Page 43 of Sinful Bride

I nod to everything.

Mel leans forward, a conspiratorial smile twisting her face. “So what the hell is he doing here? Catering to your every need, waiting on you hand and foot? He could have hired someone else to do all that. His mom doesn’t even need to be here; she could just as easily check on you at any other apartment or townhouse or whatever. But he didn’t. He’s right here, giving you his time and his attention above everything else.”

And he bought me a gallery.

“It’s easy to buy someone comfort. It’s a whole other thing showing someone you love them. He’s made it exceptionally clear that he is not only madly in love with you, but he’s in this for the long haul. I think the only thing we’re all wondering is, do you feel the same about him?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

It flies out of my mouth before I even have time to think about everything.

But it’s true.

Mel smiles. “Then show him. The worst that could happen is a thorough explanation of where you stand, but at least then there’s no confusion. The best thing that could happen?” Her smile widens into a beaming grin. “I get a few more nieces and nephews out of it.”

I grab a pillow and smack her with it. “Bold words coming from someone who didn’t just birth a watermelon!”

“I did it twice, actually.”

A knock at the door stops us from engaging in a full-blown pillow fight, which is just as well. We are, after all, supposed to be grown adults.

Pasha pokes his head in. When he sees me smiling, it’s like a huge weight suddenly lifts off his whole body. “I wanted to let you know your masseuse is here. Melanie, I’ll show you our other guest room so you can get comfortable.”

Melanie leaps off the bed and skips to the door. “As long as that includes snuggle time with my widdle baby niece!” She pauses to look over her shoulder at me. “I’ll be back, missy. We have floral arrangements to discuss.”

I watch her dart out, then look at Pasha with renewed confusion. “Masseuse?”

Pasha opens the door wider, ushering in a lovely woman wearing elegant scrubs and carrying a folding massage table. “This is Evangeline. She’s one of the best, and she specializes in prenatal and postpartum care.”

Evangeline gives me a polite nod and smile, but focuses on setting up the table in the far corner of the room.

“Oh, I don’t… This really isn’t necessary.” I scramble off the bed, partly panicking over being away from Taty for this long.

But Pasha catches me around my waist and holds me there. “Yes, it is. Stress isn’t good or healthy for you, and you’ve been through a lot of it.”

The masseuse gestures to the table once it’s standing. “I will step out and wait for you to undress to your comfort level. Please keep in mind that the less clothing you keep on, the easier it will be to access common pain points.”

We wait until she leaves before returning to our discussion.

Pasha’s hands smooth up my sides. “This is exactly what the doctor ordered. Consider it a prescription.”

I turn to look at him with no small amount of skepticism. “Did Dr. Bradshaw actually prescribe me a massage?”

“More like… Dr. Chekhov. And he says you need these regularly, at least twice a week to start.” His gaze wanders down to my chest, and I swear I see heat flicker in his eyes. “Now, be a good patient and let me take care of you.”

I can’t deny the shiver that his low voice sends through me. Or the way his gentle touch as he slips my robe off my shoulders leaves trails of heat along my skin.

If I wasn’t still healing, this massage appointment would need to be rescheduled.

It doesn’t take long for my clothes to pile on the floor. Once I’m completely naked, Pasha sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the massage table, where he lays me down. He grabs the sheet I’m supposed to cover with, but pauses right before he pulls it over me.

The way he looks at me. So much heat and desire.

Mel might actually be right.

He drapes the sheet over my body and leans over me to press a final kiss to my face. “Be good,” he murmurs.

I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment. Maybe it’s my hormones. Maybe it’s the part of me that remembers what it’s like to be fearless.

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