Chapter Forty-Five
Angelika
–three years later
“Let me help you with that,” Lyosha says, taking a huge platter of shrimp cocktail from my hands.
Thank God. I shoot him a grateful smile. The smell coming from the shrimp cocktail seems just awful. Tolyan said it was fine, and the dogs are taking a great interest in the proceedings. So I know it’s just me.
And I’m probably not going to have a bite of it, even though I love shrimp cocktail. It’s unfair, but what can I do? Ever since our first-anniversary getaway to the most gorgeous beach in Mexico, my stomach’s been weird. Maybe I ate something that disagreed with me there. But how can it last for six weeks? It’s like some slow-acting stomach bug.
Lyosha sets the table, while I stand with the loyal Tchaikovsky, Mussorgsky and Stravinsky, their muzzles beginning to go gray now. Lyosha’s home for a week in the summer before he has to go back to an internship. He’s getting his law degree from Harvard. The kid’s smart. I’m proud of him. And I’m so glad he’s taken Tolyan and my marriage well.
He told me he’s fine with anything that makes his dad happy. “The ol’ man deserves a little joy after raising me by himself, you know?”
We sit at the table for a late lunch. I go for a mild cheese and potato soup, since my stomach can’t seem to handle anything else.
But something about the way it smells sends the acid surging up. I cover my mouth with my hand, doing my best not to ruin the meal, and rush to the bathroom. The gentle scent of the lavender soap calms me down.
“Are you all right?” Tolyan says from the other side of the door.
“I’m fine.” I rinse my mouth and come out.
Tolyan isn’t the only one standing there. It’s Lyosha and the dogs, too.
Lyosha’s studying me carefully. “Are you pregnant?”
“What?” I say, my mind going blank.
Tolyan gives him a piercing look.
“I’m not saying you are, but you know. There’s a girl in my class who recently got pregnant, and she’s the same way. Can’t handle the smell of coffee now, so none of us bring any to the lectures.”
Now that I think about it, I haven’t had my period since Tolyan and I came back from our trip. I didn’t realize because I was too worried and annoyed with my stomach issues.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“Congrats!” Lyosha grins. “Guess I’m going to be a big brother.”
Tolyan looks at me like he just got slapped. Then he wraps his arms around me tenderly, a hand over my still-flat belly. “A baby. Ours.”
I nod, grinning at him. “I should check to be sure, but…”
He hugs me tightly. Lyosha leads the dogs away with a small smile and a wave.
“Are you happy?” Tolyan asks.
“Yes.” I look up at him and see his eyes shine. “You?”
“Couldn’t be happier. You are the greatest blessing of my life.”
“And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
——
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About The Billionaire’s Claim: Obsession
Elizabeth Pryce-Reed.
An angel. A virgin. My first love.
I fell for her hard and fast ten years ago...and paid the price on a night of shattering betrayal.
So I built a billion-dollar empire out of vengeance...
And now I’m coming for her.
Excerpt
Dominic
A fifth of a second.
Apparently that’s all it takes to fall in love with someone, according to some overpaid researchers.
I don’t buy it, even though my professor failed to appreciate my skepticism. I considered asking why she was still single if that was true, but I need to maintain a good GPA to keep my scholarships, so I kept my mouth shut.
Four hours later and working at a bar near UCLA, I still don’t buy the bullshit. I’d bet the night’s tip ninety-nine percent of the young couples in the bar knew each other for a while before deciding to hook up, unless it’s a one-night-stand deal.
I wipe the counter in front of me, picking up crumpled bills. A fair number of undergraduate and graduate students drink at the bar, and most tip decently. I like working here because the owner’s cool and flexible.
“I have a kid of my own in college,” he said. “Berkeley.” He beamed proudly. “I’m treating you kids the way I want mine treated.”
The door to the bar opens, and a green-eyed brunette walks in. She’s pretty, but nothing extraordinary. This is L.A. Girls that cute are a dime a dozen, no matter how expertly she flips her hair over her shoulder. The only thing that stands out about her is the expensive designer clothes and shoes.
Another girl follows—obviously the brunette’s friend. Now she’s gorgeous—bright red hair and sharp eyes set in a classically beautiful face. A skintight black dress hugs her, and knee-high boots with stiletto heels elongate her legs.
If the researchers were right, I would fall in love. Like, this instant.
But I feel nothing except male appreciation for a fine-looking female. Would it be nice to get to know her a bit, maybe buy her a drink? Sure. Things might progress from there.
But that isn’t love. No.
The brunette mutters something to someone for a moment, and then, before the door shuts, pulls a blonde in, causing her lustrous golden hair to tumble over her face and shoulders in big, loose waves.
Sudden heat lances through me. I suck in a breath, as though the fresh air could cool the flame.
The blonde has the kind of body that could resuscitate a medieval saint. A fitted red shirt stretches across full breasts, then stops an inch above a yellow belt, showing a bit of her taut stomach and a sweet little belly button I’d love to lick on my way south. A dark leather skirt molds to her gently flaring hips and rounded ass, and her long, shapely legs end in a pair of strappy silver sandals.
Saying something to the brunette I can’t make out from this distance, the blonde shoves a hand into her hair, pushing it back from her face.
Jesus. God must’ve been in love when he made her.
She has a face to match the body. Clear, flawless skin covers delicately carved cheekbones and a small, straight nose. Her lips are soft and full, as lusciously red as a bing cherry. Then she turns her head and looks me straight in the eyes.
My brain quits. The air inside my lungs stills. Time seems to stop, then stretch, like a slow-mo segment from a movie.
Her gaze is mesmerizing, elevating her from gorgeous to irresistible. Long, thick lashes frame her large eyes, which are the color of a winter storm. There’s a sharp intellect and a hint of steel behind them. The makeup around them is in the style my younger sister calls “smoky.” On some it looks ridiculous, like the woman’s face got too greasy or sweaty. But on her it’s electric hot, turning her eyes so dark and enthralling that I feel like I could dive into her soul through them.