Page 15 of Under His Control (Silver Fox Daddies #27)

ANATOLY

I plant myself in the doorway and stare Chris down.

He might be ready to leave, but I’m not ready to let him. Not until Taylor says so.

“You’re really going to leave your sister’s wedding?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.“You’re willing to alienate the one person who would do anything for you?”

I don’t threaten. Men who understand violence recognize it in the stillness before the storm. The boy’s bravado deflates, his chin dropping, gaze falling to the floor.

Taylor’s voice breaks the stalemate. “Chris, is this really what you want?”

He keeps his back to her. “I’m done.”

I glance over at Taylor. She purses her lips, then sighs and nods.

I step aside, clearing the doorway. “Then go.”

He slips past me, avoiding eye contact, shoulders hunched. The door clicks shut behind him with finality.

Taylor stands in the center of the room, fists clenched around her bouquet like she might crush the silk-covered stems. Her eyes flash with anger. She inhales deeply and squares her shoulders, clearly hurt but maintaining her composure.

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice tight. “He’s?—”

“Don’t.” I cross the carpet in two strides. “You have nothing to apologize for. We do what we must for family, even if they don’t appreciate it.”

She tips her head back, eyes closing as if to gather strength. The white dress hugs her curves perfectly, the fabric pulling slightly across her breasts with each deep breath. I want to tear it off and prove to her with my mouth that she’s priceless.

God, I hope she’ll let me tonight.

A single tear escapes, gently trickling down her cheek.

That does it.

I pull her against me. She stiffens at first, but when I don’t let go, her body softens. Her face presses to my chest, warm breath seeping through my shirt. She fits like a missing piece to a part of me I didn’t know was broken.

She smells of lavender. I drag a slow hand through her hair, forcing my body not to react, though it’s hard when her curves mold to me. Despite my efforts, blood surges south and I grit my teeth.

After a moment, she eases back. Her eyes—deep, dark, wounded—search my face. “Thank you.”

I brush the damp trail on her cheek away with my thumb. “You’re beautiful,” I say, not only because it’s true, but because she needs to hear it, especially now, when the last words she heard were poison. “Beautiful and strong.”

Color blooms on her cheeks. Her lashes dip, drawing my gaze to the generous swell of her breasts. She draws a breath, chest rising, and I have to force my gaze up. But she caught me looking, and a shy smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“You’re going to make it hard to fix my makeup if you keep staring.”

“Would you like Charles to stand in for your brother?” I ask, brushing her hair back.

“Charles is the closest thing I have to a father. Yes, please.”

“Consider it done.”

She steps toward the mirror, dabbing beneath her eyes. “Go, before I decide I need a ten-minute cry and ruin your timetable.”

I obey, pulling the door shut behind me.

The chapel corridor is empty—Chris is long gone. I push him from my mind; I have a bride to protect.

Charles stands near the pews, fidgeting with his cuff links. He looks up as I approach. “Everything okay?”

“Better than.” I clasp his shoulder. “The bride would be honored if you walked her down the aisle.”

Emotion flashes in his eyes. “She asked for me?”

“Her words.”

He straightens his tie and swallows hard. “Lead the way.”

We walk, my thoughts circling back to Taylor. Most women would crumble after such a scene, but she held her ground, apologized for nothing, and even managed a joke. Strength is sexy, resilience, intoxicating. I find myself wanting to learn every corner of her mind, map every soft place on her body.

In the dressing room doorway, I pause, letting Charles knock lightly. “May I come in, kiddo?”

Her muffled reply floats back. He slips inside. I wait, listening to their low voices—his gentle reassurance, her grateful laughter. It’s a good sound.

I head back out and make my way to the altar. Five minutes later, they appear. Taylor’s makeup is flawless again—eyes bright, lips glossed. She slips her arm through Charles’s, and they start down the aisle.

As the organist strikes a chord, I step next to the officiant and wait for the woman who’s about to become mine in every legal sense, and hopefully, in every other sense, too.

I catch my brother Damas’s eye from the front row. He lifts an eyebrow, a smile curling his lips. I’m guessing he expected the Chris drama to derail the ceremony.

Taylor glides up the aisle with Charles beaming at her side. When her gaze locks on to mine, it feels as if the room has shrunken down to just us. The officiant’s words melt away. All I hear is the rush of blood in my ears, the hammer of my pulse.

I take her trembling hand. It immediately steadies once she steps beside me. She’s ready.

The ceremony is a blur of vows, rings, and applause. The kiss I give her at the end is brief, but I make sure she feels the heat behind it.

Charles stands and hugs her as Taylor wipes at happy tears. I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her down the aisle as our first walk as husband and wife.

Once in the vestibule, she exhales, a small laugh escaping. “We did it.”

I lower my mouth to her ear. “First battle won, Mrs. Ovechkina.”

I feel her body shiver. She leans into my side, palm on my chest. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You’ll thank me properly later,” I say with a wink.

Color blooms high on her cheeks as she playfully swats my arm. “Behave.”

“Never.”

She laughs, full and bright. Optimism and happiness radiate off her, warming the chill Chris left behind. I realize I’m smiling, something so rare that Mrs.?B, passing by with the legal paperwork, does a double take.

Taylor notices, eyes dancing. “You do smile.”

“Occasionally. Usually before I misbehave.”

She bites her lip, temptation personified. “We have a dinner to survive first.”

“We’ll survive,” I promise, tucking her hand into the crook of my elbow. “Then, we’ll escape.”

As we head toward the reception room, I catch our reflection in a gilded mirror, our hands joined.

All I can think about is how much I want to make her mine in every way.