Page 37 of Blood Oath Christmas
I’m going to.
The first drawer slides open without a sound. Pens, sticky notes, and a set of heavy paper clips that feel expensive in my palm are set in neat piles.
The next drawer holds file folders, a stack of envelopes with thick paper and custom letterheads, and a beautiful leather-bound book. Maybe it’s a journal with all Konstantin’s personal thoughts? I breathe out slowly, reach for the notebook, and ease it free.
Disappointment settles over me as I flip through the pages. Most of what’s written in it is in some kind of code, but I know enough about bookkeeping to recognize some of the transactions.
I’m about to put it back into the drawer when I notice something pushed to the back. Bending, I crane my neck to look deeper into the drawer and see a small, dark walnut color palm-sized box. I reach in and pull it out, frustrated and excited at the same time when I see the tiny brass lock on it. Frustrated because it’s locked, but excited because maybe that means it has something in it that might tell me a little more about the man I’m supposed to marry.
I glance at the door nervously and pause, listening. Nothing. I’ve still got time. My gaze pauses on the way back to the box in my hand. There, on the credenza, is a small wood-carved fox. I smile knowing it must be from Viktor. The man almost always has a chunk of wood and a carving knife in his hands.
I’d seen other carvings as I toured the estate today. By the back stairs, there was a bear. On a fireplace mantel was a wolf, and a swan sat near the terrace doors. It amazes me that such a big man with equally big hands, hands that become weapons with fists and guns, can create such gentle creatures.
I turn my attention back to the box. What’s so important inside that Konstantin needs to keep it locked? A chill runs through me as my imagination runs wild from watching toomany movies. It’s too small to hold a human heart, but what if it’s a finger from one of his enemies?
God, I’m losing my mind!
But what will life with Konstantin be like? Some women might like the idea of living in luxury like at this estate, despite it being a Mafia house. Me? I’m not so sure about that. It seems like I’m exchanging one danger for another, choosing one devil over another.
That’s not what you thought when you were kissing him.
I wince and flush at the thought, my hand tightening on the box. No, I wasn’t thinking about how dangerous Konstantin is. I was thinking about how I could get my body even closer to him.
So maybe the sex part won’t be so bad if that kiss was any indication, but how about the rest? I’ll still always be in danger just because of who Konstantin is and what he does for a living. Everywhere I go, I’ll likely have guards with me, watching my every move. For my protection. Even after Vadim is taken care of. Will I be able to see my friends or do I have to give them up too, like I would have in the Witness Protection program?
I shake my head and sigh.
I look back down at the box. Wait a minute, this isn’t a lock. It’s just a latch. I carefully lift it, just enough to see the corner of a piece of cream-colored paper.
The sound of a door slowly opening startles me and I nearly drop the box. Footsteps cross the threshold. The door closes with a soft thud. I don’t have to look to know who it is. The air changes when he’s near. The hair on my neck knows before my eyes do.
Konstantin stands just inside the door. His gaze moves across the open drawer, then settles on the box held in my now shaking hands.
20
KONSTANTIN
She stands, looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights, my box held in her shaking hands. The latch is lifted and a corner of cream paper shows under the lid.
“Set it down,” I say and close the door.
She startles. The box lands on the blotter with a small tap. Her fingers shake once and then go still on the edge of the desk.
“What do you think you’re doing in my office,” I ask, “and going through my things?”
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t have to.
Color rises in her cheeks. “If I’m going to have to marry you,” she says, holding my eyes, “I thought I should get to know you better.”
I can practically see the thoughts churning in her brain and I have no doubt this is the first excuse she could think of so quickly. I raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything.
“No one told me I had to stay in my room,” she adds a bit defiantly.
“No one told you to come into my office and snoop through my private things.”
Her gaze drops to the box, then flicks to the carved fox on the credenza, then back to me. My office holds a trace of her shampoo and the wool from her sweater. The fir and beeswax from the garlands in the hall linger at the edges.
Heat blooms on her chest before she sighs. “I shouldn’t have,” she says. “You’re right.”
