Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Can we enjoy V-Day?” Zariah’s nails traced the fabric of my sweats. “Make a weekend of it while you wait for a lead on Hospital Guy? Jump back on the we-ride-or-die-for-our-daughter movement on Monday? We’re alone, Vassili. Vassilievich is in his first year of college, doing God knows what.”
I tossed the towel aside, jaw tightened. “Guess Natasha’s location.” My Russian tone thickened with suspicion. “It’s Friday night. Men like Lachlan—” I spat the name. “Sportsmen screw everything with legs on the weekend.”
“She’s enjoying her Friday, okay?” Zariah shoved at my slick chest with a mock scowl. “Not this again, Vassili. Lachlan didn’t do some shock-and-awe gesture after her nonprofit gala.”
“Ah. He cheated?” My lip curled, teeth flashing. “Da. The Dodger cheated. Right after Cutie Pie’s birthday. He got his act together. Now, she’s a weakling.”
“Speculation!” Zariah jabbed a manicured finger into my chest, fire flashing in her dark eyes. “They. Are. Happy. Be happy for them. Better yet? Make your wife happy. Please spare this Valentine’s from being worse than Rio de Janeiro.”
“What?” I folded my massive arms, sweat gleaming across rigid muscles. “You tell me you want to go on vacations together, then you badmouth Rio?”
She rolled her eyes. “That was a title UFC fight. I nursed you back to health. Didn’t see any sights. You had a concussion. Three broken ribs. Lips bigger than mine.”
“Two broken ribs. And you act like I was in a body cast. You got to hop on. Best tour of your life!”
“Ewww…” She laughed, pushing me away.
I caught her wrists, kissed the inside of them, slow enough that she shivered. Her teasing protest melted into a sigh my mouth stole, claiming her mouth in a kiss and the gasp that went along with it.
“Two ribs,” I groaned against her neck, nipping and tasting her skin. “Not three. Don’t extend my list of injuries.”
My wife tried to pull away, the curve of her lips betraying her. “You’re impossible, Vassili.”
“And yet,” I growled, lips finding hers, “you’re still here.”
Her laugh broke into a breathy gasp when I kissed her harder, the kind that erased our disagreements, everything but us. She pressed against me, fingers slipping over the sweat on my back, drawing me closer as if the heat between us wasn’t already climbing.
“Best Valentine’s,” I murmured against her heart, voice thick, “is right here.”
12
NATASHA
Valentine’s Day
The chilly February air held a bite, though not a match to the warmth blooming in my chest. Lachlan had given me the key to his apartment—his actual apartment—yesterday afternoon, before Simona and I headed to dinner. The act stuttered my heart.
As it did now in a red low-plunge, bodycon pantsuit that clung to my skin. I slipped the key into the lock and stepped into his spacious, modern open-plan living area. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching the polished surfaces and casting a golden glow across the massive, deep lounger sofa. The same one we tried to watch movies on, emphasis on tried.
Spotless countertops, state-of-the-art appliances. Curiosity tugged me past it. I’d visited many times before, but tonight felt different. So, maybe I peeked into every room I stumbled upon. And maybe, I stopped inside his bedroom.
It was all him. Masculine, large yet minimal. A dark, plush comforter sprawled across a Cal-King bed. A framed photo sat on the nightstand. Young Lach beamed, little league trophy in hand. I picked it up, a laugh escaping me as I traced his confident smile. The sight of our babies flashed in my mind. My dimples. His eyes.
Buzz.
LACH: Almost there. Traffic’s a nightmare. I put away an Instacart earlier. Did I miss any ingredients?
ME: All good. Chopping veggies
Total lie. Just then, I discovered his en suite. Sleek tile. Glass walls. A double vanity, in which one side needed more love, and his … cologne. The scent reached me before I touched the bottle—cedar, mint, heat. Yeah, I’d memorized the scent of him.
I sprayed just a little on my wrist and let the scent bloom.
Legs, officially useless, I searched the gilded bottle for a name and let the Greek brand imprint on my mind. I was definitely buying a bottle. A spritz before sleep might chase the nightmares away.
Another text chimed in my pantsuit pocket. I reached into the tight, stretch material and fished it out.
LACH: Don’t work too hard, babe. This is a joint effort.
I tapped on a smiley face when a deep voice startled me.
“For someone just chopping veggies, you’re nowhere near the kitchen, Tash.”
Bottle tight in my hand, I spun.
Lachlan stood at the doorway, a lazy grin on his face. The brim of his Dodgers cap brought attention to those warm, turquoise pools. Those eyes. He gripped his leather jacket. That sexy smile didn’t help my heartbeat situation.
I blushed. “You got me.”
He pushed off the doorframe, stepped forward, took the cologne from my fingers, and placed it on the counter. He brushed a soft kiss against my forehead. Hunger rang loud in his whisper. “I can’t wait to really have you.”