When we entered through the front door, it was clear the electricity had been turned off. No lights. No water. And the worst: no A/C. The house radiated heat beneath the hot summer sun.
I grabbed a water bottle from my bag and poured a bowl for Khaos. Panting, he plopped down on the cool stone floor, not used to the high Miami temperatures.
Finding a cardboard box, I dumped out the paperwork inside and filled it with everything I wanted to keep. When I was finished, I came down the stairs and told Khaos, “Come on. You can take a dip in the bay to cool down.”
As if he understood the words, he jumped up, tail wagging.
Jostling the box in my hands to open the door, I mused aloud, “Maybe we should move up north where it’s cooler. What about New York?”
Khaos didn’t look impressed.
“Chicago?” I asked him while shutting the door behind us. “Or Aspen?”
“What about Moscow?” The familiar Russian accent slid down my spine and shook the beat of my heart.
The box slipped from my fingers. The items inside fell out onto the pavement, but I could only focus on the presence behind me. My pulse pounded in my throat. It couldn’t be him—not here in The Moorings, where I stared across the bay toward Russia dreaming of something I hadn’t yet known existed.
Breathless, I turned around.
Ronan stood in front of a black car parked at the curb. Dressed in Oxxford. Hands in his pockets. His hair gleamed blue beneath the Miami sun, though the light didn’t touch his eyes fringed by dark lashes. They called him D’yavol, but there could be a halo above his head for as perfect as he looked to me right now.
Waves washed against the rocks, but the sound wasn’t lonely . . . not with this man on the same side of the Atlantic. Those cartoon hearts coalesced into one and burst from my chest.
I didn’t even think.
I ran across the yard and jumped into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. He had to take a step back to keep his balance.
He chuckled roughly. “I wasn’t expecting this response. I even rehearsed and everything.”
I pressed my face into his neck, my entire body shaking. He felt so right, so warm, so comforting, the backs of my eyes burned. Tears streamed down my cheeks, the contentment in my chest blowing up like a balloon.
“Fuck,” he rasped, his hand trembling when he slid it into my hair and cradled the back of my head. “Ya skuchal po tebe.” I missed you.
“Ya tozhe skuchala po tebe,” I breathed through tears before pulling back to see his face. I missed you too.
“Your Russian has gotten better.”
“I’ve been studying.” Hoping. Dreaming.
He wiped away a few tears while I clung to him, refusing to ever let go.
“That’ll help,” he said coarsely.
“Why?” I asked, my tears abating.
“Because you’re coming home with me.”
I raised a brow. “As your captive?”
That villainous look so akin to him touched his eyes, and then he said three words that stopped my heart dead in its tracks.
“Kak moya zhena.” As my wife.
I stared at him for multiple seconds as a combustion of thoughts and feelings overwhelmed me. I slid down his body to reach solid ground and took a step back to think, looking everywhere but at Ronan. Albert sat in the driver’s seat of the car. I wondered if he knew his boss had lost his mind. Khaos nudged the side of my leg as he sat beside me, giving Ronan a distrusting expression.
“Wow,” I finally managed, pulling my gaze back to Ronan’s. “That’s a massive leap. Usually, it goes captive, servant, despised acquaintance, seduced lover—”
“Those all sound great,” he cut me off, “but I’ve had four months”—his eyes darkened as if the time had been worse than prison—“to think about this, and I know what I want.”
“And you want a wife,” I said slowly.
“I could buy a wife from a catalog if I wanted to,” he returned harshly. “I want you. And if I can’t have you as my captive, I want the next best thing.”
A laugh lifted in my throat because . . . well, this was not how I thought I’d get proposed to. Though it was sure beating the proposal I knew Carter would have come up with.
“Which is a wife,” I said as if I understood his frame of mind.
“Da. There are legal ties involved.”
“Ah. I get it now.” I laughed. “So as this theoretical wife of yours, do I get to move freely around the house?”
His eyes narrowed. “There’s no ‘theoretical’ about it.”
“Okay, but I want to know how this would work. Do I get to watch TV, or do I have to ask you first?”
He chuckled. “Obviously, you have some trauma you need to sort out.”
“Blame yourself for that,” I returned, then I swallowed. “I don’t know about this though . . . It’s crazy, Ronan.”
He gripped my throat and tipped my head up to meet my eyes. “Ty svela menya s uma. I teper tebye nuzhno razbiratsa s posledstviyami.” You made me crazy. And now you have to deal with the consequences.
He was using the excuse I had once before, so I couldn’t even complain. I loved hearing Russian from his lips so much it melted my insides, but I couldn’t be distracted right now. I needed to think.
“English.”
“Nyet. I can’t say this in English.” His gaze flickered with conflict, like this wasn’t easy for him to vocalize.
“Say what?”
The fire, the turmoil, the truth in his eyes—it told me everything, and my heart floated in my chest.
I ran my thumb across the scar on his bottom lip. “Ya lyublyu tebya . . . Those words?” Then I realized he’d probably never said them. I’d even bet he’d never heard them either. The knowledge constricted my chest.
“Ya lyublyu tebya,” I said softly. “So much.”
His grip on my throat tightened possessively while my caress across his lips grew softer. I didn’t need the words from him. I didn’t want to make him feel as if he had to say something he wasn’t comfortable with.
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to—”
“Fuck, woman.” He pulled me in to kiss me deeply—just to shut me up, I think. Still, I sighed into his mouth, heat washing to my toes. I went in for more, but he pulled back and skimmed his lips across mine. “Ya lyublyu tebya. Tak sil’no chto ne mogu dumat’ kogda ty daleko ot menya.” I love you. So much I can’t think when you’re away from me.
Months ago, I didn’t believe in suspicions. Yet so much had convinced me otherwise. Maybe I was wrong about happily ever afters too. Maybe they really did exist. Just not with a shining knight in armor, but with the villain.
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I brushed my lips against his. “Yes.”
He tilted my head back to see my eyes. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’ll be your wife.”
He groaned in satisfaction and kissed me so deeply he stole my breath. I was burning up on the lawn, and it wasn’t from the Miami heat. I pulled back breathlessly to say, “But I have some conditions.”
Slightly amused, he waited for me to continue.