Page 86 of Savage Boss
My mind should be caught up on the fact that Dmitri called me his fiancée—news to me—I barely managed to keep the surprise from my face in the moment. But it’s a truth that has already settled in my bones, a knowledge that this was supposed to happen, would happen, was meant to happen.
Instead, I’m thinking about the fact that Dmitri chose justice and restraint, instead of hate and death. He chose light over darkness, our future over revenge. And he did it for me. I know that because he promised he would.
An intense wave of emotion washes over, so strong it almost makes me dizzy. This man, my dangerous, complex, dark Dmitri, is willing to change the rules of his world for the sake of the life we are building together.
The penthouse is quiet, the lights low, a fire already crackling in the fireplace when we return. I step out of the heels I wore for the council, groaning with the instant relief, then slip out of my coat. I can see Dmitri’s reflection in the windows as he follows me, loosening his tie as he watches.
“That,” I say, turning back to him, “was insane.”
“But effective. They took my message to heart.”
I nod my agreement as he steps closer, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him softly. “That’s an understatement. They looked terrified.”
A satisfied grin curls his lips. “Good.”
“Also, there was another interesting revelation you mentioned.” I let one of my hands wander down his chest, slipping open first one button, then another, the edge of a tattoo peeking out. “I didn’t realize you had asked me to marry you. In all the crazinessof the last week, I must have forgotten you proposed. Or maybe you made a rather bold executive decision, considering you never discussed the subject of the agreement with me.”
Dmitri’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “I consulted the only authority that matters—my intuition. I cannot wait any longer.”
“Well, Mr. Smirnov,” I tease, running a finger up and down his chest. “As your legal counsel, I advise you that a verbal decree from the CEO doesn’t constitute a valid contract. There needs to be an offer, a consideration, and a mutual acceptance.”
“I agree.”
Dmitri’s voice is soft but intense. He pulls away and takes a step back. When he reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a small box, my heart flips.
The ring is not ostentatious, but it is a statement, a sapphire so dark, it looks like a drop of midnight set in platinum. It’s a promise of forever more solid than any treaty.
“For your consideration,” Dmitri says, his voice husky, stripped of thebratvaboss tone from before, leaving only the man I fell in love with. “Clara, my sun, my light, I should have done this the moment you walked into this apartment the first time. I should have done this the moment I realized my life was worthless without you. I shouldn’t have let the ghosts of my past keep me from the best thing in my life.”
He takes my hand in his, his thumb stroking mine.
“I won’t make that mistake again. I don’t want to live a day without you by my side, and I will protect you and our child until my last breath. I will make a future worthy of you—of us. That isthe man I want to be. The man you make me, and the man you deserve.”
His eyes, bright, clear, and utterly earnest, hold mine before he kneels. Thebratvapakhan, the feared Dmitri Smirnov, kneels on the Persian rug in front of me.
“Clara, marry me. Be my wife. Give me the honor of being your husband, the privilege of saying I am yours, and you are mine.”
Tears burn my eyes, blurring the ring and Dmitri’s beautiful face.
“Yes,” I whisper, the single word echoing around us, as Dmitri rises and slides the ring onto my finger. Then he pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head, then my bruised cheek.
“Good, because I would have kept telling everyone you were my future wife until you agreed.”
I laugh while happy tears that feels like a release stream down my face. “I know, and I wouldn’t have let you forget that our needed signing.” I clutch the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, resting my head against the steady, fierce beat of his heart.
When Dmitri kisses me, it feelslike forever, full of love and longing, desire and need, claiming me as much as giving himself—all of himself—to me. He leads me to the bedroom,ourbedroom, and undresses me carefully, just as I do with him, aware of our various hurts and bruises.
We stand there, unclothed, staring at one another, as though neither of us can quite believe we’re here, alive, with each other. We survived.
Dmitri kneels in front of me again, his arms encircling my hips as he places his forehead on the rounding of my belly, whispering sweet Russian promises to our child.
We fall into each other, each of us lost in the other and the pleasure, our bodies and hearts tangled together, moans of passion and desire mingling.
I am here, in the penthouse suite that I accidentally walked into on a night long ago, the penthouse suite of a hotel owned by a Russianpakhan, dangerous, rich, powerful, and lethal. It’s the penthouse suite of a man whom I fell completely in love with, who walked with me through fire, a man whom I have come to love more than anything or anyone, the father of the child growing within me. Despite everything, he is dear to me in every way.
“I love you, Dmitri.” The words come out breathily, uttered between moans and cries. They are words that have never felt more true.
His eyes gleam like ice on a bright snowy night, and I see forever in their blue depths. “And I love you, my Clara. Forever.”
