The Bastard's Bargain Page 11

  Oh, Aiden tried after he’d taken control of the family, but by then it was too late, and his attempts weren’t nearly strong enough to breach Keira’s walls. Understandable, perhaps, but unforgivable when taken hand in hand with his holier-than-thou attitude. Dmitri smoothed down the lapels of his suit. “Really, Aiden, if her health and happiness were so important to you, I would think you’d have acted much sooner to try to get through to her. You forgot about her while in pursuit of your own goals—every single one of you.”

  He didn’t flinch. “We’ve all made some mistakes when it comes to Keira—even you, Romanov.”

  “Without a doubt, but if there’s a villain in this piece, it’s not me.” This conversation had just confirmed what he already knew—Aiden would never stoop to using Keira against him. The man still saw her as the baby sister she’d been while they were growing up, making no allowances for the formidable player she could become in her own right. “I’ll be waiting for your answer.” He walked out of the room before his temper could push him to say something he didn’t intend.

  All these Irish, so fucking superior in their moral high ground. They were no different than he was, save that he was better at the game. That was the problem, though. They were so busy blundering around, thinking with their hearts instead of their heads, that they were sometimes tricky to predict. It changed nothing—they had blood on their hands, same as he did.

  He stopped into the library to say good-bye to Hadley, all too aware of the man at his back, shadowing his every move. Aiden was too smart to let Dmitri wander his house unwatched, but the muscle had stayed further back before their meeting.

  He stepped out of the library. “You have something to say.”

  Mark Neale shifted out of the shadows. “Aiden will work with you. I’ll be in contact.”

  That didn’t take long. The damn man knew what his decision would be before Dmitri arrived here. It wasn’t much of a delay, but it irked all the same. He itched to be back in New York again, away from these goddamn Irishmen.

  But he let none of that show on his face. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

  “Keira is upstairs.” He made no move to back away, so Dmitri walked past him to the main stairway curving up the inner wall. It was ostentatious in the extreme, but he was hardly one to throw stones. His home wasn’t humble in the least. Both were designed to make an impression, and he climbed the stairs with a strange feeling taking up residence in his chest.

  This was the home Keira had grown up in.

  He’d known that, of course—the whole O’Malley brood was raised between here and a secondary country residence in Connecticut—but somehow walking these halls brought that truth home.

  He knew which room was hers, and walked past the other closed doors without so much as a sideways glance. If Mark hoped to catch him snooping, he was in for a disappointment.

  Keira’s door stood ajar, and he took it for an invitation, using a single finger to send it opening the rest of the way. His wife sat on her bed across from Charlie Moreaux—formerly Charlotte Finch, daughter of the fed who had let Mae slip his cage. The blond woman looked up and froze at the sight of him. “Romanov.”

  “Charlie.” He had no interest in digging at her further. Aiden was more entertaining to bait, and the actions of Charlie’s father a few short weeks ago had proven exactly where she was on the totem pole. The woman’s only political value now lay in her pending marriage to Aiden O’Malley. It was just as well—nothing good came from meddling with cops.

  Keira closed the suitcase before he had a chance to examine what she’d packed. “I’m ready.”

  “No need to rush on my account.”

  She sent him a censuring look. “I’m relieving my family of your presence. It upsets them.” Charlie snorted and Keira rolled her eyes. “What? You know I’m right.”

  “That was almost political. I’m proud of you.” Charlie pushed to her feet and crossed to stand before Dmitri. He knew what the move must have cost her, and something akin to admiration pulsed when she lifted her chin. “I’m sure Aiden has already said it, but if you fuck with Keira, we’ll bring everything in our arsenal at you. You’ll end up behind bars for good or…” She trailed off and shrugged one shoulder. “Or.”

  “I see that your fiancé’s bloodthirstiness is rubbing off on you.” It made him like her more, which was damn inconvenient. His life would be a whole hell of a lot simpler if he could mark the entire O’Malley clan as enemies and remove them from the earth.

  Her grin wasn’t happy in the least. “Or maybe I’m rubbing off on him.”

  Keira lugged the suitcase over. “Stop threatening my husband, Charlie. It’ll make for awkward holiday meals.”

  Charlie’s blue eyes went a little wide. “Holiday meals.”

  “Yep.” Keira shoved the suitcase at him. “Thanksgiving here and Christmas in New York. It’ll be a real treat. Totally enjoyable for everyone.”

  She shook her head. “Honey, you’re out of your damn mind.”

  “It’s one of my many charms.” She pushed him toward the door, and he allowed himself to be herded down the hallway and stairs to the front door. Aiden was nowhere to be seen, which was just as well. Mark and Charlie were more than enough of a good-bye party. He stood back while Charlie hugged Keira tightly.

  Dmitri waited for the blonde to release her and nodded at the door. “Let’s go.”

  He scanned the street as he paused on the front step. Pavel leaned against the town car and nodded—nothing was amiss. Knowing Mae’s fondness for drive-by shootings, that didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things, but at least no one had tampered with the car in the meantime. Dmitri handed over the suitcase to be stowed in the trunk and then held the door open for Keira.

