Page 100 of Masked Seduction
My phone vibrates.
Everything okay?
A second bubble pops up before I can reply.
Don’t forget—first ultrasound at 9 a.m., Daddy.
A grin breaks before I can help it, the first real smile in a long while.
Meeting wrapped. Still in one piece. Can’t wait to see our little troublemaker on the screen.
Three dots pulse then disappear. She’s probably fallen asleep again; the concussion really zapped her. I picture her curled in our bed, hand resting unconsciously over the slight curve sheltering our child—my family.
Lightning forks over the valley as rain drums the roof. Denis takes a sharp corner slow, tires hissing.
Peace may be temporary, but I’ll fight like hell to make it last long enough for Jenna to bring our baby into a city that’squiet. Long enough to teach a son—or daughter—how to load a magazine and quote Pushkin in the same breath.
The storm finally begins to break, clouds thinning into gray tatters. Tomorrow morning I’ll be staring at a black-and-white screen while a tiny heart beats, filling the room with its hopeful sound, proof that even men like me can make something better than war.
And if Isabella Agosti or anyone else decides to test that hope, they’ll learn exactly how much blood I’m willing to spill to protect it.
CHAPTER 40
JENNA
The alarm on my nightstand chirps its gentle, melodic trill, worlds away from the busted cell-phone timer I used in my old apartment. I blink up at a twelve-foot ceiling, crown molding catching the early sunlight, silky sheets sliding down my shoulders. Vegas glitters beyond the glass wall, but what dazzles me more is the quiet realization that this is my home now.
Our home.
I push upright, yawning, still not used to the California-king acreage of our bed. My hand skims the still-warm indentation where Abram’s body should be. I frown, swing my legs over the edge, and pad across heated hardwood into the walk-in.
A quick toss of yoga pants, a soft tee, and a messy ponytail before following the scent of dark roast and something fruity, the distant whir of a blender guiding me to the kitchen.
Abram leans over the island looking sexy as ever in navy chinos that hug his thighs, a charcoal henley stretched just right across broad shoulders, sleeves pushed up exposing corded forearmsand that intriguing bit of wrist ink I love tracing with my tongue. Navy loafers—Italian, of course—finish the look that says billionaire crime lord meets Saturday-morning dad.
My ovaries practically throw a parade.
He notices me, icy blue eyes lighting up. “Dobroye utro, malen’kaya.” Good morning, little one. A kiss lands on my forehead before he steals another from my mouth.
“Morning,” I murmur. “Why does your smoothie smell like a tropical vacation?”
“Doctor said folate, calcium, and antioxidants,” he answers, sliding a tall glass toward me. “Spinach, pineapple, Greek yogurt, flaxseed, and a pinch of ginger for nausea.”
I take a sip. The thing is obnoxiously delicious—sweet and tangy with absolutely illegal-levels of creaminess. “You realize you’re setting an impossible standard, right?”
He smiles. “Good. I intend to be impossible.” He glances at his watch. “Ultrasound is in forty-five minutes. We leave in ten.”
“You already ate?”
“Protein bar. I’m wired enough.” His gaze sweeps over me from head to toe—loving, assessing, a little naughty. “You, however, look like you’re contemplating skipping medical science in favor of something more recreational.”
Heat crawls up my neck because, yes, I absolutely thought about dragging him back to bed. “Behave, Vasiliev. The baby’s ready to strike a pose.”
He chuckles, cupping my cheek. “I still can’t believe we’re going to see our child today.” Wonder dances behind that brutalexterior, and for a heartbeat, I forget he’s the same man who kicked in doors to rescue me just a few days ago.
I jog back to our room, swapping my tee and yoga pants for a loose sundress. I return to find Abram loading a small gift bag into his briefcase. I raise a brow.
“A little something for Claire after the appointment. She kept your secret, kept you sane.”
