Page 19

Dimitri Volkov

Concern flows through me as Camilla stares blankly out the window. I don’t know what sent her on a mental vacation, but by the utter lack of awareness and coordination in her body language, she’s no longer in the car with me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and veer just in time to avoid an aggressive cab driver.

Warzones are easier to navigate than New York City streets. I sneer at the reckless driver and ignore his single digit wave.

Glancing between my phone screen and the road, I drive as I read Yerik’s message.

He followed the second man to a nearby hideout and captured him and a buddy. Another of the two-man teams I brought from Russia with me is hot on another lead’s tail. I instruct the third team to converge on Yerik’s location and ensure a secure perimeter.

I will keep my promise to Camilla. She will confirm whether the assholes hurt her or not, but only after I make sure it is safe. My men will enjoy giving them hell while they wait for us.

Tires squeal. I look up and slam on the brakes, but I’m not fast enough. Metal crunches and the car jerks to a stop as my front bumper crumples against the back of the vehicle that pulled out in front of us. I snarl, press the brake, and shift into reverse.

Pain slices up my neck as Camilla grabs my shoulder, her nails catching the flesh above my collar.

“Don’t get out. Drive away.” The panic in her voice clenches my stomach, but when I glance in the rearview mirror, she scans the area outside the car with clear eyes. She’s not trapped in a flashback like when I tried to tend to her bruises. “Go. Now ,” she demands.

I shift the vehicle into drive and peel away, narrowly missing the raging driver as they step out of their car.

When her grip tightens on my shoulder and she continues searching out the windows, I place my hand over hers and rub my thumb along the outside of her fist, silently urging her to calm as I maneuver through the busy streets.

“It was him,” she half gasps, half growls.

“The car accident was my fault, Camilla. I was careless with your safety and—”

“No, Dimitri.” She pins her stare on my reflection in the rearview mirror. “He was there. I heard him. On the sidewalk.” Her grip tightens on my shoulder, pinching my muscle and digging her nails through the layers of fabric. “I saw him. Your brother. Feliks. He was there .”

When her breathing becomes more erratic, I place both hands on the wheel and turn toward the nearest place of safety—the townhouse her brother gifted her—and even though only a few minutes pass before I parallel park in front of her new home, she shakes from head to toe when I turn off the ignition.

After double checking the area, I peel her fingers off my coat, exit the vehicle, and open her door. She grabs my hand and rushes toward the gate, slamming the car door behind her, and fumbles so hard she punches the incorrect code into the gate’s console.

Her soft expletive triples my need to comfort her. She types in the proper password and shoulders open the gate before hauling me up the stairs toward the front door.

The key slips from her trembling fingers and clatters to the steps. I scoop them up, unlock the front door, and guide her into the house before closing the door and stepping around her, shielding her with my body from potential dangers hidden within the house.

She digs her nails into my hand and rests her forehead on my back. Her shuddering breaths warn of tears, but she’s too stubborn to cry.

“Be strong for a few more moments, so?lnyshka . We will check the house first,” I say.

She nods and shifts her body closer.

After checking the security system and a quick walk-through of the townhouse, I deem it safe.

I blink in shock as Camilla presses her front to mine, wraps her arms around me, and rests the side of her face against my chest. Unable to resist, I return her embrace. Her body fits perfectly against mine. Peace flows through my hardened soul.

“I am here, so?lnyshka . You are safe,” I murmur.

“I don’t care about me!” she snaps.

Her outburst isn’t what I expect, so I use the silence to express my uncertainty. She lifts her head and meets my eyes.

“He was right there and you’re such a big target.

What if…” She tightens her arms around me and shakes her head.

“I can’t lose you, Dimitri. You’re the only one I can do this —” she gives my midsection a squeeze, “—with.” She takes another shuddering breath.

“You feel like coming home. I just…” Her voice breaks on a sob, but she sucks down a breath through her clenched teeth and firms her expression. “I trust you and I need you.”

Even as her arms band painfully tight around me, the pressure in my chest dissipates. I splay my hands over her back and hold her to me. Without saying the words, I know exactly how she feels.

She loves me.

I feel the same for her, but she is not ready to hear it.

