Page 19

“Temperature’s good. Shower.” He stares at me, daring me to fight. “You know, I’d have run you a bath, but it’d be a reminder of when I found you like a gift in my hotel tub.”

A small smile teases his mouth.

“So, since you have to take it easy, I’m going to go down and get you something to eat and drink. Shower and dress by the time I come back if you don’t want to be ravaged.”

Oh. God.

I don’t know what to do with this version of him. Or maybe I’m just tired and happy to be safe, reunited with my son. Our son. And… I touch my belly. I need to tell him. But I need the shower more. The thought of scrubbing that place off me, of ridding myself of the fact that cretin Niko watched me pee.

I’ll pick the time, something good, when I’m sure he’s relaxed and not too vulnerable like now.

Demyan looks at me and a thrill passes through my blood.The heat in his gaze, that openness, it’s something I want as mine.

He guides me into the bathroom, then heads out.

Thing is, I think as I strip, he’s not a man given to that kind of openness and vulnerabilities and I don’t want to bombard him with more things.

And I want to know we’re in a good place, after this strange euphoria wears off.

I make the water hotter and climb in, scrubbing myself all over. And then I let the hot needles pummel me cleaner, if that’s possible.

Finally, I get out and dry off, wrapping the big bath sheet around me. He’s not back, so I raid his walk-in closet, pulling out a workout shirt of his and putting it on.

It’s clean, but somehow has a slight Demyan scent to it. Detergent, maybe? It might be one of the subtle scents that mingle to make Demyan so irresistible.

I’m climbing into bed when he comes in with a tray. There’s fruit, a sandwich, soup, and hot chocolate that smells sinful and that’s what I choose.

It tastes even better.

“Eat some soup.”

“Demyan.”

“Erin.”

With a sigh, I set the mug, down and dip the spoon into the homemade chicken noodle soup and dutifully swallow a mouthful.

It’s delicious and I eat it all, filling my belly. But the moment I put the sandwich down, he cracks a bottle of water and points to the sandwich, then sets the bottle on the nightstand.

“No,Lyubimaya, sandwich, then the fruit.”

I try to hide my smile as I take one bite, then reach for the hot chocolate and take some more sips. He takes it andpushes the water into my hands. Then he fluffs the pillows and turns the lights low so the room’s golden and warm.

And… I’m going to scream.

“Demyan.” I have a sip of the water, then put it down, then I eat a berry and push the tray away. “I’m full and stop fussing. Please.”

He frowns, and he’s so like Sasha in that moment my heart wobbles and melts.

“Demyan,” I say again. “I love all the attention, I do, but you don’t need to do it. I’m happy I’m back. With you. With Sasha. You don’t need to fuss.”

His frown deepens and he picks up the tray. “I was just…” He stomps to the door and puts it outside, then closes it and stomps back.

You’d think I’d just tried to cut out his heart.

“I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me. I’m not good at this shit, okay?” The gruff accusation in his voice warms me and he sits on the bed, still frowning. Then he shakes his head and pushes a hand through his hair. “I fucking love you so much and if anything had happened to you?—”

I kiss him. I climb up onto his lap, kissing him and shutting him up. Oh, I could listen to his ham-fisted words of love, his attempts to show it forever. I’ll take the gruffness over smooth words, a tray of soup and hot chocolate over champagne and diamonds, or hothouse roses any day.