Page 80 of Nine Months to Bear
If Stefan is scared for me, I should be terrified for myself.
“How long?” I ask instead.
“Until I know you’re safe.”
“And when will that be?”
“When the people who want me dead are no longer breathing.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I shiver.
“Who wants to kill you?” I whisper.
Add that to the list of“questions I didn’t think I’d have to ask the man whose child I might be carrying.”
“The list of people whodon’twant me dead would be considerably shorter,lisichka.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s go. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
34
STEFAN
My home looms ahead as I drive through the gates, steel and stone rising like a monument to paranoia against the twilight sky.
Six armed guards patrol the perimeter with Kalashnikovs. Another four monitor the surveillance room, overseeing state-of-the-art security systems that track every approach. If a fucking pigeon ventures too close, they kill it.
My enemies know better than to come here.
The ones still breathing, anyway.
I steal a glance at Olivia beside me. Her face is still too pale after the shooting, those amber eyes wide as she watches my security team perform their duties. Each guard checks in on us. Each camera swivels to follow our progress.
Her perfume fills the confined space of the car—orchids and vanilla. I grip the steering wheel tighter to keep from reaching for her.
What the fuck have I done?
The plan was simple: intimidate her, seduce her, impregnate her, take over her company. Only an idiot could fuck it up.
But nowhere in there did I account for this visceral, pulsating need to keep her safe. I wanted to leave her at her place, stand guard outside if needed. Maintain some semblance of distance.
Then my mouth opened, stupid shit emerged, and now, she’s here. Under my roof. Where I can’t escape her.
The car crunches to a stop on the circular driveway. Before the engine fully dies, I’m out, rounding the hood to open her door. Old World manners drilled into me by my babushka.
Courtesy before violence. Respect before retribution.
Marriage before babiesis one of her pieces of etiquette, too, but I fucked that one up already.
“Welcome home.”
I immediately regret the word choice. This isn’t her home, and it never will be.
Olivia hesitates before accepting my outstretched hand. Her skin is cool against mine, but that electricity I’ve felt since the moment we met still crackles between us. I release her the instant she’s steady on her feet.
I don’t trust myself to maintain contact.
I lead her through the marble foyer, past priceless art I’ve never truly looked at, up the grand staircase I’ve never given a damn about. Her gaze darts everywhere. It’s hard to say if she’s impressed or planning her grand escape.
The guest suite door swings open under my palm, revealing the room I had Mikayla rush to prepare. King-sized bed withsilk sheets, private bathroom with a tub that could fit three, huge windows overlooking the gardens and reinforced with bulletproof glass.
“There are some clothes in the closet. Mikayla guessed your size.”
