Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Romanov.”
He sighed. “Da?”
“You do a single damn thing to damage my sister, and you won’t like what happens next.”
The threat wasn’t unexpected, but it was wearisome all the same. Dmitri tsked. “She’s mine now. I think, of the two of us, I’ll be taking better care of her.” He hung up before Aiden could say something truly regrettable.
He’s promised to do what he could to keep the peace, after all.
Dmitri sat back and checked the time. Too soon to try to talk to Keira. She’d retreated after their interaction in the car, and he needed space to figure out how best to approach her going forward. They had to find a way to work with each other, and that wasn’t going to happen if she shut him out every time he said something she didn’t like. It was obvious that he’d injured her pride over the course of their interactions to date, but Dmitri didn’t possess a time machine to go back and change that. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. He’d made the only move available in the moment. Losing his head over Keira O’Malley when she was a complete wild card and beyond his control was not an option.
Losing his head at all wasn’t an option.
I won’t. I might want her, but that changes nothing. I’m still completely in control of the situation.
CHAPTER THREE
Dmitri’s wife was drunk. Again.
He stood in the doorway watching Keira sway around the kitchen island, a bottle in her hand. This is a problem. He’d known she liked to drink, but he’d foolishly assumed she had it under control. There was nothing controlled about the woman in front of him.
She went up on her tiptoes and opened the alcohol cabinet. She set her bottle on the counter with a thunk and grabbed two more, humming under her breath. He couldn’t even enjoy the sight of her here, in his home, because of everything wrong with this picture. Not only was his wife drunk in his kitchen, sourcing more alcohol, but she still wore the same pajamas she’d come into his home with two days ago, and had her hair pulled back into a messy bun that was more bird’s nest than chic.
He’d given her space to settle in, thinking it would be enough.
Dmitri had underestimated Keira once again.
He cleared his throat and she spun unsteadily to face him. Twin red spots appeared on her pale cheeks, but he couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or the alcohol. Dmitri crossed his arms over his chest. “What, exactly, are you doing?”
“You have eyes, Russian. You tell me.” She swiped the open bottle and took a long pull, her gaze never leaving his face. Daring him to do something.
Goddamn it.
“You’re sober, starting now.”
She laughed. “Go fuck yourself. If you think I can survive a marriage to you sober, you’re insane.”
“You’ll have to survive. You don’t have another option.” He stalked toward her. “Put the bottle down.”
“Fat chance of that.” She backed away from him, the fucking bottle firmly in her grasp. He tossed the other two into the trash and made a mental note to have Pavel empty every drop of alcohol in the house. The men wouldn’t like it, but Keira obviously couldn’t be trusted.
“The bottle, Keira. Don’t make me chase you.”
“You’d like that too much.” She sneered, but there was no heat in it. Instead, fear lurked in the depths of her eyes. Apparently the thought of being sober terrified her.
He could make several guesses as to why, but the why didn’t matter. Alcohol was a crutch. It might prop her up at the moment, but it was a weapon that could be used against her—against both of them—just as easily. That was the only reason he needed her sober. She was a goddamn liability in her current state.
Dmitri darted forward, fully intending to grab the vodka out of her hands, but his sudden move startled her and she stumbled over her own feet in her attempt to get away from him. Keira toppled, and he only barely managed to grab her before she bashed her head on the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She was completely limp in his arms, her head lolling against his bicep as she tried to look at him. “Maybe because you’re the enemy and you basically only mostly kidnapped me and have locked me in your house-slash-tower and if I think about it too hard, the walls start closing in.”
She was totally and completely wasted. “Keira—”
“Shh.” She pressed her hand to his mouth, covering the lower half of his face. “I know I came with you. I don’t need you driving home that point every single time we talk. I get it. That doesn’t mean I like it.” She closed her eyes and, for all intents and purposes, passed out cold.