Page 55 of Lethal Saint

I rubbed her back, surprised by how quickly the tension melted from her body.

“Thank you for looking out for us,” she added to Lionel, having to peer up at him because the man was a damn behemoth.

Lionel wasn’t the sort of man to melt or smile, but I swore his next nod was less stiff. “I’m glad to. Damien’s been a friend of mine for years. I’ll be right behind you, so no need to worry about anything. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

I nodded, and Lionel opened the door to the black car, climbing inside. It was slightly small for his mammoth frame, but sizing up the car wouldn’t exactly help him blend in.

“Alright?” I asked Vasilisa, guiding her towards the second car.

She nodded, giving me a soft smile that stopped my heart in its tracks. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

“I’m slightly neurotic,” I said, matching her smile. “And I’m not leaving your safety to chance. I’d have Jonathan watching our backs if the bastard wasn’t so busy. And so grumpy,” I added, earning another smile.

She stopped beside the car, rolling onto the toes of her black velvet shoes to—kiss my cheek. Fuck, she was sweet.

“What was that for?” I asked, my voice quiet, rough.

She shrugged, her hands knitted together. “Being a good husband.”

Well, fuck.

I moulded my hand to the back of her neck and slammed my lips into hers, kissing her deep until her sweet taste filled all my senses, until she moaned into my mouth and clutched atmy back, adding creases to my shirt that I’d wear like badges of honour.

“What was that for?” she repeated huskily, staring up at me like she’d forgotten Lionel sitting in the car waiting for us.

“Being the best wife I could ever dream of.”

“You must have a very bad imagination,” she replied, but she was smiling and there were crinkles around her eyes that reached inside my chest and squeezed my heart into a vicious knot. She was so beautiful. And smiling. The girl who’d been mistreated and abused so badly wassmiling.

I’d do anything to keep her this way.

I brushed another kiss to her mouth, almost certain I was wearing her lipstick now, and opened the car door.

I was exceptionally smug when Vasilisa climbed into the passenger seat of the gunmetal Mercedes without even a flicker of hesitation or nerves. She did shoot me a shy, pleased look when I closed the door for her, however. I walked around the car, satisfaction making me almost cocky when I slid into the driver’s seat. I’d have to get the car resprayed, though. It needed to be deep, wine red.

“Um. These were on the seat,” she said, shooting me a look as she held the box of peach carnations and blood red roses on her lap. I checked she wore her seat belt—she did—and then fastened my own.

“That’s strange,” I replied, shutting my door and twisting the keys waiting in the ignition.

“Damien.”

“Yes, my queen?”

“You put these here.”

“Not quite.” I gave her an amused glance and added, “I asked Lionel to pick them up on his way.”

“They’re for me?” She glanced down at them, unable to hide the joy in her chocolate eyes.

“They are,” I agreed, starting the car, the engine purring. God, I loved new cars. Loved the smell of new leather, too. The seats in this car were a buttery tan, and absorbed my body like a hug. “So is this,” I added, reaching into the back for the Harry Winston jewellery box sitting there.

“Damien,” she hissed.

“God, I love my name on your tongue.”

She shot me a sharp look but accepted the blue velvet box—and gasped when she opened it. “This is…beautiful.”

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