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39

DMITRI

I adjust my tie in the mirror, ignoring the twinge of pain from my healing wounds. The last few weeks without Tash have been hell, but I needed time to get my shit together and prove I'm worthy of her.

"Everything is set up exactly as you requested, sir," Akim says from the doorway.

I nod, checking my appearance one final time. The museum's Egyptian wing has been transformed into a private wonderland just for her. I've arranged for her favorite pieces to be spotlit, creating an intimate gallery experience that speaks to her passion for art and history.

My phone buzzes. Right on schedule, she's entering the building for her "emergency curator meeting."

I position myself by the Hatshepsut statue, her favorite piece in the collection. The soft lighting catches the ancient stone, casting dramatic shadows that remind me of the first time I watched her give a tour here.

The click of her heels echoes through the empty halls. My heart rate picks up something only she can trigger in me. She rounds the corner and freezes.

Rose petals create a path through the exhibits, leading to where I stand. Hundreds of candles flicker strategically, casting a warm glow over the many artifacts she loves.

"What is this?" Her voice wavers.

"This is me, showing you who I am." I step forward. "Not the businessman, not the criminal, just the man who fell in love with a curator who sees beauty in everything, even the darkest pieces of history."

"Dmitri..." She takes in the transformed space, her eyes widening at the intimate dinner setting I've arranged beside the statue.

"I know I hurt you. I know I broke your trust. But everything in this room represents something you taught me to see differently." I gesture to the artifacts around us. "Just like you taught me to see myself differently."

Tash's eyes soften as she takes another step into the gallery. The candlelight catches the gold flecks in her irises, tightening my chest. She trails her fingers along the edge of an exhibit case, her professional instincts warring with her emotions.

"You went through all this trouble." Her voice carries that mix of wonder and suspicion I've grown to expect. "Did you clear this with the board? Or did you just..." She waves her hand. "Make it happen because you're Dmitri Ivanov?"

I deserve that barb. "I followed proper protocols. Even filled out the event request forms in triplicate."

A ghost of a smile touches her lips before she catches herself. "How thoughtful. Planning to kidnap any curators tonight?"

The words sting, but I keep my expression steady. "I earned that."

"You earned worse." She moves closer to the Hatshepsut statue, her fingers hovering near its base. "But using my favorite pieces, creating this space..." She shakes her head. "It's manipulative."

"It's honest." I step toward her, close enough to catch her scent but not enough to crowd her. "Everything here represents what drew me to you. Your passion. Your knowledge. The way you light up when talking about preservation techniques."

"Don't." She holds up a hand. "Don't make this sound romantic when you put me in danger."

I drop to my knees before her, my usual pride forgotten. The marble floor is hard against my joints, but the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

"When they took you..." My voice cracks, something that hasn't happened since I was a child. "When I found your apartment empty, saw what they'd done to my men—Tash, my world collapsed. I've faced death, violence, betrayal. None of it compared to knowing you were in danger because of me."

She takes a step back.

"I should have told you everything from the start. About the risks of who might target you. I convinced myself I could protect you without frightening you." I look up at her, letting her see the raw truth in my eyes. "I was wrong. My arrogance nearly got you killed."

"Dmitri..."

"No, let me finish." I spread my palms against the cold floor, grounding myself. "I've spent my life controlling everything, planning ten steps ahead. But with you, I lost that control. I wanted to keep you separate from that world, preserve something pure. Instead, I left you vulnerable."

The silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft flicker of candlelight against ancient stone.

"I thought I was protecting you by keeping secrets. Instead, I betrayed your trust. You deserved better than half-truths and false security." I swallow hard. "I've never begged for anything in my life, Tash. But I'm begging now for a chance to prove I can be honest with you, even when the truth is ugly."

A soft smile plays at the corners of Tash's mouth. "Get up off your knees, Dmitri. You'll wrinkle that ridiculously expensive suit."

The lightness in her voice sends relief coursing through me. I remain kneeling, drinking in the sight of her. "The suit can be replaced. You can't."

