Page 124 of Merciless Desires

“Got it. How many times have you injected her?” Her question catches me off guard.

“I haven’t had to. Ever. I’m extremely careful. So is she.”

“That’s good.” Ana nods. Her color is much better. How different she looks now that she’s showered, and wearing fresh, clean, nice clothes.

No, I don’t see Ginny in them at all.

Stasia splashes garlic infused olive oil into the pan, and the sizzling, spicy aroma wakes me up. She dumps everything into that heated pan and in a few minutes, it’s on a plate set before me. My mouth waters at the best chicken and rice dish I ever had in my life.

When I get up to get another drink, I bump into her. “Sorry.” But I find it hard to move.

I don’t understand this attraction I feel toward her. I must be in alpha overload. That denied, primal side of me is crawling its way out, begging to prey on this beautiful woman swollen with my family’s heir.

Stasia doesn’t move so quickly, and I’m not sure if she’s reacting to me, or if she’s playing me.

Swallowing, I ask, “Why were you running from your father?”

She studies me, cutting a piece of chicken. “He wanted to marry me off to the Boston pakhan.”

I have no idea who that is. But I understand how that world works, strategic marriages and all. “And did you think you’d live on the run forever?”

“I was so startled, maybe I wasn’t thinking.” She picks at the broccoli, her eyes rolling in the back of her head. “I probably just should have told him no. I mean, what could he have done? Dragged me to the altar?”

“My brother managed to isolate you. He’s on crack and alone.” I exhale. “Sure, your father, the pakhan with his brotherhood, could have forced you down the aisle.”

CHAPTER 7

Ana

Yesterday, I woke up behind bars and had no idea what day or month it was. Last night, I slept soundly for the first time in months. And in a bed that can pass for heaven.

The sheets were so damn soft and perfumed with lavender and orange. This entire room smells amazing. Or maybe my senses are so raw and damaged from filth and bleach that anything pleasant shocks my system.

The clock on the nightstand reads six a.m., but I’m wide awake. The baby is moving and woke me up a while ago. I’ve peed and am dying for a cup of tea. I don’t feel right walking around this house on my own, though. I came up here last night out of pure desperation.

And Darragh doesn’t want me near his daughter.

I get it. I’m a criminal. And he doesn’t know me, even though we grew up in the same city. Our families hate each other back home, I get that. Cormac didn’t care about the rival war in Astoria. I admit, the first six months, the sex was hot.

That changed quickly when the money ran out.

The idea of sex has my center clenching, but it’s not Cormac I see on top of me. It’s Darragh. I close my eyes and sink into the fantasy that has my nipples hard and my breathing suddenly erratic.

Darragh. Darragh.

I see him gripping my hands and squeezing as he thrusts into me.

The man is utterly gorgeous, and his sophisticated attitude turns me on. Even if he’s cold to me sometimes. It’s like a challenge and challenges are catnip to me. I remember all the games I played back home for an hour of freedom here and there. I had to shut off who I was when Cormac got abusive. I had to hide my strength to survive. I had nowhere to go.

Now, I feel free and, well, Darragh looks like he needs to get laid.

God, I’m so confused.

I roll onto my side and push off the bed, rules be damned. I assume that massive, gorgeous kitchen has tea bags. I’ll grab a mug of water, stick a bag in, microwave it for two minutes, and haul my ass back up here.

It’s Saturday morning, for crying out loud. No one gets up this early.

Slipping into maternity yoga pants that feel like a dream and an oversized white sweater, I duck out of the guestroom. The entire top floor with all the bedrooms is silent. The gray clouds outside and gentle patter of rain keep the landing shadowed.

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