“Restraint is one skill we will both have to learn,” he says hoarsely.
“I know.” I nuzzle the back of his neck even as my fingers obediently withdraw. “Just know that I find you trying to be super dad incredibly sexy. I wish to do all sorts of naughty things to you when little ears are finally asleep.”
“Oh?” He turns to face me, an eyebrow raised. I shiver as he draws me close, letting my body mold against his. “What kinds of things?”
“Well…” I stand on tiptoe and murmur a list of sordid, X-rated options into his ear. “And that’s to start.”
“You are insatiable.” He runs his fingers down my back as his eyes lower to mine. “And patient. And… I couldn’t do this without you.”
A part of me despairs at the fact that he actually seems to mean it. “Yes, you could,” I argue. It’s the truth. “She’s resistant to you, but that’s because you’re both so alike. In no time, you’ll have her madly in love with you. Just like—” I manage to physically stop myself from saying more by slamming my hand over my mouth.
His eyes narrow, and he snatches the fingers in question, drawing them away. Something between us shifts from sizzling lust to a smoldering heat I feel deep in my core.
“Madly in love,” he says as if tasting the words for the very first time. “Like?”
“Sir!”
We break apart as Ena storms into the kitchen, his expression sterner than ever. “Visitor,” he says to Vadim. “Mr. Hood. I let him in?”
I look at Vadim in awe as he seems to physically bite back a groan. Finally, he nods. “Yes. Let him in.”
Ena races off, and Vadim turns to me, cradling my cheek against his palm before I can pull away.
“Check on Magda for me?”
“Okay,” I concede without prying as to who this mysterious visitor might be. I can’t resist placing a soft kiss along his jaw—just one.
Upstairs, I find the door to Magda’s room ajar. True to her insistence on the fact, she isn’t a baby, more than capable of getting herself ready for bed. She’s already dressed in a pair of pajamas, her damp curls hanging down her shoulders as she moves about her room, dragging It by his floppy, reattached head. When she spots me staring, she eyes me without comment, glancing me up and down with a flick of her unnerving eyes.
“Goodnight,” I say, closing the door behind me as I reenter the hall.
“Wait.”
I return to find her rummaging through an end table for an object that she marches toward me and offers up without a word. A worn, wooden hairbrush.
Like a princess used to dolling out commands, she sits on her bed with her back to me.
“Braids?” I suggest as I dutifully approach her and smooth my fingers through her thick ringlets. Gosh, her hair is every bit as beautiful as her father’s. I brush through it all gently and arrange two plaits when she doesn’t offer up a complaint either way.
As soon as I finish the final braid, she lurches to her feet and snatches the brush. Then she climbs under the blankets, tucking It under her arm.
“Goodnight,” I murmur as I escape this time without a word from her.
A small smile shapes my mouth as I return downstairs. Before I remember that, I shouldn’t be doing things like tucking my one-night-too-many-stand’s daughter into bed. If anything, I should be putting distance between us.
And her father.
The man whose voice alone makes me quiver, even now as he speaks to someone else, his tone low and strained. “…I didn’t know until two years ago. For obvious reasons, it’s not something I’m eager to discuss.”
“That’s why you went off all that bloody time,” a man replies, his accent distinctly British. “I thought it might have been because your old partner died, but… You didn’t think to ask for fucking help?”
“I thought it was best to keep her separate from me,” Vadim says. Even from this distance, I can picture his expression—tortured, guilty eyes, and a tight frown. My heart aches, and I long to run my fingers through his hair until his devious grin returns in full. “I’ve changed my mind since.”
“Why?” the other man demands. I think I recognize his voice—Milton.
A low sound issues from Vadim that could be a laugh from a normal man. “Why not? If Maxim can become father of the year, I can’t? My daughter is at least mine.”
“But how? Don’t tell me you knocked-up some woman and just left her. That’s not like you.”
Vadim’s silent for so long. Finally, he sighs. “Do you remember my last owner?” he asks, his tone gruff. “The one they called The Collector?”
“I remember him, the sick fuck,” Milton snarls. I imagine his handsome visage twisted with anger, his dark eyes narrowed. “I remember the rumors as well. Don’t tell me…”
“They’re true.” Vadim sounds so cold. So distant. A stranger. “He had that name for a reason. His collection. He always spoke of breeding his favorite toys, be them animals, or…”
I’m drawn forward three more steps before I have the sense to stop at the base of the staircase. Their voices must be coming from the study—I don’t see anyone in the foyer or the living room.
“He must have stored his samples in a place where they were spared from the purge. I’d thought I’d burned everything else to the fucking ground.”
“Samples?” Milton’s tone conveys enough horror for us both. “Fuck! Do you know who her mother is? And how could his samples… Maxim said she’s young. That bastard died over a decade ago.”
“I don’t know why or how she was born,” Vadim admits. “As for her mother… I do have one hunch. You might even remember her.”
“Another ‘favorite?’” Milton asks, hissing the term.
“Her name was Irina.” I’ve never heard Vadim’s tone so detached. Broken. “Magda has her eyes. If I would consider anyone an ally in that world, other than you… But
