Page 62 of The Bratva's Hunted Bride
The heavy security gate of his mansion slides open, and the guards nod as we drive in. They slide closed behind us.
He pulls the car to a stop and hurries around to my side to open the door for me. He’s careful and gentle with me as he holds his hand out and helps me from the car. My body is shaking. Shock. I can’t believe what just happened.
Timofey is tentative as he slips his hand into mine and walks with me toward the front door.
He pushes it open and gestures for me to go in.
The moment I step through the threshold, an intense, unquestionable knowledge settles over me.
The smell, the warmth, the familiarity. I am exactly where I belong.
This is home.
I smile and turn to look at him, and in the bright light of the entrance hall, I see the blood on his hand.
“Timofey, you’re hurt,” I exclaim, grabbing his hand to see how bad it is.
He chuckles quietly. “It’s nothing, darling. I promise you. I would have endured so much more to find you safe.”
He reaches up and brushes his thumb over my jaw, across a bruise. I wince, it’s tender. A mark left behind by the sharp backhand I got when I wouldn’t stop fighting as they dragged me into the basement.
Unconsciously, I touch my wrists, also raw from how tight the restraints were.I’m safe now. I’m with him.
Timofey notices and takes my wrists into his hands.
His eyes darken with anger.
“They died for what they did,” he growls, his jaw clenched tightly.
He reaches up to touch my jaw again. “What do you need, darling? Let me look at you, and make sure you aren’t hurt anywhere else.”
“I’m not.” I smile nervously. “But you need to disinfect your hand. Is that…um…is that your blood?” I look across his shoulder and over his other arm, glittering with slick wetness.
“No.” He shakes his head.
He takes my hand and pulls me upstairs toward the bedroom.
“I’ll tap you a bath, you can soak in it while I shower. I have mustard salt to help your body relax,” he speaks gently, a quietness about him that makes me worried.What is he thinking? Is he worried about having me here? Worried about my brother’s retaliation?
In the bathroom, I sit on the edge of the claw-footed bath, and Timofey quietly moves above, filling the tub with hot water, bubbles, lavender, and salts.
I stand and start peeling off my clothes. They smell like the basement, and I’m more than relieved to never see them again.
Timofey’s eyes lock onto me, but then he realizes what he’s doing and turns his back.
“I’ll, uh, shower in the other bathroom,” he mutters.
“No,” I say too sharply. “I…please, I don’t want to be alone.”
He turns to look at me, completely naked, standing in front of him, trying to show him that I belong to him, but unsure if he wants me.
His eyes soften, and his lips curl into a smile. “Climb in, you’ll feel better.” He takes my hand and guides me into the warm water, his eyes traveling over my body, but not giving anything away.
Bubbles embrace me, and I let out a deep sigh of relief, finally letting go of the fear I’ve felt since I was taken.
Timofey strips his clothes off with his back facing me.
I let my eyes study every inch of him. Every muscle, every beautiful part of him. The thick curve of his shoulder, the pull of his bicep. How his back muscles flex when he reaches to turn the shower on.
