Page 71 of Wicked Embers

“Something’s triggered her memory. She shut down completely earlier. I asked Dolph to find the fourth journal, but he couldn’t.”

Sabrina stiffens. “You think Leigh has it?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Radomir… after Leigh woke up from that coma, she had terrible nightmares. Screaming, night after night.”

My stomach knots. “Nightmares?”

She hesitates, then meets my eyes. “She kept waking up screaming about someone. She called him the Iceman.”

The name hits me like a punch to the gut. My blood goes cold. “The Iceman?”

Sabrina’s brows furrow, her mind working at something. “Yeah. Why? Do you know what that means?”

“She muttered that name before she went catatonic,” I say, more to myself than her.

Sabrina pales. “Radomir…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “We need to find that fourth journal. I think I remember something about an Iceman, but it wasn’t in the others. It must be in that one.”

She leaves me with those words, the weight of them hanging over my head.The Iceman. Who the fuck is he?

The penthouse feels suffocating suddenly, full of unanswered questions and too many moving pieces. I clear the room, dismissing my men and the lingering guests. It’s late, and I want this day over.

Pushing aside thoughts of kings, traitors, and journals—I go in search of Leigh.

I find her in my room, the sound of the shower running. Tracy’s gathering her dress and freezes when she sees me.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“In the shower, sir.”

I nod toward the door. “Leave.”

Tracy hurries out, and I close the door behind her, locking it. The sound echoes in the room, final and heavy.

I strip off my tuxedo, discarding the fabric like a second skin. My body is thrumming with a need I can’t suppress—one part desire, one part frustration. Leigh’s mine now, but there’s still so much I don’t know about her.

The water calls to me, masking her presence but not her silhouette. I step inside the bathroom, and my cock hardens instantly.

Leigh stands with her back to me, head tilted under the spray. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, slick with water, and her body is a vision of soft curves and delicate strength. From the slender line of her neck to the curve of her hips—I want her. Every inch.

Silently, I step into the shower, closing the glass door behind me. The steam curls around us, thick and humid. She doesn’t hear me until my hands snake around her waist, slide upward, and cup her breasts.

Her body jerks, and for a split second, I think she’ll resist. But then I feel it—the subtle shiver as she melts into my touch.

“Radomir,” she whispers, breath hitching.

My lips find the curve of her neck, burning a trail of kisses and nips down her wet skin. My fingers knead her soft flesh, rolling her nipples until they pebble under my touch. My other hand slides down, fingers finding her slick and ready.

“Fuck, Leigh,” I breathe against her ear. “I love how responsive your are to me. How your body quivers under my touch.”

She says nothing, but her body speaks for her. Her head tilts back, resting against my chest as I tease her. I slip two fingers inside her, her walls clenching around me like a vice.

“Look at me,” I command, turning her to face me.

Her eyes meet mine, glazed with lust, and it’s enough to shatter my restraint. I kiss her—hard, deep, claiming her mouth as thoroughly as I’m about to claim her body.

She moans into the kiss, her arms winding around my neck. Her hips move against my hand, grinding in desperation as I push her closer to the edge.

---