Page 11 of Jewel of the Assassin
“You must be famished,” myhusbandsays before barking an order to someone in the hall. My breath hitches when he touches his thumb to my chin. “Name anything, and I will have it made for you.”
Rendered speechless, I stare at his eyes. Don’t melt. Don’t melt.
“Um…” my voice cracks, hoarse and strained with emotion. I blink up at Roman. Fuck his sculpted cheekbones and rugged but chiseled square jawline.
He has no business looking this devilishly handsome. So fucking lickable, it’s criminal. While my sense of reason might rebel, my traitorous lady parts scream, “We’re not worthy!”
I tighten my fingers around the blanket, anchoring myself as he observes me, calm and expectant. “What do you want for breakfast, Koroleva?”
I don’t know the word. But I like it. It rolls off his tongue in a seamless Russian brogue that sends shivers up my spine and heatsurging south. Exhaling, I confess, “I…I don’t know.” I search his face, trying to piece together a life, a memory I don’t remember. “What do I usually have?”
His lips curve slightly, as if indulging a private joke. “Whatever you desire.”
Something stubborn rises in me. If thisismy life—ifheis my husband—then surely, I must eat like a queen. “I want black sturgeon caviar on warm, butteredblini,” I say, testing him. “With the kind of sour cream that comes from cows that probably live better than most people. Andsirnikiwith a drizzle of golden honey. Oh, and a cup ofkopi luwak—since I assume my tastes are as expensive as this estate.”
I lock eyes with him, not breaking. Roman’s green eyes glitter with amusement as he leans in. “Of course. Only the finest for mywife.”
He gets up to inform the staff outside. Fuck. I’d hoped he would respond like he was rising to the challenge. Instead, he responded like a husband, a ruler—self-assured and confident in his dominion. I say the word. He follows. But it’s clear he holds the stringsandthe answers.
Did I grow up with the finest food? Or was it a special occasion? What other things do I enjoy?
“Are you warm enough, maya Valya?” His voice cuts through my thoughts as he lingers beside the bed, his shadow falling over me.
I part my lips, eyeing him quizzically. “Why? If I weren’t, what alternative would you use to warm me up, myhusband?” A dark playfulness rises in me. I like seeing his response.
He taps his jaw, the vein in his marble pillar of a neck throbbing. “I could be a gentleman,” —‘gent-yl-mehn’ in his accent—“and offer you a heated blanket or turn up the temperature…”
“You don’t strike me as the gentle type.” I meet his gaze with a sultry-feeling smile.
“I am not.” His green eyes turn to heated jewels, kindling all my senses. “I would prefer you to remain cold, Moya Koroleva…if itmeans I am treated to the shape of your lovely nipples peaking through the silk you wear.”
A flush swells over me, and the devil knows it. He tilts his head with a subtle smirk. My nipples seem to bud all the more under his livid gaze. If I’m his wife, then it must mean we’ve…
I resist the urge to touch between my legs. All I know is the very thought of something, of someone inside me, it’s unfathomable. And yet, one more glance at him has heat and hunger swelling like my body is preparing. Fuck that. Not till I get answers…and the delicious meal.
Tossing my hair over one shoulder, I cross my arms over my chest and stick my nose up. “Maybe my nipples are none of your business.”
His entire body tenses. My breath hitches. But even as he advances closer, drowning me in his body heat while searing me with those emerald eyes, I don’t shrink. I can barely breathe. When Roman lowers his upper body until his hands flatten on the blankets, effectively caging me in and casting his masculine musk all around me, my senses riot. Gooseflesh erupts on my skin.
I still don’t flinch as he tips his brow to mine, his lips and breath an inch from mine.
Somehow, I find my voice. “Do you enjoy bulldozing my air supply? Or do you just have personal space issues?”
Something dark rumbles in his throat, and my mouth goes dry. “Are you saying I take your breath away, Valya?” God, he smells delicious—leather, vetiver, and hints of dark woods.
Going for broke, I arch my neck, careless if my lips brush his. “Careful,” I warn in an erotic but brattish voice. “You might choke on it.”
“Or I’ll suffocate you with my charm.”
Fuuuck. He cocks his head with a dastardly smirk. He’s baiting me.
“More like your giant ego,” I fire back, but it’s weaker, and it takes all my strength not to squirm.
“Ego implies exaggeration. What I have is simply reality.” Hewinks. “And to circle back…everything about you, Valentina Makarova, is my goddamnbusiness.”
The moment he pulls away, my lungs can function again, though my cheeks have turned bright red. He still hasn’t lost that knowing simper that sends a chill up my spine. What will happen after the meal? I touch my head again, wondering when the pounding will stop.
Roman stiffens. “I’ll call for the doctor and an increase to your pain medication.”
