Page 73 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
As soon as I hear that first feral growl leave his throat, I’m transfixed. Thick muscles coil tightly, abs dipping and rolling with each strained move. His head falls back, the corded sinews of his neck popping out. And then everything relaxes, and a groan slips past his lips. His eyes snap to mine, holding my gaze the entire time. It’s intense and mind-blowing and perfect. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
His forehead touches mine, ragged breaths falling over my face as his chest presses to mine.
“I love you,” I say between hard breaths, kissing him.
“Ah, Malyshka.” He smiles against my mouth and strokes his thumb over the back of my neck. “There is no combination of twenty-six letters that could ever describe what you mean to me.”
It might be wrong to love a man who took my father from me, but circumstance threw us together. Fate nearly tore us apart, and tragedy ultimately brought us here. He’s a monster, but he’s my monster. Neither of us asked for any of this, but I need him. As much loss as I’ve endured, he gives me hope for the future.
Epilogue
Two months later
New York at Christmas is like something out of a fairy tale. I tug my coat tighter around me as my boots crunch over the snow. We pass between two skyscrapers and onto a plaza with the biggest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen. Sasha glares into the crowds of people as though he might kill them all at any moment.
Rolling my eyes, I take his hand. “Come on, psycho.”
“This is not safe,” he says.
“Sasha, what do you think is going to happen?”
He looks at me blankly as though he could reel off a hundred possibilities right there.
“I just want to ice skate like I did with my father.” This right here, is one of the fondest memories I have with Gabi and Daddy, ice skating in front of the Rockefeller tree.
Sasha’s stern glare softens to just mild disapproval. “Emotional manipulation does not work on me,” he says.
I smile and close the distance between us, grabbing the front of his jacket as I push up on tiptoes. “No?” I press my chilled lips to his. “How about now?”
He cocks a brow. “No. You’re freezing.” He tugs me closer, wrapping both arms around me. He’s wearing a thin jacket and a wool hat, that’s it. No gloves, no scarf.
“How are you not cold?”
He smirks. “Russia is much colder than this.”
I shiver just thinking about it. I’m used to long, hot summers and mild winters. Sunshine and ocean winds and the scent of orange and lemon groves. I realize what Sasha has given up for me, to be with me.
“Do you miss it?” I ask.
“What?”
“Russia, here, your home, the cold, your family…”
He sweeps a strand of hair back beneath my hat. “Malyshka, you are my home, and you are my family.”
My heart hiccups pathetically. “Una must miss you.”
“Una has her own life. I didn’t know how to live outside The Elite. And then…I didn’t know how to live outside of her. I was a part of her life, but I didn’t have my own. I never wanted my own. Until you.” His eyes go distant. “I miss her as any brother would miss a sister, but I’d never come back here. Our life is…”
“Good?”
A tiny smile breaks through that hard exterior. “Better than good. Now, you ice skate. I’m going to walk the perimeter—”
“No.” I snatch his hand and drag him toward the rink. “You are not. You’re skating with me.”
“I do not indulge in such things.” He switches from a romantic to an icy soldier in a heartbeat.
I don’t know why he argues with me. I always win.
I expect him to be wobbly, legs in every direction, but of course, he’s perfectly balanced, graceful even, if I ignore the scowl on his face. He holds my hand, keeping me upright when my legs waver.
“Smile, Sasha. Embrace a touch of normal.”
“This is normal?”
“Yes, look around you.”
His scowl only deepens. “I don’t like normal.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, five more minutes and we’ll go back to your sister’s house of psychopaths.”
By the time we reach the Hamptons house, it’s getting dark. Snow clings to the once-green lawns, and the house sits amongst the winter wonderland like an image from a postcard. The driveway is crowded with cars, and as we step through the front door, I realize why. Even from here, I can hear the laughter and chatter coming from farther inside. This house feels so familiar to me, almost as much as my own home. I follow Sasha until he pauses in the living room doorway.
As soon as he steps inside, Una’s attention is on him. She doesn’t smile, that would be too warm and mushy, of course. But she does push to her feet and cross the room to him.
