A day spent with a seven-year-old should sound horrifying in theory—had it been with most of my Sunday school class it would have been. But she’s such a strange, unusual creature. I’m afraid I may be as intrigued by her as I am by the figure pacing anxiously in the foyer, his expression constricted.
“Thank God,” he says, advancing toward me. “You’re back.”
I can’t get a read on his expression as he leans in to press his lips to mine. Then he turns his attention to Magda and cradles her head gently while lifting her from my arms.
They make a breathtaking picture together. Him, in a dark navy suit, his hair slightly mussed as if he’d spent most of the day raking his fingers through it. Bundled in his arms, she looks like a doll wearing an ebony faux fur jacket and one of her new dresses—a gray slip with white applique flowers decorating the hem.
“You can kiss your billions goodbye in about ten years,” I inform him softly. “I’m afraid to inform you that your daughter has all the signs of a budding shopaholic. Trained by yours truly, she’s going to spend you out of house and home if you aren’t careful.”
His upper lip quirks into a pained smile as he smooths the wayward curls from Magda’s face. “I’ll just have to work harder then,” he murmurs. “If I am to support both of your habits.”
Both. I don’t argue with that as he heads upstairs, entering Magda’s room. He sets her gingerly on the bed while I scour her closet for a worn pair of pajamas. Something she said earlier makes my heart ache, and her few meager belongings take on a new significance. I don’t say anything to Vadim though as we gently undress her and ease her into a nightdress. He tucks her beneath the blankets afterward, smoothing them over her with heartbreaking care. After ensuring that It is tucked in as well, we escape her room and instinctively head downstairs, putting as much distance between her and us. It’s only when we’re in the kitchen that I feel safe to talk again.
“She told me her foster family only gave her hand-me-downs,” I say as we settle in at the island counter.
Vadim frowns, stroking his jaw. “That can’t be right... I gave them access to an account specifically for her—with more than enough funds. Under the guise of a donation, of course. They’ve been making regular withdrawals.”
“Well, they haven’t been spoiling her, at least,” I say halfheartedly. Inside, I’m more than happy to permanently vilify the Robinsons. Good riddance. “She was like a kid in a candy store today. Where were you?” I try to phrase the question as innocently as I can—but his reaction catches me off guard. He stiffens, his gaze distant.
“You took care of her,” he says thickly. “Thank you.”
I shiver as he reaches out, brushing my cheek in a gentle caress. His nearness is almost enough to make me bite back more questions. Something is bothering him. I can sense it in his eyes and what he doesn’t say. His hands shake, and his paleness betrays that he hasn’t eaten recently, if at all today.
“Let me make you some dinner,” I say, turning to the freezer in search of one of Ena’s meals. “Magda and I already ate. I made sure to check her sugars, and I took her to a restaurant with low carb options.”
Though the latter part is entirely due to Ena, who seemed to know a list of suitable options by heart.
Vadim watches me as I select a chicken and veggie dish and heat it up for him. Minutes later, we trade places as I watch him dig in.
“She’s a weird little girl, your kid,” I tell him wryly. “She loves fashion, though I think she didn’t want me to notice. She loves turquoise, especially. And black. I hope you don’t mind, but we got our nails done, and that’s the color she picked—”
“Thank you.” He looks at me with such an expression. It steals my breath away and makes my skin catch fire in a strange, inexplicable way. Like I’m burning alive from the inside out, but it’s a fire I wouldn’t extinguish for the whole world.
“You say that like it was hard,” I counter. “Being around her. Being around you.”
Mayday, Tiffy, a part of me warns.
But his façade slips again. Whatever kept him away today is still haunting him. Distracting him. He looks so…tormented. The same, closed-off man I met in a hotel bar with his invisible wall firmly up.
When he clears his plate, we wash the dishes and eventually migrate into his study, where he claims the chair behind his desk. The second the door closes behind us, I sidle to him before I can stop myself and climb directly onto his lap, toying with the end of his tie. He sucks in a breath, his gaze cutting up to mine. Those dark eyes of his are endless—soul-sucking. One look and I’m captured, a slave to his whims.
“Tell me something sexy,” I command, eager to distract him.
“You will stay,” he says on cue. His hands encircle my waist possessively, tethering me to him. Trapping me with no hope of escape. “I will keep you here, beauty. You are mine.”
I don’t argue. Instead, I press my lips against his jaw and slide my hands down his chest, resting them over where I know his heart to be. “Be honest with me, and I won’t be able to leave. So… Where were you?”
“Business,” he says, brushing his lips over my forehead. “Though that’s not everything. I…” He sighs, pulling back to face me directly. “This time of year is difficult for me.”
“Oh?” Driven by the raw emotion in his voice, I force the lust to the back of my mind. “Tell me?”
He frowns. Then he stands, lifting me onto his desk. Stepping between my legs, he keeps me pinned in place, his captive audience.
“It’s nearing the anniversary of…”
