this space with me in mind.
Me. My work. My habits. My taste. My dreams. All those things I’d whispered to him under the cover of starry Louisiana nights.
He’d first shown it to me the day after the wedding, after I watched him and Juvie and Mikhail kill four men, before I drowned my sorrows with my family.
He’d walked me down the hall like my head wasn’t still buzzing with everything he’d told me.
He had a calm look on his face, like this wasn’t a big deal.
But I knew better. He was tense and his eyes kept cutting to me.
He wanted me to like it. Badly. I could tell that when he opened the door and went quiet.
I had stepped inside and just… stopped. I didn’t know what to do with this, with him.
What was I supposed to do with a man who paid attention like he obviously did?
I had blinked back tears. I didn’t want to give him that, didn’t want him to see how touched I was.
But it was too much. The things on the desk and shelves, the inclusion of the reading nook—it was all mine somehow before I’d even touched anything in it.
Then I looked at him, standing there trying so hard to act normal, but those beautiful eyes gave him away.
My opinion on this room, another of his gifts to me, mattered to him.
And that mattered to me. God, why was he making it so hard to be clear-headed about being his wife?
Of course, I didn’t make it easy on him. I crossed my arms and tried to look indifferent like the room hadn’t already wrapped itself around my heart. This man, my husband, really saw me. I had to be careful with that, protect myself while I decided if I could accept the life of a Bratva bride.
So, here I was in my office, halfway into the first week of being married to a man that was more stranger than husband to me, in some ways.
I was standing in front of one of the windows when he knocked on the open door and walked in dressed in one of those beautifully tailored suits, looking so damn delicious that I wanted to lick him like a chocolate ice cream cone…
well, maybe a golden vanilla one. Caramel?
“…you hear me, milaya?”
“Huh?” I asked, hastily shaking my head to clear it.
A sly smile tilted one corner of his lips. “What you over there thinking about?”
I wasn’t telling him that, even though that smile told me he already knew. “What did you say?”
“Nah, what’s on your mind, shorty?”
“I’m just… I was…” I fumbled around, looking for a good excuse. “Working out a storyline problem with my main character.”
He ambled closer to me, his face telling me he didn’t believe a word I was saying. “Oh, yeah? Tell me about it. Maybe I can help.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sure. She has a worrisome ass husband who keeps secrets and just pissed her off by keeping a big one,” I snapped.
“Mmm. What’s her plan?”
“Well, she thinks about leaving…” My voice trailed off, coy and provocative all at once.
His mouth tightened as he finally stopped less than a foot away. “What if her husband wants her too much to allow that?”
I tilted my chin to stare up at him. “So, she has no say in whether or not she stays?”
“Since he fucked up, maybe it’s his job to make sure she wants to.”
I knew I shouldn’t ask. I knew it. But something about this man had been making me do what I shouldn’t since I met him. “And what should he do?”
Targen’s eyes dropped to my mouth and desire licked through me despite the fact that he hadn’t even touched me. When his gaze lifted again, I could see the humor and heat, like he already knew I was in over my head and was enjoying watching me squirm.
“Well, first, this hypothetical husband should let his wife be mad. She got a right to be,” he said softly.
I folded my arms tight beneath my breasts. Hell, I needed something to do with them before I reached out. “Let her? How generous of him! What does this pillar of manly virtue do next?”
He ignored my tone and took another step toward me. My hand lifted, pressed against the base of my neck. Whew, the AC must have cut off!
“He apologizes right.”
I frowned. “What does ‘right’ mean?”
“It means he looks her in the face and says, ‘I was wrong. I hurt you. You ain’t deserve that.’”
His voice was so low and sexy. That plus his actual words caught me so off guard that I forgot to hide it. His mouth curved when he noticed.
“What? Why you smiling like that?” I asked sharply.
“Nothing.” His eyes said something else, though.
I rolled my eyes, but my heart had picked up its rhythm in my chest. To cover it, I said, “Okay. So, what? He apologizes. She still mad.”
“She probably is,” he admitted.
His fingers brushed the side of my waist lightly. So lightly that I almost convinced myself I imagined it. I went still. Almost like I was waiting to see if he would touch me more. Almost like I wanted him to.
“And then?” I sounded breathless.
He bent closer to me, stopped when our lips were an inch apart.
“And then, he don’t stop at showing her he listens. He gotta show her he sees her,” he murmured.
“How…” I swallowed. “How does he?”
That same smile tilted one corner of his lips, just below the longest scar.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
But he was being flippant. He stepped back, let his gaze move deliberately around my office, around the evidence that he listened to me, saw the writer in me.
“You’re the writer. Show that he knows what she likes. Like sunlight when she works. Like purple pens and journals and pretty shit, but useful pretty shit.” His eyes came back to mine. “I’on know. I believe in you. You’ll figure it out.”
I swallowed. “Maybe he’ll come across as nosy.”
“I know my milaya is more skillful than that. Maybe he’ll come across as paying attention.”
