Page 54 of Lethal Saint

A reputation my wife loved and was thoroughly intrigued by. She hadn’t asked those questions with fear. No, she’d asked them with interest. Bright, open curiosity. No judgement. She was fucking perfect for me.

Which was why I was taking my wife to Pavyllon tonight. Vasilisa had never been spoiled, had never been to fine restaurants, had rarely visited museums and galleries; she’d always wanted to visit the opera and see a musical in the West End, and was shyly pleased by the gifts I’d got her since we met. I had a feeling she’d appreciate them as much if they cost a single pound, but I had an excessive amount of money and whatwas the point of all the zeroes in my bank account if I couldn’t surround my wife with indulgence and luxury?

Besides, I owed her for last night. I still couldn’t believe I came after a few pathetically quick minutes.

I gave myself a once-over in the mirror, straightening a wayward strand of hair that fell into my face. But I remembered the way Vasilisa had brushed it from my eyes with soft fingers earlier today and let it tumble free again. I slid my phone into my trouser pockets—silenced, of course—and grabbed my wallet before hunting down my wife.

I never got tired of thinking that. My wife.

“Vasya?” I called, ambling into the living room.

“I’m still—I’ll be there soon!” she replied from her bedroom. The hesitation wasn’t a great sign. I wanted to treat my wife, to make her flush with happiness, not give her an attack of nervousness. Maybe I should have made food while we stayed in instead of—

“Okay, ready,” she said breathlessly, hurrying down the hallway and completely unaware of the fact she’d rendered me speechless.

Her hair was wild and curly around her face, her cheeks bright. Her eyes snared my attention, accentuated with sharp black makeup, before my eyes were drawn to cheekbones gleaming with stardust (confession: when I bought her makeup, I ordered one of everything, not entirely understanding what any of them was.)

Her lips…fuck,her lips were painted deep red and did something fucking wicked to me, the combination of that lipstick with her dress devastating. She wore the dark green one, rich velvet accented with gold chains at the straps and draped over her stomach. It hugged the contours of her body so well I debated sayingfuck itto the restaurant and staying home to worship her.

I groaned, running a hand over my jaw.

“What?” she asked when she reached me, her eyes widening. “Is it—do I look silly?”

“Fuck no,” I replied hoarsely. “You look so fucking hot I can’t stand it. This dress on you is insane, Vasilisa.”

Her cheeks curved, her long black lashes sweeping her cheeks. “Oh.”

“You are beautiful,” I said, emphasising every word as I stepped closer, trailing a finger through a spiral of her curly hair. Her eyes were darker with the black lining them, the gold flecks brighter. “So beautiful, I might have to kill someone tonight for looking at you too long.”

She laughed, but she didn’t, I noticed, tell me not to. I went from semi-hard to hard enough to cut diamond. Fuck. I wanted to cut apart everyone who made her scared or uncomfortable, and I wanted my wife to watch, her fingers buried in her hot little pussy. I bet she’d come hard.

“Damien,” she breathed, her lips tugging into a smile as she slid her hands up my chest. “You can’t look at me like that when we’re going out.”

“I’ll look at my wife like this in public,” I replied shamelessly, loving the scandalised look she gave me. “But I’ll behave. While we’re out. When we get back, I want you to come all over my tongue again.”

She licked her bottom lip, watching me with dark eyes, in that fucking dress, with lips temptingly crimson. Goddamn.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” I groaned, stealing a kiss and not particularly bothered if her lipstick transferred. She smelled incredible too. An assault on all my senses, all my weaknesses. “We’d better go before I haul you back to bed.”

Her laugh was delighted. Giddy.

“Come on, my queen. I have something to show you.”

“Vasilisa, this is Lionel Pike,”I introduced, my hand on her back as she edged closer to me. She warily eyed the dark-haired, forty-something giant waiting for us in the car park, standing between a black nondescript car and a gunmetal Mercedes. Her eyes tracked his severe tattoos, all the way to his neck, and the way he held himself unnaturally still. He was a complete psychopath, of course, but he was as loyal as they came. He’d been on the periphery of my family for decades, but Dad made a sizable donation to Lionel’s father’s care when he was battling cancer, and now Lionel was as loyal as any blood family.

Smart man, my father. He knew when to rule with fear and when to turn to compassion and generosity. Bonds forged in kindness were strong, those forced in fear often tenuous.

I’d known Lionel for ten years now, which is why I trusted him with my wife. He’d protect her life with his—and also not be stupid enough to try and seduce my wife. He’d never once shown interest in women.

Vasilisa looked up at me, a question bright in her eyes. Fuck, she was stunning. I always found her beautiful but she was drop-dead gorgeous right now.

“He’s your new guard,” I explained. “He’ll be with us like Jonathan was on our wedding day, watching our backs. He’ll also stay with you and make sure you’re safe if I’m called away to work.”

“Oh,” she breathed, leaning into my side and giving Lionel a neutral look. Not hostile but not trusting. “Hi.”

He dipped his dark head in a nod. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Marshall.”

“You too,” she replied quietly, nerves creeping into her body language.

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