Page 31 of Little Blue

Even in plain black leggings and a soft, navy sweater, she looks delicate. With her pale blonde hair, with the tones of muted strawberry in waves that tumble down her back, her wide blue eyes and face free of makeup, she’s exquisite.

I’d had my men pack her belongings, not that there was much. Her one-room apartment had been sparsely furnished. She had very few articles of clothing, and the boots and jacket she’d had weren’t fit for a Russian winter. They weren’t even fit winter in New York, what with the cracks in the soles. It’s no matter, though. I’d remedy the fact she has hardly any clothes, and ill-fitting-to-the-elements, outerwear, soon.

Until then, she’ll use Polina’s boots and jacket. It’s time I introduce the woman who will become my wife, to my most trusted men. I’ll also need to introduce her to the dogs who guard my property, my men, and myself, with their lives. Because they will also guard her.

She’s the most precious thing on this property.

She shoves her feet into Polina’s big black boots, before shoving her arms into the jacket. When she’s bundled in the too-big gear, she tips her head back to me and grins a rosy-cheeked grin that makes her look, for a moment, far too young. “I’m ready.”

My heart quickens. Or maybe it skips a sequence of beats.

She’s fucking beautiful.

I want to kiss her.

Jeez, I’m a bastard. Trouble is, I don’t care enough to do much about it.

“Come.” Taking her small hand in my own, I guide her from the house into the chill. “I have twenty men living on my property.” When her eyes snap wide, her pretty, pink lips popping open in a tempting O that has the blood rushing to my dick, I continue, “There are three more properties on this land.” I point to two plowed roads. “Not far from here,” I bend at the waist, continuing to point as she squints into the distance through the blowing snow. “There are two houses. On a clear day, they are easy to see. There is always a man on watch in each house, because there is only one entrance and exit onto the property. Unless one leaves by air or by foot through the forest.” I pin her with serious eyes. “I do not recommend taking on the forest. The elements are harsh, as are the animals.”

Her insolence is innocent. I can see the thoughts of escape playing out in her clear blue eyes. Everything she thinks, everything she feels, is telling. Her eyes display her emotions like inked words in a book.

She sniffs. “The third house?”

“It is behind the main house. Polina and Daniil have always lived in the main house, with me. As has Misha, my right hand. As of your arrival, Luka and Boris will also be staying in the main house.”

She twists to peer up at me, her nose scrunching as wind blows flakes of snow into her face. I watch, mystified, as a devious little grin tilts her lips. Giving her shoulders a suspicious little shimmy, she taunts low, “Are you afraid I might try to off you while you sleep?”

Something warm ignites in my chest at the idea of my innocent Little Blue, with her sad eyes and gentle touch, offing anyone. It is amusing to no extent.

Turning my body fully toward hers, my hands land on her hips in time to hear her gasp as I angle her out of the wind, shielding her from the bitter, blowing snow with my body. A snowflake dangles from her lash, tumbling to her pale, freckled cheek as she sweeps her eyes closed in a blink. They open, drifting back up to peer into my own. The flake melts into her skin like a tear I want to lick away with the tip of my tongue.

The urges this woman brews inside me.

I’m bewitched.

“Little Blue,” I rumble, desire sparking inside me when her eyes drop to my mouth a moment before they lift back to mine. A shiver rockets through her body, so intense, I feel it where my hands rest on her waist—even with Polina’s thick jacket between us. “You couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Her little chin lifts. “That’s not true.” There’s something sad in the way she speaks. Something haunted in her defiance. It instantly ignites my driving need to know all there is about this woman I’ve claimed as my own. “I’ve hurt people before.”

Well, that’s interesting.

I want to know more. “Tell me more?”

Her lifted chin sets in a look that can only be described as defiance. “Because he hurt me.”

He. The idea of anyone hurting her has every violent bone in my body burning—and, considering this is me we’re talking about—that’s every. Single. Bone.

“Who hurt you?”

Her head tips to the side curiously. “Why do you think I won’t hurt you?”

“Who hurt you?” I demand again, stepping toe-to-toe with her. “I want his name.”

She narrows her eyes on me. “Who are you?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You’ve told me your name. But you’re more than Ilya Volkov, business owner and sometimes-killer, aren’t you?”

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