Page 68 of Lethal Legacy

I settle in to the punching bag with renewed vigor, trying not to think of how that spoon looked sliding between her bee-stung lips.

19

LUCIA

Istand under the shower, my skin so sensitive even the water feels erotic. My phone is propped up on the shower wall. I try not to stare it.

Call me, you bastard.

It’s almost eleven. The children and I walked the entire length of the waterfront, stopping for evening tapas in a mosaicked piazza where twinkling fairy lights glittered off the night sea, but I’m still strung tight as a high wire. It’s a miracle I managed to get the kitchen cleaned and the children into bed with anything even remotely resembling calm.

All I can see is his dark eyes watching me across the kitchen. Even the recollection of the savagery in their depths makes me shiver. He looked like he wanted to fuck me and kill me at the same time.

My body has been thrumming like a tuned instrument ever since, waiting on tenterhooks for his summons.

No. Not waiting.

Hoping.

But so far, nothing.

And what does that mean, anyway?It was just a look.

I turn the water off and step out of the shower. Even the touch of the towel on my overly sensitive flesh feels like foreplay.

Damn you for waking my body up.Now I seem to be existing in a permanent state of suspended desire, just marking time until Roman touches me again. I crave his touch as much as I resent him for making me want it.

But I also need to face facts.

Roman clearly doesn’t feel the same way.And although I can’t pretend that doesn’t hurt, it isn’t as if he’s made me any kind of promise beyond that contract. I know I have no right at all to expect more from him than what we agreed on.

That doesn’t stop me feeling thoroughly shaken up, and more confused than I’ve ever been.

If I’m honest with myself, it isn’t just Roman who has rattled me. Being with the children has thrown me off-balance. Or rather, how I feel when I’m with them has taken me by surprise. As if some hole within me that I didn’t know existed has been filled.

And that is just as dangerous as waiting for Roman to call.

More, maybe.

Being with the children, even for one day, has been deeply, profoundly satisfying. Watching Masha, tongue poked out and face screwed up in concentration, determinedly trying to mix a bowl almost bigger than she is. Finding the first cracks in Ofelia’s haughty armor and watching her gradually relax into normal teenage banter. Seeing Mickey’s shyness drop and his natural intelligence emerge.

In only a day, I’ve learned so much about them all—and even more about myself.

There was only Alexei and me when I grew up. We were a close family, it’s true, but we were also incredibly isolated. We didn’t have cousins or grandparents. My mother was an illegal immigrant from Colombia, an orphan when she met my father. I’ve never known anything about Papa’s family except that they are all dead. Mine wasn’t a house where other children came to play. At school, I was quiet and withdrawn. Even then, I knew my family was different than everyone else’s. Knew that other children didn’t have security guards who drove them to school in a limousine or live in a vast compound in the wealthy suburb of Coconut Grove, with a private jetty and armed men at every corner.

And after Papa’s stroke and Mama’s death, after everything went wrong, I knew the burden of being the eldest of two children, responsible for my little brother and the only one capable of saving Papa.

That’s why I understand the stiffness in Ofelia’s posture, her constant watchfulness. The way she’s attuned to every emotional undercurrent and has a light in her eyes that looks far too old for her years. It’s all horribly familiar.

The way she clams up whenever her mother is mentioned, however, is not. That worries me, tugs at my heartstrings.

I walk naked into the darkened kitchen of my apartment, looking for the baby monitor. I installed it myself, not to spy on the kids, but because I’m terrified something will happen and I won’t be there to help them.

Damn.I’ve left the receiver in the other apartment. I pull on one of the lace-edged cami sets, then, on second thought, take it off and pull on a long silk robe. Somehow I don’t think Roman would be overly happy at his guards ogling me in my pajamas.

“So, no pajama parties, then?”

“Pajamas play no part whatsoever in any of my plans, I assure you...”

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