Page 7

I slam the door of the SUV the moment we arrive, eager to get Seraphina inside before anyone gawks at her like she’s an exhibit. She spent the entire drive staring out the window, refusing to talk after she and her father said their goodbyes. Now we’re at my place—a sprawling estate I inherited from my family. It’s where she’ll live from now on, whether she likes it or not.

“Come,” I instruct, gesturing for her to follow.

To my utter shock, she does so without replying, though her shoulders are rigid and her posture is as defiant as ever. My men unload her luggage, casting wary looks in her direction. Apparently, word of her little display back at the wedding has reached here already. No one’s quite sure what to expect from the new Mrs. Barkov, who just married their boss looking like a hooker.

We step through the main entrance, gliding over marble floors and polished surfaces that reflect our silhouettes. A group of staff lines up—some old-timers who served my father, others newer recruits who handle day-to-day tasks. I make a quick announcement: “This is Seraphina. My wife. See that her needs are met.”

She folds her arms and observes the faces like she’s searching for weakness. My new wife doesn’t say a word, so I continue. “Seraphina, this is my head housekeeper, Galina. You’ve met my driver, Konstantin. And—” I tilt my chin toward a bulky man near the end “—that’s Anton. Your bodyguard.”

Her head snaps in my direction. “My what?”

I set my jaw, refusing to let her attitude derail me in front of my employees. “Your bodyguard.”

“Lovely,” she grumbles through clenched teeth. “So I’m a prisoner already?”

I turn to the staff and dismiss them with a quick nod. They scatter, grateful to be out of the crossfire. Anton remains in the background, ready for orders. I address him curtly, “Make sure you stay close anytime she leaves the premises. For now, you’re excused.”

“Understood, Boss,” Anton replies.

She rounds on me the second he’s gone, and her voice lashes like a whip. “Who the hell do you think you are, assigning me some watchdog? I’m not a spy who needs watching, Grigor. Or is that exactly what you suspect?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. The bodyguard is for your protection.”

“Protection from what? Your territory? Your enemies? Or maybe from you? Because I do agree I should have protection against the man who basically coerced me into marrying him.”

I step closer, forcing her to tilt her chin up to look at me. “You don’t get to question my decisions in front of my men. Understood?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Do you expect me to salute too?”

“Watch your tone,” I bite out. “Being my wife comes with certain dangers, and I’m taking precautions to protect what’s mine.”

She scoffs. “I told you before, Grigor. I belong to no one.” Then she spins on her heels and marches down the corridor with her hair swishing around her shoulders with every step.

I follow, refusing to let her walk off in this mood. “Seraphina,” I bark, lengthening my stride until I’m on her heels. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

She whirls around, nearly colliding with me. “Anywhere that isn’t in your immediate vicinity.”

I grip her wrist and tug, just enough to keep her there. My voice drops. “I told you: disrespect me in front of my men again, and we’ll have a problem.”

She rips her arm free. “You want respect? Maybe don’t treat me like a prized horse.”

“You think I enjoy dragging you into my world? I’m doing what needs to be done to secure our position.”

She doesn’t back down. “Let me guess: that’s the same line you feed everyone who’s forced to bend to your will. Spare me.”

I lift a hand to rub my temple. “God, you’re exhausting.”

She glowers. “As if you’re a breeze to be around. To be fair, I did warn you.”

A low sound of frustration rumbles in my throat, but I force myself to stay composed. “We made vows today. Even if you wore black and spat at the idea of being my wife, the fact remains that you are. Get used to it.”

She tosses her head back, laughing “Oh, this number?” she asks, stepping back to give me an eyeful. “I’m mourning one of our deaths. Whose, I haven’t decided.”

A spark of anger ignites in my chest. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Seraphina.”

She steps up to me, fearless. “I’ve been in a dangerous game since the moment I was born into my father’s house. Your little threats are nothing new.”

Silence hangs between us for a tense second, each of us daring the other to break it first. I see the pulse in her throat, rapid and strong, a sign of the turmoil beneath her bravado. Something about her fury draws me in like a magnet. She’s not meek or docile, and even though it grates on my nerves, it also stirs something raw inside me.

She arches a brow. “What’s wrong? Finally ran out of orders to bark?”

I ignore the barb and seize a moment to rein in my temper. “I don’t want you talking about death and mourning.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Please. Men like you and my father spill blood every day. One day, it’ll be yours. Or mine.”

“That’s exactly why I assigned Anton to watch you,” I grind out. “I’m trying to keep you alive in this brutal world. It’s not a joke.”

She snorts. “You’re so noble. Tell me another fairytale.”

I clamp my jaw shut. There’s no point explaining how many threats lurk around every corner. She’d just twist my words into another insult. Instead, I remind myself that I need to assert control. She’s my wife, and the men here expect me to handle her. If she openly challenges my authority, it sets a precedent I can’t allow.

