Page 91 of Scarlet Thorns

Her face drains of color until she looks almost translucent. “I… I am the worst possible person for that.”

I steeple my fingers. “Why?”

She licks her lips, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I have endometriosis. It’s under control now with the medications I’m on, but getting pregnant is likely impossible.”

Right.

I know that from Scarlet Fox Boston.

The words nearly escape before I catch them. She told a masked stranger about her diagnosis, trusted him with her deepest fears about never being able to have children. Now that same stranger— me— is offering her exactly what she thought she’d lost.

“Nowadays almost everybody has health challenges,” I say instead, keeping my voice carefully neutral. “There are professional treatments for everything, and if necessary, I will cover them. Once the baby is born, you’ll be cared for as the mother of my child. You won’t have to worry about finances ever again.”

She stares at me in disbelief, and I can see her mind working through the implications. One million Euros. Financial security for life. The chance to have the child she thought endometriosis had stolen from her.

“So you want me to be a surrogate mother to your kid.”

“Da.” The confirmation comes out flat, final. “You’ll be set up for life. But we will never have a proper relationship. Just be the kid’s parents.”

Something flickers in her eyes— pain, maybe, or disappointment. The reminder that last night meant more to her than business should hit like a slap.

“What about…?” She stops, color flooding her cheeks as she forces the words out. “Last night?”

The memory crashes over me— vivid flashes of her naked, moaning for me. My cock throbs with the need to reach remind her exactly what last night felt like.

“It was a mistake,” I say bluntly. “We should keep this professional.”

“I agree,” she says, almost too quickly. But I catch the way her breathing has changed, the way her eyes drop to my mouth before darting away. She’s lying too. Whatever burned between us last night is still there, simmering beneath this little act we’re playing.

“But I can’t believe you’re serious about this,” she continues, her voice carrying disbelief mixed with something that sounds dangerously like interest. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

She’s sitting three feet away, close enough that I could be around this desk and have her pressed against the wall in seconds. Close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat, the way her nipples are peaked beneath that innocent sweater.

She wants me. Still wants me despite the cold business proposition I just dropped on her like a bomb. The knowledge makes my chest tight with possessive satisfaction.

“You have three days to make up your mind,” I tell her, forcing authority into my voice when what I really want is to strip her bare and remind her why keeping things professional is impossible. “But once you give me an answer, there’s no going back or changing your mind.”

She nods slowly, but I can see the war being fought behind her eyes. Practical considerations versus desire. Financial security versus emotional complications. The chance to have a child versus the knowledge that accepting means binding herself to a man who’s trying to reduce their connection to a contract.

“Three days,” she repeats, her voice low.

“Three days.”

She stands to leave, movements careful and controlled like she’s afraid sudden motion might shatter whatever fragileequilibrium we’ve established. But when she reaches the door, she pauses and looks back at me.

“Osip?”

“Da?”

“If I say yes… would you really be able to keep this just business? After what happened between us?”

I pause, because the honest answer is no. Absolutely fucking not. Being near her, watching her body change with my child, seeing her every day while pretending I don’t want to claim every inch of her— it would be torture.

But it would also be everything I’ve wanted since Galina died. A family. A future. Something clean and good to balance the blood on my hands.

“I’m a disciplined man,” I tell her, which is technically true even if it sidesteps the real question.

She studies my face for a moment longer, then nods and slips out of my office.