Page 41 of Brutal Promise

15

IZZY

Ifinish my wine, yawn, and politely cover my mouth. The events of the day are catching up with me again.

“Go to bed. I have work to do.”

I raise my eyebrows and look at him, puzzled. “What work?”

“Don’t ask questions you know I can’t answer,” he snaps and gives me a stone-cold stare.

“Fine. I’m tired.” I would have said goodnight, but he was so rude I decide to give him the cold shoulder.

I head directly to his room and slide into bed. The soft sheets embrace me, and for the first time in a long time, I drift off to sleep without worrying.

Sometime during the night, I wake and feel his arms around me and drift back to sleep.

In the morning, I find myself alone in the huge bed and look around the room, wondering if he has left. He’s so secretive. When I hear coffee beans grinding, I relax, knowing he’s in the kitchen. I follow my nose to the aroma of coffee brewing, hoping for my caffeine fix sooner rather than later.

Dmitry pivots when he hears my feet shuffling on the tile floor.

“You’re awake.” He looks dressed to impress, wearing dark blue dress pants that fit his ass perfectly. He has on another white button-down shirt, leaving me to wonder if he has them in any other color. His suit jacket hangs on the back of a chair.

Maybe I was wrong, and he lives here. There are no framed personal photos, so it’s difficult to tell who owns the place.

“Yep, alive and well,” I coo.

He gives me a wry grin and turns back to the industrial-sized coffee machine. In less than a minute, he’s walking toward me, carrying a cappuccino with a big dollop of whipped cream floating on top. My mouth waters as he sets the cup filled with creamy sweetness in front of me.

I gasp. This man is like a computer that’s figured out my algorithm. How else would he know my fantasy? All I need now is a stack of fashion magazines to fulfill my dream.

He spins back to me, having grabbed something, and sets a stack next to my cup. I don’t even know where to buy these magazines. How did he pull this off?

I dip my finger in the fluffy white cream and lick it. This is homemade whipped cream. The texture and taste are rich and creamy, not artificial like the commercial stuff from a can.

“I bet this cup contains enough calories to register as a dessert,” I muse.

“Very funny,” he replies and tries not to smile. “I was able to obtain some items from Alena’s so you can change. Your dress is hanging in the closet. The other items are where you’d normally find them.”

“Do you have elves?” I tease.

His face turns serious, his sweet demeanor—gone. “No, I have soldiers who do what I tell them. You should learn to do the same.”

Alrighty, then. I hunch over my drink, hugging it with my hands.

“No slouching. Volkovs don’t slouch, and you will need to wear the appropriate clothing in public as you have a new position to fill.”

He speaks like I’m an employee, and this is my first day on the job.

“Wait, did you get a job for me, too?” I mock him. This man can procure anything with the snap of his fingertips. Maybe the elves took care of that too.

“Don’t be so glib. Just because you’re still alive doesn’t mean you’re safe. Everyone will be regrouping for another attempt at you.”

Well, that killed my morning buzz. I hope I never become so consumed with work and whatever else he does that I lose my sense of humor.

He walks away, and without turning around, he calls out, “And wipe that pout off your pretty little lips before I fuck them.”

I bolt upright in my chair. The familiar slickness between my legs is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. What’s more troublesome is how I associate it with him. No other man has come close to the way he makes me feel.

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