Page 58 of Dimitri
Sighing softly, she swung her gaze back to the man who was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had been discharged two days ago, and he was still hovering. When he had to go out and attend to his chores, there was a maid ready to do her bidding. It was frustrating.
"I have work to do." She tried reasoning with him, but it was like talking to a block of stone. He was unmovable. "I will be off for three whole weeks when we go to Russia for our honeymoon. I feel fine—" She reached for his hand. "I'm going crazy with nothing to do."
Picking up the remote with his free hand, he switched on the television.
"I'm not one for daytime soaps."
"You will learn. Or read a book."
"You're being a pain."
"And will continue to be one. A week and that's final."
"Who the hell made you boss over me?"
Realizing the argument was about to heat up, Elizabeth wisely stepped out of the bedroom and closed the doors behind her.
Left alone in the quiet of the room, the tension between them seemed almost palpable. The sunlight filtering in through the curtains cast shifting patterns across the bedspread, but neither of them noticed. With every stubborn word exchanged, the weight of recent events hung over them, unspoken but ever-present. Still, beneath his sternness, she could see the worry etched into every line of his face. She felt both touched and frustrated by his relentless protectiveness.
Without another word, he reached over and grabbed hold of her robe, hauling her forward. Even in his anger, he was careful, making certain he was not jarring her head where she was still bruised.
"I am in love with you." His accent had thickened as it tended to do whenever he was emotional. "You're my life. My very heart. When I think I almost lost you, that I could have received a different call, I break out in cold sweat." His eyes glittered. "You're staying the week in bed, or I will strap you down myself. Is that clear?"
She was shaken by the look of torment on his face. He hadn't touched her since she had been home. Other than the burst of emotions when he came into her hospital room, he had remained aloof as if he was holding to his composure by a thread. Now it was threatening to unravel.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes."
"Good." Lowering his forehead to hers, he gulped in several deep breaths. "I won't lose you. I've waited my entire life to find you, and I won't have you snatched away from me."
Her arms came around his broad shoulders and she held him close. He was shaking, she thought in wonder. This strong, powerful man was trembling.
"Baby, I'm here," she whispered soothingly, running her hands up and down his back. "I'm not going anywhere."
That night, he made love to her with a tenderness that had her in tears.
Slowly undressing her, he kissed every inch of her face and her throat before taking off his clothes. Sliding into bed, he turned her towards him, fingers wandering over her face and lingering on the bruise at her temple.
"It doesn't hurt," she quickly assured him. "I'm fine."
Instead of answering, he nodded. She felt her breath hitch when he bent his head and touched his lips there as if to take away the evidence of what she had gone through.
When his lips found hers, she turned into his arms, aching to feel him inside her.
"Not yet," he murmured. His hands drifted down her back, gently kneading the silky skin. He wanted to assure himself that she was right here with him. He needed that assurance. The scent of her bath gel, the fragrance of the perfume she had spritzed on just before donning the silk robe, tickled his nostrils and tantalized his senses.
He could never get enough of her. The more he had, the more he wanted. He had stayed away for three whole days, not daring to touch her. Even now, he wanted to tear her apart. He had to force himself to slow down. Her skin had the texture of silk. His lips knew and identified every part of her body. He knew her scent, the irresistible scent of his mate. He knew where she was most vulnerable, what set her off. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her navel, while his fingers probed and slid over her quivering belly. His baby was nestling deep inside her womb. The thought of it sent emotions hurtling through him at a pace that had his insides trembling. He would kill for her, he mused. Would step in front of a bullet for her.
Allison felt as if she was floating. No, she thought hazily. She was flying with no safety net to catch her. When he touched his mouth to her swollen flesh she wondered how it was that she was still alive. She was so feverishly hot, she could hardly bear it.
His tongue tantalized and teased. And slipped into her with an ease that had her erupting. The climax was draining and took everything from her. By the time he had covered her body with his, she was sobbing, the tears rolling down her cheeks. She reached for him blindly, burying her face in his neck, her hands clamping around him.
He sank into her wet warmth and went still, his body shuddering.
Cupping the back of her head, he nudged her away, so he could look at her face. Her eyelids were spiky with tears, her lips trembling.
"It's too much," she told him huskily. "I can't."
"I know," he murmured something in Russian, lips brushing over her cheeks and tasting her tears. "I love you darling." He moved slowly, sliding into her with a care that wrenched at her heart.
