Page 137 of Savage Hearts
I don’t know if I like it exactly, but it is beautiful, so I stick to the positive. “It’s incredible.”
He leads me through a living room, empty except for a giant black sectional sitting in front of a big-screen TV on the wall. We pass an open space that seems like it’s supposed to be a dining room, but it’s also empty. Then we’re in a kitchen, a vast echoing space of white marble and glass, as sterile as an operating room.
Mal flicks on a light, illuminating the kitchen. It’s so bright, my eyes water. He walks to the stainless steel fridge and opens the freezer door. Inside, dozens of identical boxes of frozen dinners nest side by side. He removes two and tosses them onto the counter.
“Are you hungry?”
Without waiting for an answer, he tears open a box, removes the plastic tray from inside, turns to the microwave above the sink, and pops it open. He sets the timer and closes the door.
When he turns back to me and sees me standing there, looking lost, he abandons the other box he was about to open and comes to me.
Murmuring something in Russian, he wraps his strong arms around me and squeezes.
I whisper, “I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
“I will be.”
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it.”
I do, for several long minutes while he holds me, stroking a hand over my hair, his lips pressed to my temple.
I exhale and close my eyes. With my cheek resting against his chest, I say, “It’s just… weird.”
“Keep going.”
“This place. Those frozen dinners. It’s beautiful, but everything is very cold here.”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
He takes my jaw in his hand, tilts my head up, and kisses me. This is a different kiss than in the elevator. It’s deeper, more emotional, and ten times as hot. I cling to him, trembling, as his tongue sweeps against mine and his mouth turns my body to liquid fire.
When the knock comes on the front door, I jump, gasping. “Easy, baby,” Mal murmurs against my lips. “It’s just Dom with the bags.”
“Dom?”
“The driver.”
“Oh. Okay.”
But when Mal opens the door, it isn’t the driver. It’s a beautiful young brunette, carrying a large black box tied with white ribbon in her arms.
She bows like the men at the elevators did, then says something I can’t hear and holds out the box.
Mal accepts the box without a word and closes the door. He stands with his back turned for several long moments, his shoulders stiff. When he turns to face me, I go cold.
His jaw is set. His eyes are black. His expression is stony. Whatever’s in that box, it isn’t good.
He walks slowly across the apartment until he’s standing in front of me again. Just standing there, holding the box, looking at me like it’s the end of the world.
“What is that?”
“It’s for you.”
