Chapter 17
VERA
Markov looks down at his phone, though he has that look again—the one he got right before he decked Jake. I’m not afraid he’s going to lash out at me; I’d like to think I know him too well for that by now. But something. . . something’s made him angry.
“I had this phone when I arrived. I have two. You can see them if you’d like. One is older, but the contacts didn’t sync correctly, so I carry both.”
I’m not quite sure I believe him, but what reason would he have to lie?
“Oh.”
Tonight has shown me again the reality of who we are. The truth crashes into my thoughts like thunder.
It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. But it never was.
I’ve given myself to a man who can never be who I need him to be. I have fallen in love with a man who’ll always abide by his own code of ethics, everything and everyone else be damned.
I need to sleep. We both need to.
I’m bone-weary when we get back and don’t give Markov a hard time when he sweeps the room. Checks the door. Checks his phone and sends a text. Checks his weapon and makes sure it’s loaded before placing it on the dresser.
“Come to bed, Markov,” I say gently. My eyes feel scratchy when I blink, but when he joins me, I draw in a gasp.
“Your hands,” I whisper. “They’re a mess.”
He scowls down at his bruised and bloodied knuckles and shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“We can at least wash them,” I say, pushing out of bed and getting a washcloth from the bathroom. I wet it with warm, soapy water and rejoin him. “I don’t have much in the line of first aid with me. . .”
“I don’t need it. I’m only humoring you.”
I give him a serious look. “Protection is your job, and I’ve humored you. But this is mine. Medical, remember? First aid? This is my jam. Don’t take this away from me.”
He grunts and reluctantly nods. “Go on.”
I kneel in front of him so I can get a better look.
I take his large, calloused palm in both of my hands and peer at the damage.
He could use antiseptic but we’re lacking a fully stocked first aid kit.
Instead, I clean the blood and sweat from both hands and find that the wounds are only superficial.
“Told you I was fine,” he grunts.
I nod, placing his hands down and going to put both of mine on his knees to push up to standing, but something stops me.
I’m. . . kneeling before him. This feels intimate.
Submissive.
The utterly possessive look in his eyes tells me he feels it, too.
“You have an important day tomorrow, Vera,” he says in a way that’s very. . . Daddy.
I nod.
“You’re on the verge of a breakthrough, aren’t you?”
My chest swells. He knows. He’s been following along while I chatter on and on about the challenges we’ve faced.
“Yeah,” I say softly. We’ve been studying specifically how certain plants indigenous to remote areas are unaffected by a biological threat with widespread pathogens.
If we learn how to harness this knowledge, it could change so much. . .
“I believe in you. I know you can do this.” His eyes heat, and the tone of his voice tells me he feels what I do, too. “I like this vantage point. What about you, Vera? Do you?”
I do. I so do. Slowly, I nod because I don’t trust my voice, and I’m confused about why this feels so nice. I’m a strong, independent woman who gets shit done. I got here of my own volition and on my own merit. Why do I melt into a puddle when I’m kneeling in front of him?
Slowly, he cups my face with his large hand. I swallow when he drags the pad of his thumb along my lower lip.
“I’ll have to remember this. Now, you need some rest so you’re ready for tomorrow.”
I want to pout, but I feel my body aching for rest.
“Tomorrow, we’ll discuss that little fit you had in the community room.”
I open my mouth to protest as my heartbeat thunders in my ears. “Markov—”
One sharp shake of his head tells me this isn’t the time we’ll discuss anything. “Now you need sleep. We both do. You have to work tomorrow. And when your work is over. . . we’ll have a talk.”
I can’t help but wonder if that talk will involve me over his knee. Why does a small part of me hope that it does while the rest of me balks? This is way more complicated than I anticipated.
It isn’t complicated sliding into bed, though. I close my eyes and feel the softness of the mattress and the warmth of Markov beside me."Rest, Vera.”
I close my eyes, resting easy in the knowledge that he absolutely has this under control.
The next day, Jake doesn’t show up to the clinical. He’s not missed, though, and even Irina isn’t bothered by it. She doesn’t say much, likely because she aims to be professional, but at the end of the day, she says, “It was nice to see the rest of you have more of a chance to. . . participate.”
Sophia and I worked hard side by side cataloguing specimens while Maxim and Liam studied test tubes. It wasn’t until we were a full twelve hours into it and Professor Morozov ordered us dinner that I finally, finally made the breakthrough. Markov was just outside the door, taking a call.