  She didn’t look back as she strode down the steps and climbed into the car, and he wasn’t fanciful enough to see it as a sign. Keira was his. She might not have made her peace with that—yet—but it was the truth. The sooner she accepted it, the better for both of them.

  He joined her in the backseat and waited tensely for Pavel to drive them away from the town house. It wasn’t until they left the Boston city limits behind that he relaxed against the seat.

  “You thought he’d do something.”

  “No.” He hesitated and then relented. “Your brother has a long history of doing the logical thing as long as one remembers that he puts his family above all else. But there are never any guarantees.”

  Keira watched him closely, her hazel eyes narrow. “You must have been desperately lonely as a kid, huh?”

  He had to fight not to react. “What makes you say that?”

  “No one becomes that good at observing other people unless they spent a whole hell of a lot of time shoved in a back corner by themselves. The other reason is if they’re victims of abuse—their life can depend on reading people right.” She didn’t move. “Andrei never laid a hand on Olivia. I’d bet good money on that, though he had other ways of terrorizing her—both of you did. Did he hit you?”

  She’d been closer to the mark with the first assumption. “Nyet. My father wasn’t a good man, but he wasn’t abusive.”

  “Lucky you.”

  There it was again. There’d been a few times where he’d wondered at the extent of Seamus O’Malley’s crimes against his children. Andrei Romanov was hardly father of the year, but he never raised his hand to either of his children. “Did your father hurt you, Keira?”

  She shut her eyes, closing him out. “It doesn’t really matter what my father did or didn’t do. I’m more out of his reach now than I’ve ever been. The past is the past.”

  “The past shapes us.” A person was an accumulation of all that happened to them. Knowing the past meant Dmitri had a better than decent chance at predicting the future—or at least future actions. People could change, elements could change, but the core of a person remained the same.

  “If you say so.” Keira didn’t look at him.

  She lo
oked younger than her twenty-one years with her face relaxed and the knowledge she kept in her hazel eyes hidden from view. Even knowing she was far from innocent, he found himself wanting to…What? Protect her? The very idea is laughable.

  And yet it dug down deep and refused to budge. Dmitri slid closer to her and picked her up to tuck her into his lap.

  Keira shot straight up, and it was only some creative maneuvering that kept her from slamming her head into the roof of the car. “What the hell are you doing, Russian?”

  “Hush and let me hold you for a little while.”

  She stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Did my brother slip you some drugs while you were in his office?”

  “Nyet.” It stung more than it should have that she thought he had to be drugged to want to hold her. Dmitri forced himself to relax his grip on her. “Let me hold you, moya koroleva.”

  “Tell me what that means.”

  He permitted himself a small smile. “Another time.”

  She glared, but didn’t move away. “Why?”

  There was no misunderstanding her question, and he didn’t bother trying to pretend. “You are my wife.” Something so simple and yet infinitely complicated.

  Keira sighed and it was as if the strength left her body. She melted into him, nestling her face into his chest. “It’s criminal how good you smell. What cologne is that?”

  “No cologne. I dislike them.”

  She lifted her head enough to frown. “That’s just wrong. No one should smell this good naturally.”

  “Lucky you for marrying a man who does, then.” He shouldn’t keep pushing her on that fact, but her insistence on thinking the worst of him irked. He wanted her as his wife in truth.

  Patience. You’ve waited this long. You can wait a bit longer.

  He just hoped like hell that Keira didn’t make him wait forever.

  Chapter Twelve

  Keira did the one thing she’d thought impossible—she fell asleep in Dmitri’s arms. She didn’t mean to. She had every intention of holding still for the allotted time and moving away, but his warmth soaked into her body, and the strength of his arms felt more like he was protecting her than caging her in. Even though she knew it was a lie, she let her eyes slide shut.

  And woke up to him laying her on a bed.

  Keira reacted without thinking. She flailed out of his arms, managing to punch him in the face in the process, and then drew both legs up and kicked him directly in the chest. Dmitri shot back several steps and hit the big dark wood dresser, making it rattle.

  She scrambled back until the headboard stopped her motion, her mind frantically flailing around to catch up with the change in location and circumstance. Dmitri started to take a step forward and seemed to change his mind. “You’re safe, Keira.”

  That spawned an ugly laugh. “Not that, Russian. Never that.”

  He inclined his head, a king surveying his domain. “Let me rephrase—you’re safe right now, with me. You were tired. I thought it more effective to put you in bed and not interrupt your rest.”

  “Your bed.”

  “Da. You agreed to it earlier.”

  Damn it, she had, hadn’t she? Keira rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. I am a crazy person. “Sorry. You’re right—this time.”

  He still didn’t move from his position against the dresser. A bright red spot had bloomed under his right cheekbone where she’d hit him. “I won’t move you while you’re sleeping again.” He said it with utter seriousness, not a single mocking word in sight.

  “Thank you.” She felt dramatic reacting so strongly. Of course Dmitri would carry her to bed when she passed out on him in the car. She probably drooled on his chest and he just took it, and the way she paid him back was by punching him in the face. Exhaustion pulled at her, and the bed was like sitting on a tempting cloud, but she couldn’t let things stand as they were now. She had fucked up. Not him.