His hand moved again, grazing my side as he shifted even closer.
My pulse spiked. I really was too young for these hot flashes.
He reached up then, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to and tucked a loose curl behind my ear.
His fingers skimmed the shell of it on the way down.
I sucked in a sharp breath. My husband… Targen, I corrected silently, smiled at me. So devastating. I coughed.
“So what?” I pressed, trying to ignore the way this man had heat spreading through my body, pooling in my center. “He apologizes. He tells the truth. He listens and watches. That doesn’t mean she’s ready to accept everything.”
His fingers trailed from my waist to my hip, and just as I leaned into it, he moved away. I swear, he made me sick! “You right. He can’t force her to accept him. But he can be patient, keep trying to show her he’s worth it, that they are worth it.”
Those fingers came back, stroked against my cheek, my jawline. I swallowed again. Why was the air so thick in here all of a sudden? I made a face.
“You want my book to flop? That’s not spicy,” I scoffed.
He smirked. “You asked what he should do, not what sounded spicy.”
I opened my mouth to say something smart, but he leaned closer, and the words dried up.
There was less than a breath between us now.
The scent of his cologne, something clean and rich and dark, wrapped around me.
Studying me, he pulled his lip between his teeth.
My eyes dropped to his mouth before I could stop them.
Of course, he noticed. He winked at me, and I wanted to touch… smack him.
His thumb brushed my chin, and it was crazy how much that tiny touch affected me. My skin warmed. My nipples tightened. My stomach fluttered. Not right now, I addressed my traitorous body. I was going to have to address this betrayal later.
“You’re a good writer, malyshka. The spice should already be there.”
His mouth hovered above mine, not quite a kiss. My breath caught before I could stop it. His lips curved when he heard it.
“You know, like the heroine still wants her husband,” he suggested.
“She still irritated with him.”
“Mm-hmm.” His nose brushed against mine. “And still thinking about how fine he is.”
I kissed my teeth. “You think highly of this imaginary man,” I muttered.
“I think he knows his wife.”
I was about to move. Really. I told myself to put some distance between us, get back to my desk and the story I was writing. Instead, I stayed there like he had me pinned.
“You know spicy ain’t gotta be him taking her over or under or through something.”
“Oh?”
“No.” His hand gently grasped my hip. “Maybe it’s him standing close enough to make it hard for her to think. Touching her so he distracts her. Looking at her like he remember exactly what she taste like.”
I felt my mouth fall open. I thanked God my panties couldn’t fall off.
“Targen—”
“I mean, this all hypothetical. For your story.”
“Lies you tell.”
His smile widened. “And guess what the heroine does?”
“She should tell his ass to go to hell.”
“While standing there like she stuck?”
I wanted to cuss him out. Instead, I said, “Maybe.”
“Then, maybe the husband realizes his wife’s mouth saying one thing and her body saying another.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are so full of yourself.”
He clutched at invisible pearls. “Me? Not at all. Just committed to helping your characters.”
I couldn’t help laughing at his faux shocked expression.
“And what does this very helpful husband do next?” I asked before common sense could save me.
“He makes it an action story.”
Then he kissed me. It was all warm and deliberate, like he was proving some point.
His lips moved over mine, coaxing instead of demanding.
His hand tightened on my hip. Just a little.
And right when I gave in and rose to my tiptoes…
he pulled back. I stared up at him, annoyed and breathing unevenly.
“That gets her attention,” he said calmly.
I frowned. “You think one kiss fixes things?”
“No. But it might remind her what she’d be leaving.” His mouth brushed the corner of mine.
I swallowed hard and looked away, because if I kept staring at him, I might do something embarrassing like drag him back to me by that expensive tie.
“And then, the husband gives her space to decide what she wants to do with that. And that, milaya, is patience with spice.”
He looked so proud of himself that I could have smacked him. I crossed my arms again. “Well, your fictional husband is still aggravating. Why you even come in here?”
He snapped his fingers suddenly. “Oh, yeah. Mama and Serge are hosting a little formal thing Saturday to introduce us to the best of Texas’s underground elite. Or maybe that’s the worse. I know you’ll want new stuff and to be styled. I’m going to send you money.”
“I have money, Targen.”
He brushed right over that. “Good luck with your storyline,” he said, turning to walk off.
“You should have enough to work with now.” He reached the door, then paused, one hand braced against the frame as he looked back at me.
His eyes moved over me one slow time that made my stomach flutter all over again.
“But if your characters need more help, I’m available for consultation. ”
I let out a soft laugh. “You are so aggravating.”
“And helpful.”
“Whatever.”
His grin flashed, quick and devastating. We exchanged a few more words as he stood there watching me. Then he was gone, walking out of my office like he hadn’t just derailed my whole train of thought and set half my damn nerves on fire. I blew out a breath and moved back toward my desk.
“He so ridiculous,” I muttered.
But when I focused on my laptop, the scene that had been giving me hell all morning suddenly unfolded in my mind.
His arrogant ass had helped.
Ugh!