Page 76 of Devil's Vows
“Not really.” At least that isn’t a lie. “It’s just a feeling.”
“Okay. I’ll have to think about it.” He reaches for my hand and lifts it to his lips. His gaze keeps mine trapped as he places a single kiss on each of my knuckles.
The gesture is tender, a tasting of the temptation he offers, a courtship. As he twists my hand to expose my wrist, I quiver with a hot and ready arousal that’s been put on pause for so long. Now, his kissing presses play again, sending tremors down my arm. He kisses my wrist, his warm breath smooth over my skin as his tongue darts out and licks the lines of my veins.
“Ivan—” I bite my lip, too inexperienced, too naive to become anything but a wanton, needy mess in his hands.
“Have you figured it out yet,moya ptichka?” he murmurs as he kisses the heel of my palm to the pad of my thumb, sucking the tip into his mouth.
“Figured what out?” I ask, breathless, leaning into him, no longer trusting my legs. The bed is right there—I can collapse on it and pull him to me.
“That I needyesas an answer when I ask you to marry me?”
God help me here…he is going to ask me and he expects a yes.
It’s a done deal, but I’ve gotten to know Ivan these past few weeks. He is being a gentleman and will seek my consent, even if he has a noose aroundIl Consiglio’sneck. He won’t take what hasn’t been offered, not from a woman, anyway.
I stare at him as he lowers my hand, just holding it. The gap between us is charged with tension, but neither of us closes it, allowing our bodies to collide.
I could be his wife. Cave in to this lust. Be his. It will be more than good. It will be perfect.
“Why?” My heart is a runaway train, rushing blood, making me heady.
“Because I won’t take no for an answer, but I’d like to ask you all the same.” He smiles, and although he’s serious, there’s a hint of tease in his voice.
I’ve seen him with his daughters. It will be no chore to be this man’s wife. It will be so easy to fall in love with him—to allow myself to fall in love with him and not fight it every step of the way.
He would be my perfect haven. I could stop running and finally heal under his gentle touch. He’ll override my trauma with his body, his know-how, and maybe, just maybe, I won’t be so petrified of intimacy or what it reminds me of.
He’ll help me forget.
“You don’t know me,” I whisper, swept away in a riptide, unable to swim against it, but wanting to warn him off.
“There’s enough here to make it work,moya ptichka,” he says with a squeeze to my hand as he leans in and brushes a kiss over my temple. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Those last words hold so much promise, I have to sink down on the bed and gather myself. I listen to his footsteps as he heads down the corridor, my fingers trembling over the spot where his lips marked me as his.
39
IVAN
“Gabriella’s on her way,” I say to Yuri where he’s with the girls who are playing with playdough. “If she’s a bit off today, let her take a rest.”
He nods. “What about Milana?”
“I’m going to talk to her now.”
He gives me this stare that sayssort that shit out or,and I bite down on my jaw. She’s my sister, for fuck’s sake. What does he want me to do? Lock her up like I did my wife? With the same end result? I mean, Darya’s end result I orchestrated, but Milana might just take matters into her own hands. I don’t know what I’d do if she did.
I’m quietly fuming at Yuri as I head to her suite, knocking on the entry door and then walking down the corridor leading to the various rooms. A normal man would avoid these rooms, haunted by everything that had happened in here, but I feel nothing, cold-hearted fucking devil that I am. Her bedroom door is open, but she isn’t in it, so I head to the soundproof music room. I knock, and after a few seconds, open the door.
Milana is sitting at her Steinway, in the same position I’ve seen her a million times. In my mind’s eye, I have a stop-motionvideo of her growing up, a bit bigger with each clip, the music she plays more complicated, the dresses she wears more beautiful, more expensive. Now she’s just staring into the void, hands in her lap, fingers not dancing over the keys like they usually do.
She’s deathly pale, but at least she’s not sobbing anymore. Gabriella’s magic. But no magic on this planet can stop her from self-harm, and what’s the point of keeping her locked up if she’s going to kill herself?
“Here,” she says, as she pushes down a key and it makes a forlorn, lost sound. “And here, and here.” She plays several more, creating a warped, harrowing tune. “The notes. They just didn’t feel the same anymore, you know?”
“What do you mean?” I step inside and cross the room to stand by the piano.
