Page 101 of Nine Months to Bear

Instead, I cross the distance between us in four long strides. Our bodies crash together, and I back her against the wall beside the elevator.

She’s breathing. She’s okay.

Thank fucking God.

My hands roam up her sides and down again, checking every inch of her just in case I’m wrong. One hand tangles in her hair, the other grips her waist, pulling her hips flush to mine.

When I’m sure she’s whole, I crash my mouth onto hers with the desperation of a dying man.

She makes a small, startled sound against my lips before melting into me. Her briefcase hits the floor with a thud as her hands clutch at my shoulders.

She tastes like cinnamon. Her lipstick smears across my mouth as I breathe her in, making sure she’s real, she’s safe,she’s mine.

I pull back just enough to see her eyes. She’s confused, turned-on, afraid, just like me. My thumbs press into the delicate hollows beneath her cheekbones like I’m trying to memorize her shape by feel.

“What happened?” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips.

I thought I’d lost you.

“We need to go. Now.” I snatch her arm as cold, ugly reality clicks back into place around us.

“Wait—my meeting just finished— I need to?—”

“Now, Olivia.”

She doesn’t argue after that.

I guide her toward the exit. My phone vibrates again. Taras is calling.

I answer, mostly so I don’t throw Olivia in the backseat and crawl in after her to finish what we just started. Spending even those twenty seconds with my eyes closed, my senses dampened, exposed and unprotected, was reckless. I can’t afford another lapse in judgment.

“Where are you?” I growl.

“Depends,” he replies. “Are you heading to your grandmother’s or should I?”

Fuck.I haven’t even thought of Babushka. That in and of itself makes me nauseous.

Olivia has become my first thought, my primary concern. How did this happen? When did she burrow so deep beneath my skin?

“Yes,” I lie smoothly. “We’re on our way.”

We emerge back out into the parking lot. The day is on the verge of evening. A bitter-cold breeze off the harbor has my skin tingling, my breath sharp in my lungs. I double the pace.

Olivia stumbles as we near the car. “Stefan, what the hell is going on? Why are you so?—”

“Get in the car first.” I rip open her door. When she still hesitates, I add, “Please.”

The “please”—a word I’ve spoken maybe a dozen times in my life—does it. She slides into the passenger seat, her eyes never leaving my face. I circle around and climb behind the wheel while keeping the phone pressed to my ear.

Taras snorts on the other end of the line. “You’ve never been that polite to me.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I clench my jaw as I start the engine. “Update. Now.”

“Short story is that the feds have warrants for financial records. They’re specifically targeting the shell companies connected to the docks.” Taras’s voice is tight, concerned, way off-base from his usual teasing tone. “Mikayla thinks someone’s feeding them information. The warehouse hits were too coordinated. Gotta be Iakov’s doing.”

I pull out of the parking space, tires squealing against asphalt. “Who’s at the warehouses now?”

“Dmitri’s handling Dorchester. Andrei’s at Somerville.”