Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“Spasibo,” she thanks them in Russian when they finish.
I hide my surprise. Crafty lawyer. Of course she’s already teaching herself Russian. My beautiful prisoner is not going to sit back and play Rapunzel for me. She’s gathering her resources and plotting her escape.
The thought makes me smile.
I do so love an able adversary.
Especially one as beautiful as she.
“It’s good you are learning Russian,” I tell her when the men leave. “Otherwise, our son and I will be able to talk about you behind your back.”
She blinks. I’m sure my presentation of the idea of the three of us functioning as a family comes as a shock. Honestly, it surprises me as well, in a decidedly pleasant way. The image of me and our son stopping in at Lucy’s prestigious law firm, our small boy carrying the flower I bought for him to give to her as a surprise flits through my brain. I don’t have any idea why I would’ve manufactured such a fantasy, yet its appeal is real.
Right now, she’s putting on that strong-as-nails courtroom persona. She brings her hands to her hips and draws herself up. I get the feeling she misses wearing the four-inch heels.
“Ravil, this is insane. I will go nuts locked in this room. You want me healthy and calm for our baby? It won’t happen with me confined in here. No matter how beautiful the view.” She gestures to the window.
I tilt my head toward the door. “I didn’t say you cannot leave the room although I will use that as punishment if you misbehave.”
She narrows her eyes. “So what’s with the giant outside the door?”
“If you do leave the room, you will be accompanied by me. Any ventures out will be at my discretion.”
Her lips press together.
I put my hands in my pockets. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
She glances out the window. “Outside?”
“Yes.”
She nods. “Yes.”
I’m tempted to correct her. To make her call me Master, but she’s already pissed off. It wouldn’t go over well now. It may not ever go over again despite her interest in being dominated sexually.
She goes to the closet and slips on the pair of sneakers I packed for her. When she sails past me out through the bedroom door, I let her, dismissing Oleg from his post and following her to the front door.
She hesitates at the doorway, perhaps remembering I stopped her there last night. I reach past and open the door for her, settling my palm on her lower back. “Let’s go, beautiful.”
She slides a sidelong glance my way and steps into the hallway then into the elevator with me.
Downstairs, I stop at the doorman’s desk to introduce her to Maykl. “Lucy, this is Maykl, the doorman and a member of our cell.” In Russian, I say to him, “And this is Lucy, the beautiful mother of my child. Do not allow her to leave here without me at any time. She is my captive. Understand?” I’ve already told him this, but it doesn’t hurt to say it again.
“Understood.” He bows his head with respect. To Lucy, he says in Russian, “Nice to meet you, captive.”
Her gaze drops to his knuckles where he bears a tattoo then up to his face. “Zdravstvuyte.” She greets him in Russian—her accent not half bad considering she probably just started learning today.
His face splits into a grin. “Zdravstvuyte.”
“Come.” A possessive streak flushes through me. I take her hand and lead her out.
“Are we holding hands now?” Her hand is limp in mine.
“Yes. Unless you prefer I handcuff us together?”
She shoots a glance at me as if to check if I’m serious. I’m not, but I don’t smile to let on.
Her hand takes shape, conforming to my palm, holding mine back. It’s a pleasant feeling. I lace our fingers together, instead, and lead her out toward the lake.
It’s a warm summer morning—not too hot yet, especially with the wind off the lake. I lead her to the walking path along the shore. It’s clogged with people out enjoying the gorgeous day. Children running through the sand, shrieking and laughing, people on bicycles, on skateboards, with dogs. A young mother walks by pushing an empty stroller, a fat kicking baby strapped to her chest. He reaches a chubby finger out to point at Lucy, and she stops, smiling at him.
Not a serene smile, but the giant, uncensored smile reserved for babies. The kind that lights up your whole face and makes the birds sing.
My knees go weak at the sight of it on her. I’ve never seen that level of joy on her—not that it isn’t manufactured. But still. It makes me suddenly want to earn that smile myself. It makes me yearn to see her playing with our baby. Holding him in her arms. Or strapped to her chest like the young mother who laughs and coos to her child as she walks away, giving Lucy her own smile back.