Page 64 of Blood Oath Christmas
Something flickers across his face, hurt, maybe, though it's gone so quickly, I might have imagined it. "They look at you because you're beautiful. Because you're mine."
"I'm not yours." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, especially when he takes another step closer and I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. "I'm here because I have nowhere else to go. There's a difference."
"Is there?" His voice drops to that low, dangerous tone that makes my pulse race. "Because not long ago, when you were underneath me, crying my name, you seemed very much mine."
Heat floods my cheeks, and I hate how my body responds to the memory. "That was… that was just…"
"What?" He's close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Just what, Ivy? Just sex? Just convenience?"
I want to say yes, want to lie and create distance between us, but the words won't come. Because it wasn't just sex, and we both know it. What happened between us was something deeper, something that terrifies me more than Vadim's threats ever could.
"You hurt Frank," I whisper instead, deflecting. "He was just trying to help me."
"He was trying to take you away from me." Konstantin's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin with surprising gentleness. "I won't let that happen, Ivy. I can't."
"Why?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "Why does it matter so much to you?"
For a moment, his carefully controlled mask slips, and I see something raw and vulnerable in his eyes. "Because I made a promise to your father. Because you're under my protection. Because—” He stops, jaw clenching.
"Because what?"
"Because the thought of losing you makes me want to burn the world down." The admission seems to surprise him as much as it does me. His hand drops from my face, and he steps back, the professional mask sliding back into place. "Get dressed, Ivy. The party starts in an hour."
"And if I refuse?"
His smile is sharp, predatory. "Then I'll dress you myself. And I promise you, we'll both enjoy it far more than we should."
The threat—or promise—sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold. I know he means it. I also know that if he touches me right now, if he puts his hands on me with that focused intensity he's capable of, I'll melt into him like I always do.
"Fine," I say, lifting my chin. "But I'm not pretending to be happy about it."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
After he leaves, I stand there for a long moment, my heart racing and my skin still tingling from his brief touch. I hate how easily he affects me, hate how my body betrays me every time he's near. But more than that, I hate how much I want to pleasehim, want to see that flash of approval in his eyes when he looks at me.
I'm in so much trouble.
An hour later, I'm standing in front of the mirror, barely recognizing myself. The emerald dress fits like it was made for me, hugging my curves in all the right places before flowing out in a way that makes me feel elegant and feminine. My hair falls in loose waves past my shoulders, and the diamond earrings Konstantin gave me catch the light with every movement.
I look like I belong in his world. The thought should comfort me, but instead, it makes my chest tight with panic.
The party is already in full swing when I make my way downstairs. Konstantin is right—it's smaller than the Christmas Eve gathering, maybe fifty people instead of a hundred, but the energy is different. More intimate, somehow. More family than business.
Konstantin appears at my side almost immediately, his hand settling on the small of my back in a gesture that's become familiar. The warmth of his palm through the silk makes me shiver.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs in my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
"Thank you." I try to keep my voice neutral, but I can hear the breathiness in it.
He guides me through the crowd, introducing me to people whose names I'll never remember. Everyone is polite, even welcoming, but I can't shake the feeling that they're all watching me, evaluating me, trying to figure out if I'm worthy of theirPakhan'sattention.
"You're being paranoid," I tell myself, but the feeling persists.
As the evening progresses, I find myself relaxing despite my best efforts. The food is incredible—rich, decadent dishes that make my mouth water—and the champagne flows freely.Konstantin stays close, his hand never leaving my back for long, and I find myself leaning into his touch more than I should.
"Marriage suits you," says Elena, one of the wives I met at Christmas. She's an elegant woman in her fifties with kind eyes and a warm smile. "You have a glow about you."
I nearly choke on my champagne. "A glow?"
