21. Dave
21
Dave
T he dining room is filled with a warm glow, the chandelier dripping light that pools in golden reflections across the polished mahogany table. Shadows play along the carved walls, dark and intricate, mirroring the tension stirring beneath my calm facade. Across from me, Alexia sits with Rose beside her, and I can’t help but watch the little girl. Every time I look at her something familiar tugs at the edges of my mind.
“Mr. Dave, guess what I drew today!” Rose’s bright voice breaks through the quiet, her sandy curls bouncing as she leans toward me, eyes shining with excitement. “Nadya says it’s my best one ever!”
Alexia smiles softly, glancing over at me. “She spent the entire afternoon with her crayons. Couldn’t be prouder of that picture, could you, Rose?”
Rose shakes her head, beaming. “Nope! It’s me and Mama, and Doggy too. I drew a big tree with pink flowers, just like the one in the yard.”
I nod, giving her an encouraging smile. “That sounds beautiful, Rose. Maybe you’ll show it to me tomorrow?”
She nods, eager, offering me a wide grin. “I will! It’s in my room.”
She’s lost in her story again, her little voice chiming on, her face animated with each word. She has her mother’s heart-shaped face, her mother’s warmth. But it’s not that resemblance that intrigues me.
My gaze sharpens, noting the gleam in Rose’s eyes in the dim light. They are dark green, deep as pine forests in winter. I frown, that odd familiarity gripping me harder. There’s something about it that reminds me of someone else.
It finally dawns on me. Rose’s eyes are the same color as my mother’s. A quiet ache twists in my chest, catching me off guard. I force myself to breathe, to relax my grip on the fork. I’ve only ever seen this exact color within the Boyle family.
I shake off that thought. There are endless shades of green. It has to be a coincidence. Clinging to that notion, I shove the idea to the back of my mind. Alexia’s father, Ivan, has green eyes too. That must be it.
Rose glances up, meeting my gaze, and tilts her head. “You think I look like Mama, Mr. Dave?”
Alexia’s expression tightens just slightly, her hand reaching for her wine glass. I catch the flicker of emotion in her eyes, but she says nothing, her gaze dropping back to her plate.
Rose’s question hits me hard. Clearing my throat, I give Rose a small smile. “Yes, honey. You do look a lot like your mama.”
The child’s gaze locks onto Alexia, and she smiles, a dimple appearing on her left cheek. “Mr. Dave knows my daddy, Mama?” She swings her head to face me again before Alexia can breathe out a word. Rose asks me, “You know him, right? Where’s my daddy?”
Her words cut through the air and Alexia’s gaze snaps toward me, her body tensing, but I keep my focus on the four-year-old across the table.
I manage a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. Nodding, I try to buy some time, repeating, “Your daddy?” My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
I run my fingers through my hair as I struggle to find the right answer, one that won’t betray my thoughts.
Rose’s little head tilts, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity. “Mama says he’s away on a long trip. But he hasn’t called me.” Her voice drops, and she stirs her food with her fork, her gaze downcast.
Something hard lodges in my chest, and I can’t ignore it. Her father’s absence shouldn’t matter. But an urge swells unexpectedly in me. An impulse to pull Rose into my arms and tell her she doesn’t need to worry about Igor—or anyone.
Instead, I clear my throat to alleviate the dryness there and shift her focus. “I heard you and Pete found a new place to play?” I ask, using a light tone to ease the moment. “Nadya says you were quite happy with it.”
Rose’s face lights up, and the tension dissipates as she dives into a description of a room in the attic chockful of board games and toys.
Alexia lets out a soft, nearly imperceptible sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. When she looks at me, there’s gratitude in her eyes, mixed with a raw vulnerability that pulls me in.
Warmth seeps into my chest, a feeling I thought I’d buried years ago. I want to tell her that this time, things will be different—that she and Rose won’t ever need to look over their shoulders again.
Alexia is mine , I think, the words echoing in my mind with fierce certainty. And Rose belongs here, too .
These thoughts are dangerously possessive, but I don’t care. After everything we’ve been through, this feels right.
Then, Alexia’s expression flickers, as if she’s just remembered something. Maybe she’s sensed my dark thoughts. She averts her gaze, her fingers tracing nervous patterns on her napkin.
Rose’s soft giggle brings us back, breaking the intensity of the moment. She’s watching us with wide, curious eyes. “Mama, can I go play with Doggy now?”
Alexia nods, giving her a gentle smile. “Of course, my love. Nadya is in the kitchen waiting for you.”
