He kissed her fingertips again, looking down at her. The woman who held his heart in her hands. He couldn't stay. But he'd be back. "Not ever again, Giacinta," he whispered. Meaning it.
Lissa had been prepared for the questions from the police. Someone from the embassy was always close, but truthfully, she wasn't concerned. No one questioned her story. She really was Lissa Piner from the United States. She really did come to St. Petersburg at the request of Uri and Kostya Sorbacov to talk about chandeliers for their hotel.
They were celebrating their deal with champagne when a bullet came through the window and ended Kostya's life. Uri and his men had rushed them down into a tunnel and into a room where they were going to stay to be safe while Uri's men had scattered to get information on the shooter. The tunnel had collapsed with no warning.
Lissa had been fully prepared to answer the questions from the police. She was careful not to repeat her story over and over without changing or adding little details so it didn't sound rehearsed. She hadn't been prepared for the reporters. They'd been a nightmare. She told herself it was good for her business to get so much publicity, but the reporters made it difficult to be with Casimir. All she wanted was to be with him.
He'd come to the hospital three times during her stay there. That scared her. He was placing himself in terrible danger, but nothing she said dissuaded him. She had one more night in the hotel the Russian government had put her in before the doctors would sign off on her going home. One more night and she was back with Casimir and they could go home.
The knock came and her heart nearly stopped. He wouldn't dare. This was a government hotel. Cameras were everywhere. They only had one more night to get through and then they were home free. She hurried across the room to the door, putting her eye to the little peephole. She couldn't see a thing. She knew, though. She knew by the way her body reacted. The way her heart had gone crazy. It would always go crazy when he was near. Her husband. Casimir Prakenskii. She loved that. Loved that once they left this place, he would be able to reclaim his true birthright. All of his brothers would be able to without fear of consequences.
Lissa flung open the door. Casimir stepped inside, kicked the door closed and swept her into his arms. Lifting her, holding her to his body so close, so tight, she couldn't breathe, but she didn't care. She circled his neck with her one good arm, closing her eyes, feeling safe for the first time in more than a week.
Casimir carried her to the bed, sank down onto the mattress and cradled her on his lap. His hands framed her face. He didn't speak, his eyes staring down into hers. He was wearing contacts. Hazel eyes this time, but she would know him anywhere. It didn't matter what role he played, to her, he would always be Casimir.
His mouth came down on hers. Gently. So gently it brought tears to her eyes. His tongue flicked along the cut on her mouth. It was nearly completely gone now. The swelling was gone from her face, but she did have a lot of color here and there. His mouth wandered over the bruises, brushing little kisses over every single one of them. She didn't have to tell him what happened in that room. He knew just by looking at her. She knew if she gave him details it would just make him crazy.
"I should never have let you go into that situation," he whispered against her lips. His tongue dipped again, ran along the seam of her mouth.
He kissed her again and this time she opened her mouth to him. An invitation. He took her up on it and swept them both away. She could taste passion. There was always that explosive chemistry leaping between them, but this time, there was something so profound, so beautiful, she wanted to weep.
His arms were strong, almost steel surrounding her, yet he was gentle. His mouth was hot, commanding, yet tender. Loving. She felt that in his kiss and the way he held her, treating her like she was made of the most fragile glass in the world. She felt fragile. Sitting in that terrible room with three dead bodies, the air impossible to breathe, her arm excruciatingly painful, especially if she moved it, had been the thing of horror movies.
She had crawled back under the desk, listening to the creaking and groaning of the debris overhead. She thought she smelled gas at one point and feared that might kill her before the hotel collapsed in on itself right over top of her. She had had nightmares every single night since they had pulled her out of the rubble. Still, she held on to the fact that the Prakenskii brothers were free for the first time in their lives since Sorbacov had murdered their parents.
"You shouldn't be here, Casimir," she reprimanded. Holding him. Grateful he'd come. Knowing it was a terrible risk and yet so happy he was there.
"Did you think I could stay away when I finally have the chance to be alone with you? I know how to slip past a camera. We practiced in these very hotels. I'm very familiar with them." He tipped her face up to him. "That bastard managed to do a lot of damage in the short time he had you." Very gently he set her on her feet. "Take your clothes off, Giacinta. I want to look at you."
She shook her head. Backed away from him. "I don't think that's such a good idea. Let's just be grateful we're both alive, we got the job done and we're going home tomorrow."
He reached out and curled his long fingers around her leg, preventing her from moving. He stood up and closed the distance between them in one long stride, standing in front of her. Close. Both hands went to the buttons of her blouse.
"It's late. You need to be in bed. We've got a long plane ride ahead of us. Before I tuck you in, I want to see what that bastard did to you."
"Honey, really, I don't want you to." Both hands went up to stop his.
He didn't stop. Lissa sighed. Casimir was always sweet to her, but there was a side to him that was ruthless and dangerous. A side that she usually didn't see because he never directed it toward her. He was right on the edge of that. Implacable. Letting her know without words she wasn't getting her way on this, but she had to try.
"You're already blaming yourself for something we both agreed to. It was our plan together, Casimir. I could tell at the hospital you were upset."
He frowned, his jaw hard, stony. His eyes glittering with a smoldering fury. "Upset? Is that what you think I was? It was hours, Giacinta, hours before they pulled you out of there. I couldn't get to you. I didn't know if you were dead or alive."
His voice was low, but it made her wince. It was a lash, a whip of sheer anger. She knew his anger was directed at himself. He had her blouse open and he peeled the soft material off one arm and then very gently pulled the other side down over her cast.
"You didn't see yourself lying so still in that bed, malyshka. Your face so pale you looked like a ghost. Bruises and swelling. Your lip." He touched the small, already healing cut. His gaze dropped to her chest, her breasts encased in the lacy bra. He closed his eyes and stepped away from her, swearing in his native language over and over.
Lissa watched him pace across the room. The temperature rose alarmingly. The room took on a reddish glow. She felt his anger, a tangible thing, a force of destruction, filling every bit of space around her. She knew what he saw. Uri had gotten in a few punches, as well as a kick or two. She still bore those bruises.
"It's over," she reminded.
He swung around, fingers curled into two tight fists. Then he was on her, his hands yanking at her jeans, dragging them down her hips. She was grateful she was barefoot because he all but picked her up, tossed her on the bed and pulled them off her legs. He would have taken her shoes right off had she been wearing any. Lissa tried to curl in on herself but his hand caught at her hip, stilling her.
"Don't you fucking move, Giacinta," he snapped, harsh this time.
She took a deep breath and tried to relax under his furious glare. There were more bruises on her body. Suffice to say, the beast wasn't tamed. Scrapes on her knees and legs from being dragged across the rough pavers. A large bruise where Uri had kicked her hard.
"Turn over."
"Casimir." He would detest what he saw.
"Turn the fuck over."
She winced. He rarely swore in English. It was almost always in Russian, but he was so close to tipping over the edge into a place she didn't want to ever see him go. Reluctantly she turned onto her stomach, careful of her arm. She put her head down on the pillow and closed her eyes.
Lissa heard his sharply indrawn breath. He sank onto the bed beside her. His hand moved down her back, settled into the curve of her spine. He hesitated a moment and then his fingertips brushed along the terrible bruise on her hip and left cheek of her buttocks where Uri's shoe had landed, driving her forward.
"Giacinta." He breathed her name.