Page 18

CHAPTER 18

Oleksi

The vodka tastes like fire sliding down my throat, but I barely register it. I’m sitting in the home office in the penthouse at the top of the Diamond Hotel, hunched in the leather chair like some washed-up king staring into the ruins of his kingdom. The city below is still alive—flashes of neon, the dull pulse of bass from clubs that never sleep—but up here, everything is too damn quiet.

I used to love this silence. It used to give me power.

Now it feels like punishment.

Sabrina is asleep in the guest suite down the hall, curled up behind a closed door I let her shut. Not because I wanted to. Because I had to. Because if I’d fought her, if I’d pulled her into my room—my bed—I’d never have earned her back. Not after what I did.

Fuck .

Setting her up was reckless, cruel… and fucking sloppy. Not only did I misjudge her, I underestimated her. I didn’t know about the surveillance in and around her dressing room. I didn’t see the trap I was walking into because I was too obsessed. Too blinded by possession, by control, by the need to make her mine.

And now?

Now I’m drinking alone at four in the goddamn morning, nursing a bruised ego and a shredded conscience while the woman I want more than anything sleeps under my roof… but not in my bed.

I swirl the vodka in the glass, staring into it like the answers are at the bottom. They’re not. They never are.

I close my eyes and the image flashes in like a curse—Sabrina in that ridiculous pink nightgown, those fuzzy cat-paw pajama pants, and the god-awful dog slippers. I’d never seen anything so ridiculous and at the same time so fucking sexy.

I breathe in the memory of two years ago, in this very penthouse, when I’d been interrupted from a rather pleasurable interlude with a leggy redhead by all the commotion in the hall. I’d gone out to see what all the noise was and there she was. The petite dancer I’d seen on stage at the Golden Lights Hotel a couple of nights before. I didn’t realize it but I was gaping at her. She took it as if I was somehow judging her attire.

“What?” she snapped, shooting me an unimpressed glare. “You’ve never seen a woman in pajamas before?”

I was so surprised by her sass and a little put out that not once had her eyes even flickered toward my naked torso or the bulge I knew as still filling out my silk boxers.

“Women don’t wear pajamas to bed with me.” I had answered her.

Sabrina hadn’t missed a beat. Her mouth had lifted into a mock-pitying smirk. “Oh? Do they prefer armor... or just regret?”

Her spirit, the fire in her eyes, and sassy tongue had made me burn with the need to strip every piece of cartoonish fluff off her and see what lay beneath. And that need never went away.

Truth is… that wasn’t the first time I’d found myself burning for her. No, that had been the first time I’d laid eyes on her, which was a few days before the fluffy pajama night. The night I saw her dancing at the Golden Lights. I’d gone looking for Radomir and caught her mid-performance. The stage lights had caught in her hair, shimmered across her skin. She moved like fire and ice.

After that night in the penthouse, she was all I thought about.

I even followed her to Europe. I told myself it was to help Radomir, but it was her. Always her. And when she and Radomir laughed, when they shared those looks, those inside jokes—it had driven me insane. I wanted to crush that connection, pull her away from him. I wanted her to look at me like that.

I couldn't let myself get that close. So I stayed away. For two years I fought it.

Until Gavriil’s death brought her right back into my life. Right into my line of fire.

And I pulled the fucking trigger.

She trusted me. Let me touch her. Let me inside her. Then I turned around and burned her world down.

I down the rest of the vodka and pour another. The burn doesn’t numb anything. Not when I can still feel her lips on mine, her hands clawing at my back. The way she screamed my name as orgasm after orgasm hit her and the way she felt wrapped around my cock—like she was made just for me.

Jesus. I run a shaky hand through my hair. I’ve become a fucking possessed stalker. Then another image flashes through my mind making me smile and my heart pull when I think of Elena. I’d nearly pulled away when Sabrina had first handed her to me, the angry wailing little bundle.

But then I’d placed her over my shoulder like I’d seen my cousin’s wife do to their baby and to my amazement Elena had instantly quietened. Then she’d snuggled into me like a sign of unconditional trust as her tiny hand had gathered some of my shirt.

Fuck. I slam the glass onto the desk ignoring the vodka sloshing over the sides. I didn’t just fall for Sabrina. I fell for her daughter, too—that tiny little girl stole my heart and burrowed into my soul.

But I don’t have time to dwell on my new found revelation as I hear a noise. I sit up straight, instantly alert.

A door creaks. No—wait. It’s not the door.

It’s a sound. Distant. Sharp. A scream.

It’s Sabrina.

I’m on my feet, glass shattering on the tile as I bolt from the office. I tear down the hallway, my bare feet silent on the marble. Her door is slightly ajar. I slam it open and find her thrashing in the bed, tangled in the sheets, sobbing.

“No! No, please! Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt her!”

I cross the room in two strides, reaching for her. She screams, lashes out, catches my arm.

“Sabrina,” I rasp, gripping her wrists gently. “It’s me. You’re safe. It’s Oleksi.”

Her eyes fly open, wild and wet, and the moment they meet mine, she launches into my chest.

She’s trembling. Shaking so hard I feel it in my bones.

I wrap my arms around her, tucking her head beneath my chin, and stroke her hair. She clutches me like a lifeline.

“I couldn’t protect her,” she whispers. “I thought—I thought they’d find us. Elena…”

“She’s fine. She’s asleep.”

“I saw them. In my dream. Those men. And then the woman… in the room. I couldn’t breathe.”

“I’ve got you,” I say into her hair. “No one’s going to hurt you. Not while you’re with me.”

She pulls back slowly, her eyes shining in the moonlight streaming through the window. Her lips part. Her hand comes up to touch my cheek.

Then she kisses me.

It’s not soft. Not tender.

It’s desperate.

It’s a kiss filled with fear, with longing, with the need to feel something other than helpless.

I kiss her back. Hard. Her fingers knot in my hair, and my body responds instantly. But I pull back.

“Sabrina,” I breathe. “If we do this again, it’s not a one night stand. I won’t be able to let you go. Do you understand?”

Her chest rises, her eyes searching mine.

“You’ll belong to me.”

She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t flinch. Her voice, when it comes, is a low rasp of need.

“I understand. And I want this.” Sabrina’s voice is soft and hoarse, her eyes filled with a deep longing. “I want to belong to you,” she admits and those words are all I need to hear. “Teach me,” she whispers. “Please, sir, teach me.”

I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for days. Then I lean down and take her lips again, slower this time, deeper. She melts into me, her hands pulling at my shirt. I push her back onto the bed, my body covering hers.

“Do you trust me?” I whisper, kissing down her neck.

“Yes.”

I take her wrists and hold them gently above her head, pinning them to the pillow. “Do you remember our safe word?”

Her breath hitches and she nods. “Daffy.”

“I’m going to say this again.” My voice sounds like gravel and my soul screams at me to stop, don’t give her another chance to back out. But I need her to be clear and understand this time she’s all mine. “There’s no turning back after this—you’re mine and you know what that means.”

“Yes.” Sabrina nods. “I know what that means.”

I kiss her again, this time my lips crushing hers, letting everything I’m feeling pour into her.