Rose scrambles out of her chair, leaving her napkin in a messy heap as she rushes to the door. She pauses, turning back to me with a shy smile. “Goodnight, Mr. Dave,” she says, her dark green eyes locking with mine again, those eyes that look so achingly familiar.
“Goodnight, Rose,” I murmur, my voice softer than usual.
She gives us a quick wave, then disappears into the hallway, her laughter echoing faintly as she runs off to find Nadya.
The room falls into silence once more, thick with unspoken words and promises neither of us can fully voice. I watch Alexia, her fingers twisting together, her gaze dropping, vulnerable in a way that clashes with my memories of her fearless younger self. A fierce need to protect her—and to keep her with me—surges within.
She belongs here with me. With Rose. The words invade my mind, echoing in my heart.
It’s more than desire; it’s a vow, a declaration that no one else has the right to Alexia and Rose. Not Igor. Not even her family. Only me.
A slight frown creases her forehead. “Rose really likes you,” she whispers.
I nod, forcing a faint smile. “She’s a good kid.” My words are rough, clipped, and I feel the questions I’ve kept buried clawing their way to the surface. But I bite them back, knowing it’s not the time—not yet.
“Thank you,” she says softly, as though each word carries a thousand others. “For bringing Olivia here to spend time with me. It meant a lot.”
I take in the way her gaze lingers on me for a beat longer than necessary. Her guard is down, and there’s a softness in her expression, a light in her eyes. For a fleeting moment, she looks at me like she did back then, like I’m someone she could lean on.
The vulnerable glint in her gaze stirs something fierce inside me, a protective instinct that’s been dormant for years. Five years, to be precise.
“I only want you and Rose to be at ease, to feel comfortable here,” I murmur.
In reality, I want to tell Alexia much more than this. I want to let her know that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her and Rose from harm. But I stop myself. This is a dangerous line I can’t afford to cross—at least not yet.
Alexia’s gaze drops and her fingers resume their nervous dance on her napkin. Silence settles over us.
Finally, she lifts her head, her eyes meeting mine with a steady resolve. “What are you and your brothers planning to do next?” she whispers tentatively. Her fingers go still, then tighten around the edge of her napkin as she waits for my answer.
Holding her stare, I swirl the glass of wine as I consider very carefully what to say. I don’t want to worry her. At the same time, I’m aware she deserves some reassurance.
“The Syndicate is following leads. We’re close to finding out who betrayed Seamus, and we’re watching Igor’s moves in the trafficking ring.” I keep my tone calm, but I know she can feel the controlled fury that lies beneath it. The thought of that bastard still breathing makes my blood boil, but I don’t let it show—too much.
Her hand trembles slightly. Her breath quickens, coming out shallow. She’s trying to hold steady, but I see in her eyes the fear she’s bravely trying to hide. Without thinking, I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine. Her skin is warm, soft, and there’s a slight tremor that tells me just how hard she’s fighting to keep it together.
“You and Rose are safe, Alexia,” I say in a low voice. “The full weight of the Syndicate is behind this operation. They have my back on this, and that means they have yours too. I won’t let Igor—or anyone else—hurt you again. Not while I’m here.”
I mean every word of this promise with all I have. She closes her eyes for a beat, as if absorbing the idea, letting the words settle. When she opens her eyes again, there’s hope in them, despite the apprehension she can’t mask.
She draws in a shaky breath, her fingers curling slightly under mine. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
I brush my thumb over her hand. It’s a small gesture of reassurance that does nothing to stop an ache from spreading in my chest.
“You’re not alone, Alexia. Not anymore.”
She looks up at me, and for a brief moment, I see the girl I used to know—the one who trusted me with everything. Tonight, for once, she’s letting herself believe in me.
I reach out and brush my thumb over her hand, grounding us both in the quiet strength of that connection. “You’re safe here.” I keep my voice steady, but there’s an edge beneath the words.
As much as I want to believe this promise I’ve just made, I know better. In my world, peace is an illusion, and I’d be a fool to forget that.
Danger lurks closer than she realizes, and one wrong move could shatter this fragile calm. But as long as I draw breath, no one will come near her. Not Igor. Not anyone.
No one steals what’s mine.
Taking a sharp inhale, I stand and offer Alexia my hand as we leave the dining room. Her fingers tremble, a slight flutter against my palm when she slips her hand into mine. We walk together in silence, our steps echoing softly through the grand foyer, the polished wood floors gleaming beneath the soft chandelier light. The spiral staircase rises before us, elegant and stately, with a plush blue carpet that stretches up to the second floor.
As we ascend, her hand still nestled in mine, the air thickens around us with silent promises and wishes. Shadows trace patterns along the walls, and with each step, the sexual tension coils tighter.
