Page 66 of Shatter Me

I gently lower her to the ground, adjusting her dress with sure fingers. Desire still courses through my veins, but concern for her welfare wars with my possessive instincts.

I help Tash straighten her dress, though my hands linger longer than necessary. The night air has cooled, but the heat still radiates between us. I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

“Come home with me.” I brush my lips against her temple. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She tilts her head, a familiar spark of defiance in her eyes. “Demanding as always, Mr. Ivanov.”

“Only because you respond so beautifully to demands, Ms. Blackwood.” I urge her back toward the path. My hand is possessive on her lower back.

“And if I say no?” Her teasing tone betrays her true feelings.

“We both know you won’t.” I urge her closer as we walk, unable to keep my hands off her. “Besides, I have that bottle of Bordeaux you love.”

“Trying to bribe me with wine now?”

“Is it working?”

Her laugh lightens something in my chest. But as we approach the street, reality crashes back. My phone buzzes, and I dig it out to find another message about Igor’s movements. The war we’ve started escalates faster than anticipated, and Natasha is caught in the middle.

I grip her waist tightly, scanning the shadows out of habit. She notices the change in my demeanor.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” I flag down my waiting car, ushering her inside quickly—too quickly, and she gives me a questioning look.

“You’re a terrible liar, Dmitri.”

“I’m an excellent liar.” I pull her close once we’re moving. “Just not with you, it seems.”

She curls into my side, her fingers playing with my tie. “Should I be concerned?”

“No.” I kiss her deeply, trying to chase away my own worries. “You’re safe with me.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. No one is truly safe in my world, especially not the woman I’m falling for. But tonight, I’ll pretend we have all the time in the world.

26

TASH

Iadjust the silk scarf around my neck, hiding the marks Dmitri left this morning, before rushing off to some meeting. Two weeks. It feels like two minutes and two years, all at once.

“Earth to Tash.” Sofia waves her hand in front of my face. “That’s the third time you’ve stirred your coffee without drinking it.”

“Sorry.” I drink the now-lukewarm latte. The sun streams through the cafe’s windows, catching the diamond on Sofia’s finger.

“You’re glowing.” She leans forward, studying my face. “I never thought I’d see the day Natasha Blackwood got properly dickmatized.”

“Don’t be crude.” But I can’t help smiling. “He’s... different than I expected.”

“Different, how?”

I think of Dmitri’s face this morning, relaxed in sleep. How he reads poetry in Russian when he can’t drift off. The way he absently strokes my hair while reviewing contracts.

“He has this stillness about him. Like he’s constantly observing, taking everything in. And sometimes...” I run my finger along the edge of my cup. “Sometimes he looks at me like he’s seeing straight through to my soul.”

“You’re falling for him.” It’s not a question.

“Maybe.” I bite my lip. “Yes. God help me, but yes.”

---