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And because I can’t ever talk about what that problem really is.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what your life would look like? Without... all of it?” I wave my arm, trying to encompass Roman, the bratva—the entire world of wealth, crime, and violence he occupies. “What you might do with your life, if it was your choice?”

“This life will always be my choice.” Dimitry takes a step closer. “It’s been my life since I was a kid, one I’ve chosen every day from then until now.” He touches my cheek. “But I chose you, too. And you are my life just as much as Roman ever has been. More.”

He strokes a damp piece of hair back from my face.

“Tell me what you want our life to look like, and I will make it happen.”

His jaw clenches, his scar gleaming under the street lights.

“Art college? Done.” His thumb strokes my jaw. “I’ll enroll you in the best damn degree Miami has to offer. A home? I’ll buy whatever you want, wherever you want it. Spain, Miami, London—anywhere. Children? Done, and done again.”

The harsh lines of his face soften, and my heart melts with them.

“I can give you all of that, Abby. Iwantto give you that. If I haven’t ever said it before, then let me make it as plain as I possibly can.”

He steps forward, cradling my face in his big hands, and it feels so good I want to lean into him, savor his touch.

“I want to marry you, Abby Chalmers.” He smiles crookedly. “I’ve wanted to marry you since the first day we met, when you told me to go to hell over the counter of that Malaga café. Just say yes.” His thumbs stroke the hollows beneath my eyes. “I don’t have a ring,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “But only because you told me long ago that you think it’s totally outrageous for a man to choose the ring his wife has to wear for the rest of her life.”

I giggle despite myself, although the sound is half sob.

Dimitry’s smile widens, his thumbs moving down to caress my jaw. “As soon as you sayyes, I’ll take you to pick out anything you want. Tonight. Straight away. I’ll find the bastards who own the best jewelry shop in Madrid and wake them up at gunpoint if I have to.”

This time my sob catches in my throat. “Kiss me.”

“Is that a yes?” He’s still smiling, but his eyes are grave.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, pressing my body against his. I close my eyes, leaning into him.

For a moment I think he’s going to force a decision, andI’m not sure what I will do if he does. Then his hand twines in my hair, and his mouth takes mine.

It’s the heat it always has been, between us. A fire that blazes with the sudden fury of an Australian bushfire, out of control and consuming everything in its path.

Every objection.

Every argument.

Every ounce of fucking sense.

“Christ, I’ve missed you,” Dimitry murmurs against my mouth. “Every minute I’ve been in Miami without you has been torture, Abby.”

I lower my hands to the hard flat of his ass and pull him against me. “Take me back to the apartment.” I kiss his neck.

He takes my mouth roughly, his hand sliding down to press me closer.

I pull back and put my mouth against his ear. “Now, Dimitry. I want you inside me.”

He tenses, but if he was going to push me for an answer, his resolve disappears when I take his hand and slide it up my skirt, over the top of my stockings, to the fork between my thighs.

“Fuck.” His eyes glaze over. “You’re so wet.”

Taking his other hand, I slide his index finger into my mouth and roll my tongue around it, holding his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since you told me you were coming home.” I moan around his fingers as he strokes me through my satin underwear, my eyes fluttering closed as I press down onto him.

“Christ.” Dimitry’s voice is hoarse. “Come on.” Tugging my skirt down, he pulls me close and virtually carries me across the plaza to the foyer of our apartment building and into the lift. He hits the button that takes us up to the penthouse, his mouth on mine the moment the door closes.

By the time it opens again my silk shirt is gaping open, myskirt is around my waist, and my loose bun is undone altogether.