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“I have plenty more stories if you're interested,” he says, leaning closer than necessary.

What the hell does he think he’s doing, talking to his employer’s wife like that? This is highly unprofessional. None of my seasoned men would ever dare engage in conversation with Lilibeth or any other member of our family unless it was regarding a task or chore they needed to undertake.

The blood rushes to my head as blind fury overwhelms all my other senses. A haze envelops my vision, and before I can even process what I’m doing, I’m moving toward them.

Neither of them notices until I'm almost upon them, and then Novak jumps back, nearly knocking over the chair that’s behind him.

“Sir!” His face drains of color.

Lilibeth turns, her smile fading slightly. “Agafon. I was just asking Novak about his previous job working at a nightclub. Did you know he has a degree in cybersecurity? He was explaining—”

“You're fired,” I say to Novak, my voice coming out flat and cold. “Clear out your things and be off the premises within the hour.”

The silence that follows is absolute. Novak's mouth opens.

“Sir, I don't understand—”

“I don't pay you to understand. I pay you to follow orders, which now include leaving.” I maintain eye contact until he looks away, defeated. “Go to Bardil regarding your severance package.”

Lilibeth stared at me without an ounce of warmth in her eyes. She stands rigid beside the desk, her eyes narrowed to blue-green slits, watching the both of us.

“Leave,” I growl, and I decide that if he brings more trouble, my fist might do the job. As though sensing I’m capable of getting angrier, the young guard nods and retreats from the scene.

“What the hell was that?” she demands once he's out of sight, her voice shaking with anger.

“He was being unprofessional,” I say, coolly.

“Unprofessional?” she shrieks. “We were having a simple conversation, Agafon!

I feel my jaw tighten. “He was being inappropriate.”

She and I are clearly both upset. I’ll wait for her to cool down before we talk any further.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” I turn and begin walking indoors. The image of Novak's eyes on her curves replays in my mind, feeding the anger still simmering beneath my skin.

“Don't you walk away from me!” Her footsteps follow. I'm impressed she can keep pace in those heels. “You can't just fire people because they talk to me!”

I push through the double doors leading into the informal living.

She slips through the doorway before I can close it and runs to stop in front of me, planting herself in my path, arms crossed beneath her breasts. The motion emphasizes her cleavage, a detail my traitorous eyes register before I force my gaze to her face.

“Are you even listening to me?” she demands. “That poor man did nothing wrong!”

“He was flirting with my wife,” I say flatly. “His only job is to keep this house safe. Nothing more.”

“Oh my god.” She runs a hand through her hair. “You're jealous.

“Don't be ridiculous.” I deny it immediately, but immediately feel guilty when I realize she might have read this situation right. It’s just… was that what this was? Jealously?

“He was being friendly! And even if he was flirting, that doesn't justify destroying his livelihood!” She throws her hands up. “God, you're impossible! A complete caveman! Do you plan to fire every male in a five-mile radius who speaks to me?”

My tone is clipped when I speak. “I removed him because he was overstepping professional boundaries.”

”The only one overstepping here is you,” she counters as she steps forward and jams a finger in my chest, her eyes blazing with fury of her own. “You don't own me, Agafon. This marriage doesn't give you the right to dictate who I talk to.”

“You are my wife!” I bellow, stepping closer until our bodies touch, glowering down at her.

“Oh yeah?” She looks right up with defiance, her eyes making me drown. “You sure as hell don’t treat me like one!”

She’s breathing heavily, her chest pressing against mine with each inhale. I can feel the heat of her body, the tremble in her form.

“And how is it you wish to be treated?” I ask, my voice dropping an octave lower. “What is it you expect? Do you want me to whisk you away on romantic vacations? Buy you flowers? Share your bed? You were the one who proclaimed we should get to know each other first, before we consummate—”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” she cuts me off, blushing at what I said. But as she does, I see her sense how close we stand, see her feel the heat radiating off my body too.

“Then what exactly,” I ask, as I step just a little closer, “do you want?”

“I…I—” She loses her chain of thought and bites her lower lip. “I don’t know what I want.”

The world around me narrows to just her. Every inch of the room, the time of day, and the events that preceded wash away, and I notice the birthmark below her eyes and the softness of her dewy lips.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” I whisper. “I want no one flirting with my wife .”

There was something in my voice, a possessiveness of sorts, and she gasped as I spoke. Time stood still as she and I stood there, ever so close, and her breath hitched in her throat as she reached over and placed her hand over mine. “Agafon—” she moans.

I don’t know who moved first, but I’m aware of every curve on her body, and whatever she wants to say dies in her throat as my mouth touches hers.

For one breathless moment, she's rigid with surprise. Then, with a small sound that vibrates against my lips, she melts into the kiss, her hands sliding up my chest to grip my shoulders.

The taste of her floods every one of my senses, and I slide my hand down her spine.

She moans as she arches into me, and I feel her breasts squeeze tight against my chest, her curves pressing against my planes.

I clench my hand on her lower waist, digging in as my other fist finds its way through her hair, turning it into a tangled mess as she slams into me with her lips with a hunger unfed, over and over again.

She, too, I realize, has been wanting me as much as I’ve wanted her.

Her softness yields, yet demands. My hand slides from her waist to the small of her back, then lower, pressing her more firmly against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.

She gasps into my mouth, her fingers digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer. The kiss turns hungry, desperate, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip in a small act of defiance.

I back her up against the wall, one thigh pressing between hers, my hand still tangled in the golden waves of her hair. She tastes like cinnamon and is a drug I know I won’t be able to wash out of my system.

God, I have her in my arms, and I want more.

I reach loser down her curves, grip her ass and let go of her hair.

I slide that hand down her arms, and she trembles in the wake of my touch.

I feel myself harden, think of how I want to shed these clothes and drive her crazy in my bed.

I think of how it’d be to run my hands down her naked, supple skin, to see her beneath me as I spread those legs.

The image drives me so crazy that I force myself to stop, to look away.

Her eyes blast open in shock from the deprivation of our kiss, my touch. I watch her, panting. If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop at all.

I step back, my body protesting the loss of contact. The space between is still charged, crackling with unresolved tension.

Her hand rises to her lips, fingers tracing where mine had been moments ago. “Agafon—”

I turn away before she can finish, needing distance. “I'll see you at dinner,” I say over my shoulder, not trusting myself to look at her directly.