Page 30 of Santa Daddy
“Breathe,” I murmured against Dani’s ear, catching the way her shoulders had crept toward her ears. The scent of her hair—shampoo and the faint, sharp tang of nerves—drifted up. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
If she ran here, half this room would see it as weakness. The other half would see it as an opportunity.
“I’m fine.” She lied badly, but some of the rigidity left her spine. “Just taking in the ambiance. Very… atmospheric.”
Atmospheric. That was one fucking word for it.
Our booth was where I always sat. Back to the wall, direct line of sight to exits, no one behind us. Paranoia was just good planning in my line of work.
She slid into the velvet seat with unconscious grace, the slit in her dress flashing a strip of thigh that made my blood run hotter than I liked. I settled beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her through silk. Close enough to make sure every predator in the room thought twice.
Mine. Whether she knew it yet or not was irrelevant.
“Konstantin Zverev.”
Fuck.
I recognized the voice before I turned.
Maksim approached with that cultivated charm that had always made me want to break his nose. Immaculate charcoal suit, cufflinks that caught the low light, smile polished within an inch of its life.
Of course he was here. I should’ve expected him to sniff around the first time I brought her out.
“And this must be the famous fiancée,” he said, switching his attention to Dani. His gaze swept down her body, slow and appreciative, like he was inspecting a new car.
Something cold and violent uncurled in my chest.
My hand found her thigh under the table. Warm silk. Soft flesh. I squeezed, not gently.
A reminder. To her, to him, to everyone watching.
“Maksim.” I kept my voice neutral, the need to put my fist through his perfect teeth buried under years of discipline. “Dani, this is my cousin.”
Family. The one thing you didn’t get to choose and never truly escaped.
"Maksim had always circled my father’s empty chair like a vulture with a law degree, too smart to grab and too patient to leave."
“Dusha.” He reached for her hand with theatrical gallantry, using the endearment like poison. “How did you manage to capture my notoriously commitment-phobic cousin?”
He lifted her fingers to his mouth. Let his lips linger too long. His thumb stroked across her knuckles like he had the right.
Dani’s smile didn’t crack, but I saw the stiffness in her shoulders, the flicker of discomfort in her eyes.
Touch her again. Give me the excuse.
My fingers tightened on her thigh, and I felt her pulse jump under my grip.
I forced every muscle in my body to stay relaxed. Reaching for the knife under my jacket in a room full of my own men would send the wrong message.
“Sit,” I said.
Just that. Short. Sharp.
His eyes flashed, but he obeyed, lowering himself into the booth opposite us.
Dani inhaled carefully. “It’s a modern love story,” she said, and I could hear the strain under the light tone. “Very romantic.”
“I’m sure it is.” Maksim’s gaze flicked between us, all teeth and malice. “Konstantin has always had exquisite taste in… acquisitions.”
