pound of his fist.
This time, the dishes bounced off the counter and fell to the floor. Nothing broke, but the delicious, amazing food she’d spent forever preparing was ruined. Vika peered down at the mix of yellow, green, and orange and despaired. Not only would Solo not discover what an excellent cook she probably was, he now needed a lesson about his temper.
“That kind of outburst won’t be tolerated,” she said sternly. “I dealt with that kind of thing all of my life, and I know you would never hurt me, but I won’t let you talk to me that way. I won’t have that kind of relationship with you.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, but she tore out of his grip. Head held high, she turned and marched away.
Twenty-nine
SOLO CLEANED UP THE kitchen, a bit sick to his stomach. He’d allowed anger to get the better of him, and he’d hurt his woman’s feelings, perhaps even frightened her. With her past, he’d known better. Had known to be careful.
He was ashamed. He’d just . . . he’d been so scared for her. She’d entered the harsh cold and, unaware that one wrong step could shock her or kill her, she’d done it to approach a wild, injured beast. Did she have no sense? Could she not understand that Solo didn’t want to live without her?
He stilled.
He didn’t want to live without her.
He played the words through his mind again and again, and realized they were true. He wanted her with him now, always, and forever. He didn’t just want to keep her, either. He wanted to
And he didn’t want to change her. Taking care of others was in her nature. She couldn’t look at the sick and hurting and not desire to help, and that was a beautiful quality to have, one that had drawn him to her, one that had captivated him, enchanted him.
He never should have yelled at her, reminding her of her father, and he definitely owed her an apology.
He searched the house and found her in the bedroom. She was removing the jewelry from her bag, placing what seemed to be thousands of necklaces, bracelets, and rings on the bed. The only other thing she’d brought, besides the items X had requested, were disposable cameras.
“I’m sorry.”
Vika stilled, her wide purple gaze swinging to him.
Without a word, he swiped up a camera and then Vika herself. She offered no protest. He settled in the chair across from the bed, and directed her body like a master with his puppet, forcing her to sit on his lap.
Even though she was angry with him, utter contentment flooded Solo. Who would have ever believed someone trapped by such hideous circumstances could find such bliss? A woman as lovely as this one. Pleasure beyond imagining. Laughter. Sharing. Acceptance.
The loss of his hearing, in short bursts or forever, truly was a pleasure for him to bear. Vika was taken care of. She was with him, his to protect and cherish. He would have to quit his job, of course, but then, he’d planned to do so anyway. He had warred all his life. Now it was time to rest. To enjoy the life he’d been given.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I won’t do it again, you have my word. My only excuse is that I was scared, thinking of you out there, hurt and bleeding, and I was completely unaware, unable to help if you needed me.”
A moment passed. She ducked her head.
He felt the vibration of her words and had to interject, “I need to see you to understand you, sweetheart,” stopping her.
Her hair swished around her shoulders as she straightened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was telling you that I just couldn’t leave the tiger to his suffering.”
It was odd, knowing she was speaking, watching her mouth move, yet hearing nothing. It was odder still, knowing
Her eyelids flipped up, revealing those plum eyes he found so irresistible. Interesting. This time, they’d only switched ears, not eyes. “Of course.”
Again, she offered her forgiveness so easily. Another quality he had never been able to resist.
She reached out and twisted the collar of his T-shirt. “So what do you want with the camera? Why’d you grab it?”
“Maybe I wished to take naughty photos of you.”
“In that case . . .” Grinning, she grabbed the camera from his hand and held it in the air. “What are you willing to do for it?”
“Anything,” he said, utterly serious.
“Anything?” A carefree laugh. “You vow it?”
“I do.” An open bargain. Something he’d never before made. Something he would never make with anyone else.
She planted a loud, smacking kiss on his lips before she relinquished control of the camera.
“And what is it you’re going to want?” he asked, not the least bit concerned.
“We’ll start with three more wishes.”
She ignored him, saying, “I’ll make a list and let you know everything you’ll be doing for me.”
“Expect to be riveted.”
Okay. He grinned.
“Let’s take a look at these photos before I toss you on that bed.” He pressed the buttons on the disposable and discovered pictures of little Vika, no more than five years old. In each of the photos she was grinning so widely she was all teeth. Her hair was brushed to a glossy shine and hanging in pigtails at her ears. In one, she was in the middle of a twirl. In another, she was holding a large sequined bra up to her tiny chest. In yet another, she was pressed up against an older version of herself, and the two were blowing kisses to the camera with chocolate smeared all over their faces.
“You have an addiction to chocolate, I think,” he said, a pang in his chest.
“Only a small one. I can go through an entire five-minute span without thinking about or craving a piece.”
He would buy her a chocolate factory, then. She could swim in the stuff, if she so desired.
“And who is the other woman?” he asked, already suspecting the answer.
“My mother,” she said wistfully. “She was flighty and emotional, but I loved her.”
“I’m sorry you lost her.”
“Me too.”
The loss of someone you loved could leave a big gaping hole in your chest. One you feared would never be filled. That was how he’d felt about his parents, and yet this woman had filled him in such a way that he doubted he could ever be hollowed again. He would carry the memory of her forever.
He couldn’t let her be hurt.
