Page 162 of The Enemy Protector
I watch his face, trying to read his reaction. His eyes widen slightly. His lips part. But he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me.
“Say something,” I whisper. “Please.”
“You’re pregnant?”
I nod. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but everything was happening so fast and I didn’t want to distract you when Yuri was still out there.”
His hand slides from my face down to my stomach. He presses his palm flat against me, right where mine was moments ago.
“A baby,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.
“Yes.”
“Are you okay with this?”
He looks at me like I’ve just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “Am I okay with this?” He laughs. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh.
He kisses me hard.
When he pulls back, I see a man I’ve never seen before. Softer. Loving. “I love you,” he says. “Both of you.”
The tears start again, but these are different. These are happy tears.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
“I know,buntarka.” He presses his forehead against mine. “I know.”
“I need a shower,” he says after a moment. “And then I need you in our bed.”
I nod, stepping back to let him go. But he catches my hand.
“Come with me.”
I follow him upstairs to our bathroom. He strips off his blood-soaked clothes while I start the shower, adjusting the temperature until it’s perfect.
I undress too. He steps into the shower and holds his hand out to me. I take it and let him pull me under the spray.
The water runs red at first, washing away the evidence of what he did tonight.
“I killed him,” Sergei says quietly. “Drove a knife into his heart.”
“Good.” I mean it. Yuri tried to kill me. Tried to take everything from me. He deserved what he got.
Sergei washes himself methodically, scrubbing away the blood and the smell of gunpowder. I help him, running my soapy hands over his chest, his shoulders, his arms.
When we’re both clean, he turns off the water and wraps me in a towel. He’s gentle. Careful. Like I might shatter.
“I’m not fragile,” I tell him. “I’m pregnant, not broken.”
“I know.” He kisses my forehead. “But you’re carrying something precious. I’m allowed to be careful with you.”
I can’t argue with that.
We dry off and move to the bedroom. He pulls the blanket back and I climb in.
“I need you,” he says.
His body moves over mine, keeping his weight supported on his elbows.
