Page 81 of Hostage of the Russian
He turned off the engine and shifted to face her fully. “Any regrets?”
The question was asked lightly, but she could hear the hint of vulnerability underneath. Despite everything they’d been through, part of him still worried that she might wake up one day and realize she’d settled for less than she deserved.
“Only one,” she said seriously, watching his expression tighten slightly. “I regret that it took so long for us to be honest with each other. All those weeks we wasted dancing around our feelings.”
Relief flooded his features. “We got there eventually.”
“We did.” She reached over to cup his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his five o’clock shadow. “And it was worth the wait.”
Inside, he poured them each a glass of wine while she kicked off her heels and curled up on the couch. The house felt different now than it had in those early days when she’d been his reluctant captive. They’d made it theirs together, filling it with shared memories and quiet moments that had slowly transformed it from his space into their home.
“I have something for you,” he said suddenly, reaching into his jacket pocket.
“Kostya, we agreed no more gifts. You spoil me enough as it is.”
“This isn’t really a gift. More like... recognition of something you’ve already earned.” He pulled out a small velvet box, but instead of the jewelry she expected, it contained a key. “The deed to the house is being transferred into both our names. I wanted you to have this.”
She stared at the key, understanding flooding through her. This wasn’t just about property ownership. This was his way of giving her something she’d never had before: security. The knowledge that this place, this life they’d built together, belonged to her as much as it did to him.
“Kostya...” Her voice caught, tears pricking at her eyes.
“Hey, no crying,” he said softly, setting the box aside so he could pull her into his arms. “This is supposed to be a good thing.”
“They’re happy tears,” she assured him, letting him hold her close. “It’s just... no one’s ever given me anything like this before. Something that was really mine.”
“Everything I have is yours, solnyshka. I thought you knew that by now.”
She pulled back to look at him, this man who had turned her world upside down in the best possible way. “I love you so much it sometimes scares me.”
“Good scared or bad scared?”
“Good scared. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and knowing you’re about to fly.”
He smiled, that slow, devastating smile that had first caught her attention across a classroom. “Then jump with me.”
“I already did,” she whispered, and then his mouth was on hers.
This kiss was different from the playful ones they’d shared at dinner or the quick brush of lips in the car. This was deep, thorough, and full of promise. His hands tangled in her hair while hers fisted in his shirt, both of them pouring months of love and gratitude and hope into the connection between them.
When he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the stairs, she didn’t protest. She didn’t need to. She curled into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, the warmth of his body enveloping her like a promise.
When he laid her gently on their bed, his touch was reverent, fingers gliding over her body like she was something sacred. He kissed her softly, then again, slower, deeper, until the world faded around them and there was only this. Only him.
He began undressing her, not hurriedly, but with aching patience. Each button undone, each fabric slipped away was followed by a kiss, a trail of heat down her collarbone, acrossher ribs. And when he reached the faint, pale scar on her lower abdomen, his hands stilled.
She froze too, watching him with held breath.
He lowered himself and pressed a kiss to the spot. Soft. Lingering.
“This,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. “This is proof of how strong you are.”
Her eyes burned, but she said nothing. She couldn’t. Not when he kissed it again, and again, like it was something holy. Like it wasn’t a wound, but a mark of survival.
“You’re here,” he whispered against her skin. “You’re alive. And you’re mine.”
Tears welled in her eyes, not from sadness, but from the unbearable tenderness of the moment. She touched his face, threading her fingers through his hair.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
