Page 46 of Dark Embers

And now?

Now I’m drinking alone at four in the goddamn morning, nursing a bruised ego and a shredded conscience while the woman I want more than anything sleeps under my roof… but not in my bed.

I swirl the vodka in the glass, staring into it like the answers are at the bottom. They’re not. They never are.

I close my eyes and the image flashes in like a curse—Sabrina in that ridiculous pink nightgown, those fuzzy cat-paw pajama pants, and the god-awful dog slippers. I’d never seen anything so ridiculous and at the same time so fucking sexy.

I breathe in the memory of two years ago, in this very penthouse, when I’d been interrupted from a rather pleasurable interlude with a leggy redhead by all the commotion in the hall. I’d gone out to see what all the noise was and there she was. The petite dancer I’d seen on stage at the Golden Lights Hotel a couple of nights before. I didn’t realize it but I was gaping at her. She took it as if I was somehow judging her attire.

“What?” she snapped, shooting me an unimpressed glare. “You’ve never seen a woman in pajamas before?”

I was so surprised by her sass and a little put out that not once had her eyes even flickered toward my naked torso or the bulge I knew as still filling out my silk boxers.

“Women don’t wear pajamas to bed with me.”I had answered her.

Sabrina hadn’t missed a beat. Her mouth had lifted into a mock-pitying smirk.“Oh? Do they prefer armor... or just regret?”

Her spirit, the fire in her eyes, and sassy tongue had made me burn with the need to strip every piece of cartoonish fluff off her and see what lay beneath. And that need never went away.

Truth is… that wasn’t the first time I’d found myself burning for her. No, that had been the first time I’d laid eyes on her, which was a few days before the fluffy pajama night. The night I saw her dancing at the Golden Lights. I’d gone looking for Radomir and caught her mid-performance. The stage lights had caught in her hair, shimmered across her skin. She moved like fire and ice.

After that night in the penthouse, she was all I thought about.

I even followed her to Europe. I told myself it was to help Radomir, but it was her. Always her. And when she and Radomir laughed, when they shared those looks, those inside jokes—it had driven me insane. I wanted to crush that connection, pull her away from him. I wanted her to look at me like that.

I couldn't let myself get that close. So I stayed away. For two years I fought it.

Until Gavriil’s death brought her right back into my life. Right into my line of fire.

And I pulled the fucking trigger.

She trusted me. Let me touch her. Let me inside her. Then I turned around and burned her world down.

I down the rest of the vodka and pour another. The burn doesn’t numb anything. Not when I can still feel her lips on mine, her hands clawing at my back. The way she screamed my name as orgasm after orgasm hit her and the way she felt wrapped around my cock—like she was made just for me.

Jesus.I run a shaky hand through my hair. I’ve become a fucking possessed stalker. Then another image flashes through my mind making me smile and my heart pull when I think of Elena. I’d nearly pulled away when Sabrina had first handed her to me, the angry wailing little bundle.

But then I’d placed her over my shoulder like I’d seen my cousin’s wife do to their baby and to my amazement Elena had instantly quietened. Then she’d snuggled into me like a sign of unconditional trust as her tiny hand had gathered some of my shirt.

Fuck. I slam the glass onto the desk ignoring the vodka sloshing over the sides. I didn’t just fall for Sabrina. I fell for her daughter, too—that tiny little girl stole my heart and burrowed into my soul.

But I don’t have time to dwell on my new found revelation as I hear a noise. I sit up straight, instantly alert.

A door creaks. No—wait. It’s not the door.

It’s a sound. Distant. Sharp. A scream.

It’s Sabrina.

I’m on my feet, glass shattering on the tile as I bolt from the office. I tear down the hallway, my bare feet silent on the marble. Her door is slightly ajar. I slam it open and find her thrashing in the bed, tangled in the sheets, sobbing.

“No! No, please! Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt her!”

I cross the room in two strides, reaching for her. She screams, lashes out, catches my arm.

“Sabrina,” I rasp, gripping her wrists gently. “It’s me. You’re safe. It’s Oleksi.”

Her eyes fly open, wild and wet, and the moment they meet mine, she launches into my chest.

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