Page 43 of Keeping Ruby

“Well, fuck, it looks like I’m not only a cat man, but I’m going to be the type to what? Netflix and chill?” Maxim barks a laugh at my growly words.

“I don’t think you’ll be doing the Netflix and chill part of that—at least not before you get the cats.”

I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about—or laughing at—but I don’t have it in me to ask.

As I leave the room, running into Dimitri on my way to my own room, I order, “Send one of the men to buy candy.”

Dimitri’s steps stutter. “What, now?”

“Candy. The gummy kind. A large assortment.” I keep walking, and call over my shoulder, “Oh, and whatever one needs to care for two cats.”

I leave my right-hand man with his jaw hanging open and horror in his eyes, as I set out to find the woman responsible for it all.

I find my wife in her room, her Kindle in her lap and my dog stretched out on her bed beside her.

“There’s a lot wrong with this picture,” I say by way of ‘helllo’. Her honey-colored eyes lift slowly to mine, and I feel their landing like a spur imbedding deep under my skin.

“What’s so wrong with it?”

I start listing off the wrongs. “You’re in this room, and not mine, where I made it clear you were to be from now on.”

She interrupts me. Brave little thing. “I thought that was just for sleeping.”

“You share my room now.”

“But—”

I speak over her. “My dog is on the bed.”

Defiant as ever, she lifts her chin. “So? It’s my bed.”

I feel the growl rising in my throat before it sounds in the space between us. “Come.”

“Where?” There’s a flash of fear. A moment of hesitancy.

She doesn’t move, but Simba lifts his head, watching me.

I say nothing as I cross the space between us, plucking first her Kindle from her hands, and then her hands from her lap. I pull her from the bed despite her protests, and lead her to the door between our rooms.

Her protests get louder. “It’s not time for bed, Kirill.”

“We’re not going to bed.”

“Then what are we doing?” she demands as I pull her through the door, into my room. Our room.

“We’re relaxing.”

She’s quiet as I pull her across the space, into the bathroom. Simba remains outside the bathroom, curling up somewhere close, undoubtedly. My dog has taken to her quite quickly. I’m no longer certain I would be his top priority in the event I need his protection, which, I can’t say bothers me.

Not if his priority is her.

“What are we doing in here?” Her eyes scan the design of the rustic space before her brows knit as her gaze locks on the full bath. It’s a large tub built to easily accommodate two people.

I drop her hand to lift my own to the buttons of my shirt. Her lips part, the movement small and hypnotizing. “We’re relaxing.”

“We?”

“Yes.”

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