Page 121 of Inked Adonis

She spins to face me, amber eyes flashing. “I’ve lived in that apartment for years, and it’s always been?—”

“An unsolved murder waiting to happen? Yeah, I know. Which is why you’re staying here.”

Her chin lifts. All five-foot-three inches of her squared up against my six-four frame like David facing Goliath. Except in this version, Goliath isn’t fucking losing.

“You told me I was free,” she says.

“You are. You’re free to make choices that don’t end with your head being delivered to me on a silver fucking platter.” The image makes my fingers shake with the desire to slam her door shut and nail it closed. “I’m not letting you die for some petty point you’re trying to make about me leaving.”

“You think I’m going home just to be spiteful?”

“I think you’re already home.”

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just jagged edges that scrape against my chest. “Oh, sure. Cozy as could fucking be. Prison sweet prison.”

My phone buzzes. Probably my car to the airport waiting outside. I haven’t even packed yet.

“Go ahead and get that embroidered on a doily. It’ll brighten the place up.” I sweep past her into our bedroom, dumping the contents of her suitcase in one sweep and dragging it over to the dresser.

“Hey! That’s mine!” She follows me, storm-light casting shadows across her face.

“What’s mine is yours,krasavitsa.” I start throwing clothes into the suitcase—Brioni suits, Tom Ford shirts. Each one selected and purchased because a man in my position needs armor, even if it’s made of silk and wool.

“We aren’t married yet.”

That ‘yet’ catches in my chest. Dangerous word, that one. Especially now, with seven bodies cooling in Moscow and the wolves circling ever closer. My fingers still on a black tie. The one she straightened for me last week, her small hands so careful against my throat.

I shake it off, stuffing more clothes in. “There you go: wedding planning. That would give you something to do while I’m gone.”

“You haven’t proposed.” She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “But just in case you aren’t reading the room, now would not be a good time.”

She’s right. But that doesn’t stop the image from forming: Nova in white, my ring on her finger. A claim more permanent thankeeping her in this gilded cage. I should have done it weeks ago, the moment I realized this penthouse felt empty without her in it.

My phone rings this time. Third call. The driver’s patience is wearing thinner than my father’s goodwill.

I silence it, shoving more clothes in. “Maybe I’ll give it a whirl when I get back, seeing as you’ll be alive, thanks to me.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Apparently, it runs in the family.” The zipper strains against my brutal treatment.

She follows me to the closet, watching as I crumple more five-thousand-dollar suits into a too-small suitcase. “It doesn’t have to, Sam. You could be better than them.”

I kick the suitcase in frustration against the wall, whirling towards her. “I’m taking care of you, Nova. I’m keeping you safe. What else do you fucking want from me?”

This close, I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, smell the vanilla of her shampoo. She doesn’t back down. Never has. “More.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “I want this to be more than me warming your bed whenever you happen to be in town.”

“Sounds like you want a proposal, after all,” I snort.

“No, I want a relationship,” she spits at my back. “I want you to share your life with me, Sam.”

“I’m giving you as much as I can, Nova.”

She scowls. “That’s a lie and we both know it. You’re capable of so much more. But you’ll never get there with your familylooking over your shoulder. You’ll never get there if you spend all your time seeking your father’s approval.”

Anger scorches through my veins, burning me up from the inside out.

This woman has some fucking nerve.

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