"All I want is honesty between us." She steps closer, her fingers brushing my jaw. "Complete honesty."

My chest tightens. I catch her hand, pressing it against my cheek. "When I was sixteen, I watched my mother die." The words scrape my throat. "She was the only person who saw past the family name and expectations. Who loved me for me."

Tash's fingers tremble against my skin.

"After that, I built walls. Turned everything into transactions, statistics, and probabilities. Easier to control numbers than feel." I kiss her palm. "Then you walked into that board meeting, challenging everything I thought I knew about control."

"Dmitri..."

"You reminded me of her—not in looks but in how you see through the facade, how you demand truth, even when it's uncomfortable." I close my eyes. "I've been running from real emotion since I lost her—until you forced me to feel again."

The confession leaves me raw, exposed in a way I haven't allowed myself to be in decades. But for her, I'll strip away every defense I've built.

Tash's hands grip my shoulders, pulling me to my feet. My knees protest after kneeling on the marble, but I barely notice the discomfort as she searches my face.

"This." Her voice catches. "This is what I needed. You, being real with me."

She kisses me, soft and sure, and the last of my walls crumble. I wrap my arms around her, drawing her closer, tasting the salt of tears—hers or mine, I'm not sure.

"I love you," I breathe against her lips. "I've never said those words to anyone since my mother. Never wanted to. Never thought I could."

Her fingers tangle in my hair as she pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. "Say it again."

"I love you, Tash." The words come easier this time, like a dam breaking. "I love your passion, your defiance, how you see through every mask I wear."

She kisses me again, deeper, more desperate. I back her against the display case, careful not to disturb the artifacts she cherishes.

"I love you too," she whispers. "God help me, I tried not to. Tried to be smart, to keep my distance."

I trail kisses down her neck. "We're both terrible at keeping our distance."

"I love that you arranged this." Her hands slide inside my jacket. "That you knew exactly what would matter to me."

"I'll spend the rest of my life learning what matters to you." I capture her lips again, pouring twenty years of locked-away emotion into the kiss. "No more secrets. No more half-truths."

She melts against me, and I feel whole for the first time in decades. Complete. The carefully constructed walls I've maintained since watching my mother die dissolve under Tash's touch, under the weight of three words I never thought I'd say again.

"I need you." Her words send a wave of longing through me as she pulls away from my kiss.

My body responds, hardening as I lift her and lay her down on the thick throw blanket I'd prepared for our picnic. But tonight, neither of us is thinking about food.

The soft candlelight caresses her skin, highlighting every curve. I can't stop looking at or touching her.

I hook my fingers in the straps of her dress, sliding the fabric off her shoulders, exposing her inch by inch. My eyes roam over her as I undress her completely, memorizing the sight of her nakedness.

Then I strip myself bare, casting aside my suit jacket and unbuttoning my shirt with impatient hands. I watch her eyes widen as she notices the three dressings over my wounds, which are healing but not fully healed.

Tash's fingers trace the edge of the bandage on my chest, her touch feather-light. "Sofia told me you were shot three times. I hadn't realized..."

"It's nothing." I catch her hand, pressing it flat against my skin. "The doctors cleared me days ago."

"Three times isn't nothing." Her eyes darken with concern. "You could have died."

I lean down to kiss her. "I've had worse."

"That doesn't make me feel better." She props herself up on one elbow, studying the wounds critically. She rises from the blanket to kiss each bandage softly, her lips warm against my skin. "Don't you dare get shot again."

I lower myself over her, skin against skin, and slide into her. We both groan at the intimate connection, foreheads pressed together as we savor the sensation.

I start to move, a gentle rhythm that builds, fueled by longing and the need to be as close as possible. I kiss her passionately, letting her know without words how much I've missed this. Missed her.

"You feel so good." I thread my fingers through hers, holding her hands above her head as I thrust into her. "God, Tash, I've missed being inside you."

"Dmitri..." Her voice is a breathless plea, her body moving beneath mine in perfect synchronicity.