“Markov. Oh my God. Markov,” I say, my voice wobbly. My eyes are somehow a bit misty, and I’m so overcome with emotion at what we’ve finally done. “You won’t believe it.” I sniff hard. He shoves his phone in his pocket and takes both of my hands in his, all ears.
“Yes? What is it, love?”
He plays the part of a doting husband so damn well. Too well.
I swallow and lick my lips. “I figured it out. I finally found a way. It’s absolutely groundbreaking.
” I’m trembling with the enormity of what I discovered.
“You know how if you plant marigold flowers around a flower bed, it serves as a natural barrier to pests and insects and even woodland creatures like deer?”
He shrugs and shakes his head. “I did not, but go on.”
I can’t help but giggle a little. He really is outside his sphere of knowledge and is totally comfortable with owning it. And I love that. I love that he isn’t threatened or intimidated by me.
“We can develop crops with a similar approach. Natural deterrents to biological threats or air-borne illnesses. It’s basically like building a bubble around certain areas that would be otherwise compromised and endangered.
This is. . . this is huge.” I swallow against the rising lump in my throat.
“I mean, we knew this, but what we developed in the lab today has the potential of increasing our speed of application by like tenfold. We’re only in the beginning stages, but. . . but we did it.”
I squeal when he lifts me straight off the ground and tosses me in the air before he catches me and spins around right there in the open. Some onlookers chuckle.
“Amazing, Vera. I’m so damn proud of you. I knew you could do it. I knew you could.”
I nod, still a bit tearful. “I know,” I say, swiping at my eyes. “I know you did, which is why I’m an emotional basket case right now.”
No one has ever believed in me the way he does.
Even my mother, who adores me to pieces and is always my biggest cheerleader, often lets her own fears get in the way.
“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself,” she’d say, or “Let’s take one thing at a time.
” But I pushed past the cautionary words and fears.
They seem far away now, unable to hold me back.
He pulls me into a big hug, so warm and reassuring I want to stay here forever.
I breathe in his familiar masculine scent and let myself sink into the strength of his embrace.
“And I’d bet it’s no coincidence that you didn’t have to wade through the arrogance of a certain American to get there, mmm? ”
I giggle against his chest.
“Um, can you put me down now so I can save face?”
“Of course,” he says, immediately complying while he whispers in my ear. “I’ll give you that out here. But when we’re alone, little girl. . . you’re Daddy’s.”
Gah. Is swallowing your own tongue a thing? Because I’m choking on literally nothing.
“Are you needed back at the lab?”
“Not today,” I tell him. “Morozov dismissed us.”
“Excellent. Why don’t we go back and you can call your mother and tell her the news?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’d like that.”
Could the man be any more perfect? Of course he knew the next person I had to tell was Mom.
Perfection. Science tells us it doesn’t exist, that it’s only a figment of our imagination and yet my romance-lover’s heart dares to hope.
Back in the room, I let Markov check everything to make sure we’re safe and half-expect he’ll find something. “Coast is clear.”
I hear footsteps behind me and look over my shoulder to see Jake scurrying past us. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and his head is down; he doesn’t even look my way.
I wonder if Jake will pose a problem anymore. I suspect not.
“Did you find out anything about the picture of the front of the room?” I ask Markov.
He shakes his head. “No. We haven’t been able to identify a source.”
“Ah.”
I close the door behind me and remember what he told me last night. I remember his promise.
I swallow hard.
When your work is over. . . we’ll have a talk.
My work is over. . . what will that talk entail, and why does my heart threaten to leap out of my chest?
“Here,” Markov says, handing me my phone. “Before you and I pick up where we left off, call your mother.”
Gah. Whyyyyy did he do that to me?
“Markov,” I choke out.
“What?”
“Why did you say that before I called my mother?”
A corner of his lips quirks up, and he shrugs. “Because I know exactly how you’ll respond, and I want you to remember who you belong to.”
“Even when I’m on the phone with my mother?”
“Especially when you’re on the phone with your mother.
Your mother will praise you and tell you what an accomplished woman you are.
And while that praise is well deserved, you were the one who told me you like the idea of putting things down for a while.
That you don’t always want to be the strong, powerful, in-charge woman. ”
I swallow. “Right.” I dial my mother. It’ll be lunchtime back home. Nostalgia hits me in the chest with a wave of homesickness.
She answers on the first ring.
“Vera?”