Page 24

That wasn’t the reaction of a spoiled heiress.

Her eyes are wide and unfocused, and I stay perfectly still, not wanting to hurt her or be hurt by her.

"Sophia," I say carefully, still holding her wrist and arm. "It's Konstantin. You're safe. You were dreaming."

Awareness floods back into her eyes, followed quickly by horror as she realizes that I’m gripping her arms. She jerks backward, and I let her go, watching as she scrambles away to put space between us.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammers, pushing her tangled, sweaty hair away from her face with shaking hands. "I didn't—I was?—"

"Having a nightmare," I finish for her, watching her curiously. "It's alright. No harm done."

She stares at me, her green eyes wide in the dim light, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. She's wearing a thin tank top and a pair of cotton shorts, and her nipples are stiff against the fabric. Her body is illuminated in the moonlight, and I have to force my eyes to return to her face, my cock swelling despite my recent orgasm. I’m viscerally aware of the edge of the bed pressing against my legs, the fact that Sophia is in the middle of it, tousled and gorgeous and so, so very accessible right now.

"What are you doing in here?" she asks, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly self-conscious.

"I heard you making noise," I explain quickly, aware of how this all looks. "You sounded… distressed. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

She frowns. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s fine.” I narrow my eyes at her. “You have excellent reflexes.”

“My guardian taught me some self-defense.” She tilts her chin up, her arms still wrapped around herself. “In case of a… situation. He thought I should be able to protect myself. I didn’t realize it was you.”

I nod. It makes sense. “I’m glad he made sure you could protect yourself.” I don’t bother saying the rest—that I could have easily overpowered her. A few Krav Maga lessons don’t cancel out years of training under one of the best former Spetsnaz operatives I could find to teach me. But I don’t want her to feel threatened.

"Do you want to talk about it? The nightmare?" I fight the strange—and unexpected—urge to sit down next to her, to reach out and pull her against my chest. That would serve nothing other than to further blur the lines between us. The desire confuses me as much as it would her. But I’m not a monster, I reason, and she’s clearly terrified. She’s under my protection, as my wife, so of course I would want to comfort her.

It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

Sophia shakes her head, her hair falling in waves around her face. "No. It's... it's just memories. Things I'd rather forget."

I nod, not wanting to push her—although I can’t help but be curious. What could have happened to her to give her nightmares? She’s an heiress, educated in Scotland, given time to tour Europe at her leisure, a woman who has never doneanything other than study art, go to parties, and do a little charity work on the side. What secret is she hiding that makes her cry out in the middle of the night?

"I should go," I say finally, when Sophia says nothing else. "Let you get back to sleep. It’s too easy to be awake."

She nods, although I notice she doesn’t ask why I am. She waits until I’m nearly at the doorway before I hear her call out my name, “Konstantin.”

I pause, glancing back at her. “Yes?”

"Thank you," she murmurs softly. "For checking on me."

I nod, quickly retreating. I don’t want to linger in her room any longer than necessary. The dark and the quiet and the intimacy of the moment all feel like a temptation, drawing tighter around me until I might not be able to resist. I go to sit on the patio of my own room, closing the gate that separates our suites behind me, and I watch the sun slowly climb above the savannah’s horizon.

It’s beautiful—one of the most stunning things I’ve ever witnessed. The sky is painted in pink and orange and gold, a seemingly endless expanse of it only made possible by just how much vastspacethere is out here. I watch it in silence, but all the while, Sophia lingers in my thoughts.

I wonder if she got back to sleep. If she’s dreaming now, and if so, of what.

I can’t help but wonder if she’s dreaming of me.

—

A few hours later,Sophia joins me on the patio for breakfast, served by our private butler. I’ve already had three cups of coffee—more than I normally consume—and I’m almost unnaturally awake. I hear Sophia’s footsteps as she approaches, and lookup to see her wearing a pair of loose, tan linen pants, gold and leather sandals, and a sleeveless dark green button-down top, her hair in a loose braid. A few pieces are flying around her face in the light breeze that’s wafting past us, and my fingers itch with the desire to reach out and push them behind her ear.

“I have a plan for us today,” she says without preamble, as she sinks down across from me. The butler brought out her breakfast already—a plate of sausage, eggs, and fruit, with a side of orange juice and coffee. There’s a basket of muffins between us, and Sophia reaches for one, tearing off a piece as she looks out over the view beyond the patio.

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “When did you have time for that?”

“After you went inside last night.” She looks back at me, pinning me with her sharp green gaze. “You don’t want to be intimate with me—fine, Konstantin. But this is still our honeymoon, and I want to spend time with my husband.” She draws in a breath and lets it out again. “I want to go on a safari excursion. Actually, wearegoing on a safari excursion. I booked it last night. Just us and a guide.”