  She scooted to the edge of the bed and climbed to the floor. “We’d better get some ice on that cheekbone. My brother Teague taught me that right hook, and even without all my weight behind it, you’ve got a good chance of bruising.”

  “That’s not necessary.” There he was, her cold Russian.

  Keira almost missed a step. Cold, yes. Not hers. Never hers. She had to remember that. To cover her reaction, she pivoted and headed for the bathroom. If there wasn’t ice, a cold washcloth would work in a pinch. Better to get this taken care of now and move on. The less time she spent staring into Dmitri’s striking gray eyes, the better.

  He was still in the same spot when she returned. Keira frowned. “You should sit.” At five seven, she wasn’t exactly short, but he was at least an inch or two over six feet, and it would be easier to get to the bruise if he sat on the bed.

  Do not think about Dmitri on the bed. Definitely don’t think about Dmitri on the bed.

  He moved to the bed and sat slowly. “I can do it myself.”

  “I reacted like a crazy person and attacked you. Just…sit there and shut up and let me take care of you, okay?”

  He stared at her long enough that she had to fight not to fidget. Finally, he nodded. “Do your worst.”

  “I think I already did that.” She stepped closer, but the length of his legs made it awkward to reach his face.

  “Keira.” He said her name almost as a sigh. “Come here.” Dmitri nudged her closer until she stood between his thighs. His fingertips barely touched her hips, but she felt them through her entire body. Or maybe it was his presence overwhelming her by being this close. With him sitting and her standing, it should have put her in the dominant position, but there was no mistaking the fact that Dmitri was perfectly in control of this situation the same way he always seemed to be in control.

  She pressed the cold washcloth against his face. “Do you ever just…relax?”

  “I was relaxed. And then my wife woke up and reacted poorly to my having moved her.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She glared. “You were not relaxed then, so stop with the bullshit. I bet you’re plotting in your dreams when you sleep, aren’t you? Carrying me to bed wasn’t enough to put you off something you do as second nature.”

  “If you already think you know the answer to the question, why ask it?”

  Which wasn’t an agreement…but it wasn’t a disagreement, either.

  She lifted the washcloth and winced. “This will bruise.”

  “It’s an impressive right hook.”

  Now was the time to press him about Krav Maga, or to ask one of the half a million questions she had brimming inside her. But Keira found herself hesitant to break the moment. She pressed the cloth back to his face.

  “Why did you stop painting?”

  The question set her back on her heels. “That’s none of your damn business.” She was not going to think about painting or the whys or what she’d lost.

  His big hand covered hers where she held the washcloth. “It’s just a question, Keira.”

  “It’s not just a question. You’re probing for information. It doesn’t matter whether it’s part of some intricate plan or to satisfy your curiosity—I am not going to trot out my pain for your amusement.”

  His grip tightened slightly. “You don’t have to keep running.”

  The audacity of him almost left her speechless. “Why?”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Yes, Dmitri, why? Why don’t I have to keep running? Is it because I’m safe here?” She motioned with her free hand. “We both know that’s a fucking lie. I’m no safer here than I was in Boston—less so, because anyone targeting you will target your wife as well. Am I safe because you’re here? Please. You’re the most dangerous to me of all. You were honest when you said that you couldn’t offer me what I needed—don’t try to change your tone now.”

  His frown deepened and then cleared. “Love. You’re talking about love.”’

  Five little words to cut right to the heart of her. She let go of th
e washcloth and stepped back, all too aware that he allowed her to do it. “I know better now.”

  “Keira—”

  “Can we just be done for tonight? It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.” Her exhaustion surged again, threatening to buckle her knees. As much as she didn’t want to share a bed with him, the thought of walking down the stairs to hers was too much. She pulled her sweater off and slid out of her jeans. When she turned around, he was staring. “What now?”

  Dmitri gave a sharp shake of his head and stood. “You are safe tonight.”

  The implication being that she wasn’t safe other nights. It would be worrying, but it was a truth she’d known since she was a child. The type of danger might change in any given situation, but it never went away completely.

  She waited for him to walk into the bathroom before she climbed into the massive bed. It really was like wrapping up in a cloud. By all rights, she should have passed out the second her head hit the pillow, but her mind unfurled like some dark-winged thing chased it.

  Going home had been a mistake. She knew it was necessary, but the world seemed so far away when she was closed up in the Romanov residence. Being back in Boston, even for a limited time, had memories banging against the walls of her mind that she had no interest in dealing with.

  It had been far too many years since her siblings were happy. Since they were close. Not since Aiden left for college, though things had started fracturing before then, but she’d just been too young to realize it. Too selfish. What did she care if her oldest brother was straining under the pressure their father put on him as heir? She was living as close to the dream as she was allowed. While her siblings slowly drifted away, one after the other, she’d lost herself in her art and her goals. She’d once had Devlin, after all, and that relationship was just as close as it’d ever been.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Until he died and she realized how alone she really was.

  Until the illusion fell from the bars of her cage, revealing just how trapped she’d been from the very beginning.