Page 81 of Nine Months to Bear

She steps inside, taking inventory of her surroundings, lingering on the security panel by the door and the panic button disguised as a light switch near the bed.

I wonder if she recognizes it for what it is. Most people wouldn’t. But Olivia Aster isn’t most people.

When she turns back to me, there’s a sadness in her eyes. “Is that what this is? Home?”

A shiver races down my spine. “It’s a sanctuary,” I correct, keeping my voice neutral though my fingers itch to touch her, to run along the curve of her cheek, her throat, to feel her pulse and reassure myself she’s alive, unharmed, safe. “For now.”

“And when ‘for now’ is over? When I’ve served my purpose? … What then?”

When you’ve given me my heir…

When you’re no longer useful…

… I get rid of you.

That was the plan, wasn’t it? Use her, then discard her.

So why does the thought of her leaving make me fucking sick?

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” But that’s a non-answer, and we both know it.

“I suppose we’ll cross that bridge even faster now that I’m under your roof,” she mutters. She drops onto the mattress. “Are you going to invoke other parts of the contract today, Mr. Safonov?”

My body responds instantly to the sight of her perched on that bed, hair disheveled, blouse wrinkled from our escape.

I can almost taste her on my tongue, can imagine pressing her back into that mattress, feeling her body yield beneath mine.

The animal part of my brain wants to claim her now and eliminate any doubt about who she belongs to.

But that won’t be happening. She doesn’t want my touch, not after being forced into my home against her will.

And that matters. It shouldn’t, but God help me, it does.

I clench my jaw so hard I taste metal. “Goodnight, Dr. Aster.”

Then I turn and leave.

Before it’s too late.

35

STEFAN

Taras always knows when I want to be left the fuck alone. That’s when he most likes to bother me.

The crystal decanter sits heavy in my hand as he materializes in my doorway like a specter summoned by my extended silence. My phone has been ringing on the corner of my desk for I-don’t-even-know-how-long, so I’m assuming that’s why he’s here.

I raise the decanter and take a long sip. It’s a futile attempt to burn away the memory of Olivia’s terrified eyes during the shootout.

Not to mention the sadness in them as I left her room a few hours ago.

“Radio silence after a shootout, you brooding asshole? What, did you lose your phone along with your common sense?” Taras scans the surroundings for threats, like I might be being held hostage in my own office.

He keeps jabbering when I don’t answer. “Your security feed shows bullet holes in your Maybach. Since when do we notcall for backup when someone’s trying to ventilate our very expensive cars? Eh?Eh?”

Since Olivia was at my side when it happened.

Since my only thought, even as I watched bodies drop to the concrete, was for her safety.