I take a step forward, closing the gap. “Seraphina, you can fight me all you want. But I won’t tolerate you talking about wearing black because you’re mourning my death in front of my own staff. That’s a direct insult.”

“I’ll talk about whatever I please. I told you long before our wedding: I’m not playing the role of your pretty, little trophy wife. And don’t even think you’re going to force me into consummating anything.”

Heat flares under my skin. My hand snaps out, cupping her chin in a firm hold. “You say that now, but your mouth told a different story at the altar.”

She tries to jerk away, but I tighten my grip just enough to keep her in place, not enough to hurt. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I lower my head until my breath mingles with hers. “Proving a point.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but before she can unleash another insult, I press my lips to hers in a fierce kiss. The tension fueling our argument erupts into something else—something electric and heated. She pushes at my chest, but I sense the hesitation in her movements, like she’s at war with herself.

I angle my head and splay my fingers across her jaw to keep her close. My blood pounds in a rush that wipes out rational thought. Her lips part in shock, and I seize the opening, tasting her. The way she responds sends my pulse skittering. She’s stiff at first, defiant, but then I feel her resistance falter. Her body leans in, just enough for me to notice. Her hands grip my shirt, as though she can’t decide if she wants to shove me away or cling to me.

I can’t stop myself from letting a low growl escape, fueled by the sensation of her melting under my touch. It’s like she’s made of fire, and everything we do—whether arguing or kissing—burns hotter than I’m prepared for.

Her breath catches, and a tremor runs through her frame. I slide my arm around her waist, pulling her closer until our bodies are flush. The friction of that contact shoots sparks through my veins, ramping up the need pulsing in my core. She inhales sharply through her nose as her fists tighten in my shirt. Her earlier threats about never letting me touch her fade into the background as her lips press back against mine with surprising hunger.

I push her against the wall, caging her in. Our kiss becomes a battle for control—each of us trying to dominate the other. She’s no shrinking violet, not even for a second. I break away for a millisecond, gulping down air, then crash my mouth onto hers again. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and I relish the bite of pain that shoots through me. It only fuels the desire thrumming inside.

Time warps. I lose track of everything except the heat of her body and the taste of her lips. Her back arches, pressing closer to me, and my hand skims down her hip to the bottom of her dress. A muffled whimper vibrates against my mouth, and I’m not sure if it comes from me or her.

My fingers dip between her thighs, tracing her over her underwear, and a wave of need rips through me when I find the fabric already damp. She gasps, and the sound makes my cock jump. I stroke her harder, savoring the way her body quivers under my touch.

My tongue invades her mouth, claiming every inch. She doesn’t fight back. Instead, she returns my kisses with a passion that’s almost feral. I’ve never felt so out of control.

My hand slips under her panties, and her hips jerk. A cry slips past her lips, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I drag the tips of my fingers over her slick flesh, feeling the wetness that’s soaked through the material. It’s all for me.

My heart slams against my ribs. She’s finally giving in, submitting, and I want nothing more than to carry her to the nearest room and make her mine.

She rocks her hips against my hand, silently begging for more. My cock aches at the idea of her wanting me so badly, and it’s all I can do not to rip the panties right off her. I’d bury myself inside her so deep, she’d feel me for days.

Fuck, this woman is dangerous. Every cell in my body wants her—every thought is consumed with images of stripping her bare and ravishing her.

She squirms under me as I swipe my finger over her sensitive nub. Her breathing turns ragged. It’s music to my ears. My lips trail along her jawline, down her throat, tasting her skin. It’s addictive.

When I slide a finger inside her, her whole body shudders. I add another, and she bites back a moan. I curl them, searching for the spot that will send her flying over the edge. When I find it, her whole body goes rigid. I can tell she’s close, so fucking close.

Just a little more, and I’ll make her come harder than she ever has before.

I pump my fingers faster, driving her higher. She’s trembling, her eyes are screwed shut, and her chest is heaving.

Then she lets out a strangled cry and convulses around my fingers. I don’t let up. I keep stroking her, coaxing every last ounce of pleasure out of her. When she finally goes limp, I withdraw my hand and press a soft kiss to her lips.

Her eyelids flutter open, and her gaze is dazed. For the first time since I met her, she doesn’t have a sarcastic comment. But I do.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, because you’ll be doing that a lot more from now on. You’re my wife, and I’m not a patient man. Understand?”

She blinks, then her eyes narrow, and her voice turns venomous. “I hate you.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Your body doesn’t lie.”

Without waiting for her reply, I turn and walk away, leaving her speechless.

I tell myself it’s just the thrill of the chase. Soon, she’ll learn her place. But a little voice in the back of my mind whispers that it’s more than that.

Her body may be the biggest threat I’ve ever come across, and if I’m not careful, it’ll bring me to my knees.