I shift my weight, changing the angle, wanting to give her everything, wanting to doubt that we belong together with this one moment.

I usually crave control, but with Tash, I lose myself in surrender. Our bodies move together in a sensual dance that speaks to the depth of our connection. She arches beneath me, her fingers tangling in my hair, driving me deeper into her. Her breathing quickens as her fingers trail down my back, nails gently scraping my skin.

A soft moan escapes her as I change the angle, claiming her more fully. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her unique scent as our bodies join perfectly.

"I love feeling you like this." Her voice is a husky whisper against my ear. "All that power and control and I get to unleash the real man beneath it."

Her words send a surge of need through me. I thrust harder, wanting to brand myself on her, mark her as mine. The force of my desire surprises me, but with Tash, I've learned to expect the unexpected.

Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer as she meets my rhythm. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, leaving marks that any suit or polo shirt won't hide. Not that I give a damn about that now. All that matters is this moment, this connection.

She tightens around me, her body beginning to shake as she speaks, her cries of pleasure filling the gallery space. I bury my face in her neck, holding on as my release washes over me, more intense than I've ever experienced.

We stay locked together for endless moments, our hearts pounding in tandem, our breath mingling. She runs her fingers through my hair, drawing me closer until our foreheads touch.

"I've never felt this way with anyone." Her eyes search mine. "It's almost terrifying."

I brush a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. "It's not something I can control anymore."

She raises an eyebrow. "Mr. Control is admitting a lack of control?"

"You've disarmed me, Tash." I kiss the tip of her nose. "Since the moment you slapped me across the face."

She grins. "You probably deserved it."

"I'll gladly take a slap from you any day." I punctuate my words with a gentle nip to her neck. "As long as this follows it."

She runs her fingers down my back. "I didn't think gangsters were into public make-out sessions."

"I'm not your typical gangster." I roll onto my back, drawing her on top of me. "Besides, it's not like this gallery hasn't seen some wild nights."

"True." She traces the contours of my chest with delicate fingers. "A little soirée for the Social Register. Maybe a theft or two."

I prop myself up on one elbow, my fingers drawing lazy patterns on her bare skin. "Imagine being caught in flagrante here by the cops."

"Scandalous." She nuzzles my neck. "Though I'd prefer not to end up in the tabloids. Bad for my professional reputation."

"No place for a curator of your caliber." I kiss her shoulder. "I wouldn't risk that."

Her eyes darken. "You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?"

I stare into her eyes, letting her see the truth. "Absolutely anything."

"Make love to me again," Tash whispers against my neck. "Here, all night. I want to feel you until sunrise."

Her words ignite something in me. I gather her closer, marveling at how perfectly she fits in my arms. "You know the security guards do rounds."

"Since when does Dmitri Ivanov care about rules?" She traces the scar near my temple. "You own half the board anyway."

I capture her wandering fingers, pressing a kiss to each one. "You're going to be the death of my reputation."

"Good." She straddles my lap, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Time someone challenged the great puppet master."

Looking up at her, backlit by ancient artifacts and modern security lights, I'm struck by how much she's changed me. The walls I built after Mother's death, the careful control I maintained—all of it is crumbling under Tash's touch.

"You've ruined me," I utter, trailing kisses down her throat. "I used to pride myself on being untouchable."

She tilts my chin up, meeting my gaze. "And now?"

"Now, I never want to stop touching you." The truth spills from my lips before I can catch it. "You make me forget who I am, what I've done."

"No." She shakes her head. "I make you remember who you are. Beneath the suits and the power plays."

Her words pierce something deep inside me. With her, I'm not the calculating second son or the feared Ivanov brother. I'm just Dmitri, stripped of pretense and power games.

"Stay with me," I whisper against her skin. "Not just tonight. Always."

She answers with a kiss that steals my breath and the last of my reservations. Surrounded by centuries of history, I'm rewriting who I am with every touch and shared breath.

For the first time since watching Mother die, I'm not afraid of losing control. With Tash, surrender feels like victory.