When we reach the top, I lead her down the hallway, every inch of space between us humming with anticipation. Her fingers grip mine just a little harder. Alexia’s warmth beside me entices my senses. Her intoxicating scent, a mix of honeysuckle and desire, dares me to close the final distance between us.
When we reach my bedroom door, I pause, resting my hand on the polished wood. Her gaze flickers to me, anticipation flashing in it. Slowly, I take her hand, my fingers curling around hers. Her skin is soft, and the faint tremor running through her body is like a spark igniting a fire in me. A raging inferno I’ve kept banked for far too long.
“Come inside,” I ask, my voice low, each word a promise as much as an invitation.
She nods, her gaze steady, but I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the barely hidden anticipation beneath her calm exterior. As we step into the room, I watch her take in the space—the vaulted ceiling, the four-poster bed, the soft lighting casting everything in a golden glow. She looks like she belongs here.
I close the door behind us, and she stands in the center of the room, looking at me with a fiery stare that cuts through the walls I’ve built around my heart. Her blonde hair tumbles over her shoulders, framing her face in waves. The curves that her black lacy dress hugs promise a passion that tantalizes me.
I walk toward her, each step slow, deliberate, watching as her breath hitches. Her gaze drops to my hands, and when I reach up, brushing a stray curl from her cheek, I feel the years of distance and hurt vanish like breath on a snowy day.
“Tonight, I want to forget there’s darkness and danger outside this room. Can we do that?” Her voice sounds so soft it barely reaches me, but her intent comes through loud and clear.
“Yes, we can and we will,” I promise, cupping her cheeks in my hands and tracing the line of her jaw with my thumbs. “We’re together now and that is all that matters.” The words come out rough, raw, as if I’m speaking to the lost years as much as to Alexia.
Her lips curve into a gracious smile and she lifts her hands, brushing her fingers over mine.
“When we’re like this, I feel like we’ve never been apart,” she breathes, searching my face, as if looking for a sign of how I feel about her.
The words she wants to hear choke me. I swallow them down and they scorch my chest. I’m not ready to confess my love to Alexia, not when we still have so much to sort out. I don’t want to talk about the future I want for us. First, I will wipe out the horrific past she’s suffered at the hands of Igor. Once I get rid of him, I will make Alexia mine forever.
“I don’t want to role-play tonight,” I whisper. My fingers slide down to her neck, resting just above her pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath her skin. “I don’t want us to be Dom and sub. I want us to be equals.”
I stop short of confessing I want to make love to her, something I never do. Hell, Alexia is the only woman I’ve ever made love to and that was a lifetime ago.
Her eyes darken, and the electricity between us draws me in, erasing the years and the regrets. I close the distance, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that quickly deepens. Her hands find my shoulders, her fingers tightening, pulling me closer. The taste of her intoxicates my senses. I lose myself in her warmth.
While our mouths explore each other, her hands travel down my chest to the buttons on my shirt. As she deliberately opens them, the last walls within me crumble.
I find the hidden zipper of her dress under the heavy waves of her hair and slide it down to the top of her round ass. My fingers caress her skin as I remove the piece of clothing.
Stepping back, I break the kiss and prevent Alexia from reaching the fly of my pants. Her hands were moving there, but I don’t trust that I can last longer if her fingers touch my aching erection.
I get rid of my clothes while she unhooks her lacy bra and panties. We climb on the bed, kneeling in the center. We lock lips again, our hands kneading and caressing. As our tongues entwine, I reach between her thighs, spreading her with my fingers. She gasps inside my mouth when I enter her with two digits, gauging her readiness.
“So fucking wet,” I grunt, smiling when more of her pleasure floods my hand. “You like it when I say dirty things.”
Alexia moans, as I pinch her hard nub.
“When I do dirty things, too.”
“God, Dave. I need you inside me, now.” The fierce desire in her eyes breaks my resolve.
“Sit on my lap,” I direct her, not like an order this time.
Alexia moves to sheath my throbbing cock with her tight body. We set a slow rhythm to our movements, keeping our stares locked. Each thrust, each groan, each brush of skin against skin sends us back to what we once had, reclaiming what we lost. When ecstasy finally seizes us both, it’s a slow, fierce joining that feels like coming home.
We collapse onto the pillows, coming down from the high of our shared pleasure. She rests her head on my chest, her fingers tracing the patterns of my tattoos.
“I have to leave for Boston early tomorrow.”
“Be careful,” she pleads, her voice thick with worry.
I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Always.”
As she drifts into sleep, I stare into the darkness and vow to myself. No one—not Igor, not the Bratva, not even Alexia’s loyalty to her father will keep me from making her mine again .