Page 22 of Sacred Vow

His scent.

Just the memory of it all has my body wound tight and my panties getting damp. I try to shake away the thought, but it’s not working.

I don’t like the overprotective type.

I have to remember that.

Otherwise, he’ll have me wrapped around his finger in no time.

Andrei sits at my kitchen table in his white tank undershirt and a cup of coffee when I venture out of my bedroom in the morning. I lean against the doorframe, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I’d been surprised to find myself in my own bed when I woke up. I don’t remember getting home last night, other than fumbling into a pair of pajamas and falling into bed.

It’s barely six. Why is he up already?

And how can he manage to look so damn good this early? His hair is still damp from a shower, and he has it combed back from his face. But it’s those arms of his that have my attention. I don’t recall him ever being a gym rat, but shit, his arms say otherwise. Beneath all those dark tattoos and scars is some serious muscle. And it’s not just on his arms—it all spreads across his chest.

“You gonna stare at me all morning?” He looks up from his phone where he’d been scrolling.

I swallow, wetting my dry throat, and push off the door.

“It’s early. Why are you up?” I ask, shuffling to the fridge. Before he chased me out of the apartment last night, he’d let me put the groceries away. I grab a yogurt and dig out a spoon from the dishwasher.

“I’m always up this early. But why are you? Why did your alarm go off?” he asks, getting up from his chair.

I lean my ass against the counter and peel open my yogurt. “I have work.” Not a total lie. I have a shift this afternoon.

He opens the fridge, then looks at me with disapproval. “No.”

My spoon freezes halfway to my mouth. “No?”

“That’s right. No. You don’t need to work right now.”

“Oh? The rent will just pay itself?” I lick the strawberry yogurt from my spoon.

He takes a carton of eggs from the fridge and the bacon I bought for BLT sandwiches this week and places them on the counter beside the stove.

“What are you doing?”

He pulls a frying pan from the cupboard. How long was he in my apartment yesterday waiting for me? He seems to know where everything is.

“Making breakfast.”

“I have breakfast.” I point my spoon to the yogurt container in my other hand. “And I’m not quitting my job.”

“You’re not going in today.” It’s the finality of his statements that piss me off the most. There’s no room for arguing. He’s made his decision, and everyone should just bow to King Andrei and do as he says?

The stove clicks a few times before the ignitor lights and a blue flame bursts out. He places the frying pan over the heat and opens the bacon.

“Whatever.” I drop my yogurt container into the trash and dump the spoon in the sink. I need to get dressed.

The bacon smells amazing, but I don’t have time to mess around with breakfast. I need to get out of this apartment.

It’s Sunday morning, and there’s someplace I want to get to before it’s too late and there’s a large crowd.

Andrei paces the kitchen with his phone to his ear. He notices me looking at the front door. “I have men outside, so don’t bother trying to leave.” Andrei looks me over when I come out of the bedroom in my work uniform.

“You’re not listening.”

The bacon is all cooked up and sitting on a paper towel on the stove. Eggs have been scrambled and are ready to be thrown in the pan.

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