“You honor me, so?lnyshka ,” I rumble.

Her pupils dilate and color returns to her cheeks. She loosens her grip on me but leans harder against my front. Hunger and wariness war within her expressive orbs as she studies my shoulders.

“Honor is the last thing on my mind right now,” she mumbles.

Her eyes widen as she spots the blood on my collar.

“Did I do this?” she asks.

A shiver ghosts down my spine as she traces her fingertip around the scratch.

“Is nothing,” I insist, but she shakes her head and demands we find a first-aid kit.

I play along and trail after her as she rifles through the bathroom cabinets. When she finds a tube of ointment and a box of self-adhesive bandages, I let her lead me into the master bedroom and direct me to sit on the upholstered chair in the sitting area.

She’s the most magnificent woman I have ever seen.

When she grabs my tie, I grip the armrests to stop myself from reaching for her. Her fingers tremble so fiercely she struggles to pull the ends of my tie free from my suit. Leaning on decades worth of willpower, I force my muscles to relax and drop my hands onto my thighs.

“Look at me, Camilla,” I demand.

She aims her bottomless dark brown eyes at mine.

“I am yours, so?lnyshka . You are safe with me,” I murmur.

Her breath hitches, but the tension drains from her shoulders. She shuffles back and fixes her hair as she takes a moment to study me.

With renewed purpose, she steps forward, pushes my knees apart, stands with her legs between mine, and unbuttons my suit coat.

My cock aches as she leans closer and loosens the knot of my tie.

When she dips her fingers under my collar, I swallow and fight the urge to grab her hips and pull her into my lap.

The intimacy of the moment wraps around us, erasing the rest of the world and making her the center of my universe.

She strips one end of my tie out of the knot and pulls the fabric free of my collar in one graceful, fluid movement.

I dig my fingertips into my thighs and fill my lungs with her gentle, fruity scent.

The hint of her arousal underlying her body spray fills my mouth with saliva.

I swallow. Hunger shines from her eyes as she watches my Adam’s apple bob.

She firms her expression and unbuttons the first few buttons on my shirt before peeling my collar away from my throat.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri,” she says.

The throaty timbre of her voice tells of her desire even as guilt tilts the corners of her mouth down.

“You will fix it. I am not worried,” I say.

The barest hint of a smile changes her expression. She leans toward the first-aid kit. A tendril of her hair escapes her hairstyle and teases across my cheek.

After a quick swab of hydrogen peroxide, she bends down, shifting impossibly closer, and blows over my stinging flesh. Goosebumps pepper my nape and shoulders.

She shifts her gaze to mine, and with her eyes so close, the utter perfection in her nearly black irises stuns me into silence.

Even though her makeup conceals the scars on her cheek, rage festers in my soul at the thought of this brilliant creature brought to such a low by pure pieces of shit like my brother.

Hatred, love, adoration, and the need for revenge war within me, strengthening my will to give her anything and everything she might need.

When she shifts her attention to the first-aid supplies without backing away, her profile holds me just as enraptured as her irises. Her delicate features fill me with yearning.

She squeezes ointment onto her finger and gently smears it over my cut before peeling open a bandage and covering the micro-injury. Magma pulses at the base of my spine as she traces her fingertips around the adhesive.

She flicks a glance at my eyes before skimming her fingertips up the side of my neck and along my jawline.

My heart pounds against my sternum as she explores my features, her featherlight touch and awe-filled expression adding to the intimacy of the moment.

When she grows bolder and cups the side of my face and rubs her thumb over my bottom lip, I pinch my thighs and curl my toes in my loafers, silently encouraging her to continue.

She pins me in place with her bottomless brown orbs.

“You said you’re mine to do whatever I want with, right? I can use you however I need?” she questions.

“Da, ” I respond without hesitation.

She brings her other hand up to frame my face. Her fingers tremble against my ear and temple.

“I want to pleasure you,” she says.

My cock jerks in my trousers, but the fear in her eyes tempers my lust. I open my mouth to respond, but she presses her fingers over my lips.

“No, I need to pleasure you,” she demands. “I need to take back the control they stole from me, but I don’t want to be in control. I’ll take it too far and then never—”