Page 128 of Lethal Legacy

I emerge to find him with an even wider smile and an evil gleam in his eyes. “Water nice, Miss Lopez?”

Two can play at that game.

I swim over to the steps and walk out, adjusting my white bikini. I stretch languorously as I reach for my towel, enjoying his sudden intake of breath and the way his eyes darken.

It’s only been a few days since the parade, our hurried packing, and the late-night drive up to the villa, but it already feels as if we’ve been here for months. The privacy, endless days of sunbathing and swimming, and meals taken together as a family on the patio, have only served to increase the intensity of my attraction to Roman.

Particularly since we’ve been steadfastly keeping to our own bedrooms.

Despite Papa being in a separate villa fifty meters from the main farmhouse, the nights here are deathly quiet, and the children’s bedrooms are located just across the courtyard from ours.

Not great for screaming, and Roman and I both know how loud I get.

By the look on his face currently, he’s not enjoying the forced celibacy any more than I am. I’m not going to lie; I get more than a little thrill from that thought.

“So.” A grinning Abby bobs up to the surface at my feet. It was Roman’s idea that she join us. Going by how often she and Dimitry have been sneaking off in the midafternoon, I’m guessing they’ve moved on from whatever was blocking their relationship before.

“Dimitry and I are going to child sit tonight,” she says. “You and Roman are going out. No arguments.” She heads off my protests at the pass. “We offered, and Roman agreed.”

I glance at Roman, coloring. Close as our domestic arrangement is, I’ve always been firmly in the au pairrole around the children and Papa. Roman and I spending time alone sends a pretty clear message that there’s more to the situation than what we’ve presented.

“You need a break,” Roman says, his eyes dark and caressing on my skin in a way that makes my breath catch. “We both do.”

“A break.” Dimitry breaks the surface, grinning. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Roman opens his mouth in what I’m quite sure was about to be an obscene rebuke. He catches himself at the last minute.

“Dinner,” he says, in as dignified a tone as he can in the face of Abby and Dimitry’s visible amusement. “Somewhere nice.”

To my surprise, the kids don’t so much as blink when I mumble that Abby and Dimitry will be watching them that evening. Even Papa just waves me away with a slight smile. I’m rather taken aback that nobody questions why I might be spending a social evening out with my boss.

I take my time dressing. Finally, encouraged by Abby, I settle on a full-length midnight-blue dress in velvet silk with a soft cowl. It exposes most of my back and a great deal of cleavage.

“Are you sure this is okay for dinner in a mountain village?” I turn doubtfully in front of the mirror. “I feel a bit overdressed, particularly with high heels.”

“Nope.” Abby grins. “Trust me, this is perfect.”

“Hang on.” I meet her eyes in the mirror. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know nothing.” She holds her hands up with a wide-eyed, innocent look that does nothing to reassure me. When I eventually emerge into the living room, the kids are draped over the furniture, still wearing their swimsuits, playing some board game with Dimitry and Papa that seems to involve a lot of shrieking and accusations of cheating. They all stop when I walk in.

“You look gorgeous,” says Ofelia, in somewhat unflattering amazement.

“Pretty!” Masha claps her hands together, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Wow,” says Mickey shyly.

“Yes, well, better get a good look at her now.” Roman appears in the doorway.

I suck in my breath.

If I thought him earth-shattering in a suit, his bespoke tux ratchets up the hotness to a whole new level.

“We won’t be home by the time you go to bed, so say goodnight. Don’t crumple her,” he warns them sternly, as the kids converge for hugs. I look over their heads to Papa. The expression on his face almost ruins my makeup. I stop by his chair and kiss his creased cheek. “Goodnight, Papa,” I whisper.

He touches the small, plain studs at my ears. “Your mama—would be—proud,” he whispers, and I know he’s thinking of the Fabergé teardrops I left in my bag. They don’t match this dress. I pull back in time to see him lock eyes with Roman.

“I’ll take care of her,” Roman says courteously in Russian. He puts his hand out.

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