Page 72 of Bride of Vengeance

"You want to put yourself in danger!"

"I want to solve this! I want us free, our baby safe, our lives back!"

"And if something happens to you? If Harrison—"

"Then you trust me to handle it! Trust me the way I trusted you when you asked me!"

"That didn't put you out of danger, and at that time neither of us had as much to lose as we do now.!"

She moves closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo, see the pulse jumping in her throat. "That's why we have to do this together. You know I'm right. Two are better than one. You have to let me do my part, or this marriage is already over."

The threat hits like ice water. "You don't mean that."

"Try me. Lock me up, treat me like property, and see how fast I disappear once this is over."

"I'd find you."

"And that still won't do you any good."

We're inches apart now, both breathing hard. The tension between us is electric—anger and fear and want all tangled together.

"I can't lose you," I admit, the words scraping raw from my throat. "I've lost everyone I've ever—I can't lose you too."

Her expression softens slightly. She understands. Of course she does. My brilliant, intuitive wife sees straight through to the fear that drives every controlling impulse. "I know. But you have to trust me."

"I trust you. I just—"

"Not this time." She cups my face in her hands. "We, our family, will be fine."

"You can't promise that."

"I can promise to fight for it. With you, not despite you."

The last of my resistance crumbles. I pull her against me, pressing her back against the kitchen island.

"You drive me insane," I growl against her neck.

"Good." Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. "Someone needs to."

I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her thighs. "Is this how you want to solve our arguments? Sex on the kitchen counter?"

"Would you prefer the bedroom?"

"I'd prefer you stop risking your life."

"And I'd prefer you stop treating me like glass." She bites my lower lip, hard. "I'm not fragile, Mikhail. Stop acting like I'll break."

Something snaps in me. I grab her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. "You want me to stop being gentle?"

"I want you to stop being afraid."

"I'm terrified," I admit against her skin. "Terrified of losing you. Terrified of failing you like I failed Anya."

"You didn't fail—"

"I did. And if I fail you, if I fail our baby—"

She silences me with a kiss that's all teeth and desperation. "You won't. We won't let you."