Vicious Protector by Maggie Cole

8

Skylar

Blackness slowly turnsinto a faint gray as my eyes adjust. The delicious scent of peach blossom, Turkish rose, and amber consumes me. Adrian. I curl into my pillow more, smiling.

I'm at Adrian's.

Visions of our bodies tangled together fill my mind. I roll over, but he's not next to me.

Where is he?

What time is it?

It could be nighttime for all I know. Since I got to Adrian's, it's been a rinse and repeat cycle of sex and sleep. The last time, I woke up to Adrian's head between my thighs. As soon as I came, he lunged up my body, kissed me in his dirty hot way, and tugged me back into his arms. His Russian accent was thicker, and he murmured, "Go back to sleep, my printsessa."

I put my hand over my lips then glance around the room. My neatly folded dress and undergarments are on the armchair. I go into Adrian's closet and grab the T-shirt he wore the night before. It's on the top of the laundry basket. I throw it over my body. It's soft and smells like him.

Did he leave?

I stroll out of the bedroom. My purse is on the table where I left it. I open it and remove my phone. The battery is almost dead. I have a missed call from Hailee. The time says it's one o'clock.

I call Maksim. He answers after one ring. "Skylar."

"How is Aspen? Does she want visitors today?"

"Not today. She's asleep. The doctor said she probably would be for the rest of the day. If she is up to it, I'll have her call you when she wakes up."

"Okay. Thanks." I hang up and get text messages from Hailee and Kora about our yoga/brunch date tomorrow. Kora says she can't go to the art exhibit tonight, which I forgot about.

The conversation ends and I get another text.

Hailee: A teacher I work with wanted tickets to the show tonight. Her parents are in from out of town. Do you mind if we sell them to her? I wasn't overly excited about this the way Kora was, and I could use the extra money right now.

Me: Sure.

Hailee: Do you want to do something else tonight?

I love Hailee, but the thought of another night with Adrian isn’t something I can bring myself to pass up.

Me: Would you mind if I pass? I have some things I need to take care of.

Hailee: Sure. No problem.

I stare at my phone then glance around Adrian's penthouse. The views are incredible. It's a beautiful, sunny spring day, and the wind appears minimal, judging by Lake Michigan's gently lapping waves along the shoreline.

Is Adrian still here?

I would call him, but I don't have his phone number. I agreed to stay with a man all weekend and don't have his phone number.

This is a first.

Time to check this place out.

It makes me a tad uncomfortable, ambling through Adrian's penthouse, opening doors, but I'm not sure what else to do. If he left, he didn't leave a note, which isn't cool. My gut tells me he would leave me some sort of message. I plug my phone into the charger I pass then proceed throughout the entire unit. I get to the last door in the hallway and open it. Lyrics to Metallica's "Enter Sandman" blare out. Adrian's faced away from me, dripping with sweat, doing squat presses. The gym's entire wall is glass, overlooking Lake Michigan.

Holy shit. I put my hand over my stomach to steady myself. How in the world is it possible for anyone to be that ripped?

Jesus.

He's not wearing a shirt. The claw marks I gave him last night are faint but still visible. One cuts through his right shoulder, over the middle of his Natalia tattoo. It's the only tattoo on his back. Every muscle in his body flexes as he lifts what appears to be an absurd amount of weight. The sound of his grunt competes with the loud music.

I watch him, in a trance. When he puts the bar on the rack, he keeps his hands on it. His skull tattoo over his hand appears fiercer than it usually looks. He lowers himself so his knees are on the floor. He stretches his arms then puts his entire body on the floor and starts doing push-ups.

Real, beast-modepush-ups. Every movement up, he claps his hands. I stare in awe at his abilities and superhuman body.

After he does dozens of push-ups, he rolls over. The lion tattoo on his chest looks vicious. He does three sit-ups then notices me. He freezes near his knees. His eyes scan me, and I suddenly feel self-conscious.

I haven't even brushed my hair or teeth. He looks like he's ready to compete with Thor, and I'm a disheveled mess at one in the afternoon.

His lips curl. He jumps up and turns down the music. "You're awake."

I release a nervous breath. I'm unsure why I feel anxious. This man has more carnal knowledge of my body than my ex-fiancé, based on what we did last night and into the morning. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be a snoop or interrupt you. I wasn't sure if you left, and I don't have your phone number."

"You aren't interrupting. If I left, I would have left you a note. But we'll fix the phone situation, my printsessa." He winks at me.

If I had panties on, he could melt them.

I'm wearing nothing but his T-shirt.

I self-consciously glance down to see my nipples poking through the soft material. Heat burns my cheeks. I bite my lip and force myself to look at Adrian.

An expression mixed with amusement, lust, and arrogance faces me. If it was on anyone but Adrian, I'd want to slap that look off their face. Before he ever touched me, his cockiness drew me to him. It's as if I knew he could back it up. After last night, there's no question about his abilities. The blue flames in his eyes only create more flutters in my stomach. His twitching lips only remind me of how many things he did to me with them.

"By any chance, do you have a spare toothbrush?" I ask.

He shuts the music off, snatches a towel out of the cubbyhole, then wipes his face. He throws it over his shoulder and approaches me. The heat from his body forms an aura around him. It penetrates my skin and stirs my nerves again.

Even his sweat smells sexy.

He motions to the door. "Let me show you where I keep things."

"I don't want to interrupt your workout. If you want to tell me where it is, that works."

He shakes his head. "It's okay. I already finished my workout. I was just passing the time while you slept."

I gape at him. "That's what you do when you're bored?"

More arrogance infuses his features. "Yeah."

"Wow. Those push-ups were impressive, by the way. The squat thingys, too," I blurt out.

He raises his eyebrows and grins, as if I said something funny. "How long were you watching me?"

I shrug and fib. "Not long."

"Hmm." He grunts then puts his hand on my back, guiding me out of the gym. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah. Did you get any?"

"Some."

"Did I keep you awake?"

"No. I don't require a lot of sleep."

"Oh. Would not sleeping be part of your superhuman abilities?"

"Superhuman?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure anyone who can clap in the middle of a push-up and not fall on their face is superhuman."

He chuckles. "Is that all it takes?"

"You know that's almost impossible, right?"

He spins me so I'm against the wall, right outside his bedroom. His forearms press next to my head. The heat from his body assaults me. My heart races faster. He squeezes my biceps. His tone is playful. "I could teach you."

"Ha! Yeah, right."

He touches the fabric over my cleavage. "You don't have to wear my dirty shirts. Next time, pick a clean one."

I sniff the shoulder of his shirt. "I think the only thing dirty is me."

More amusement fills his face. He holds my chin and lowers his mouth inches from mine. "Do you like to watch or participate?"

A family of butterflies erupts in my gut. It's a feeling I can't seem to escape around Adrian. Something about him stirs every ounce of desire I have. "What do you mean?"

The corners of his lips turn up. His Russian accent comes out thicker. "I'm going to shower, my printsessa. Are you going to watch or join me?"

Fire burns my face. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

He arches an eyebrow.

I still can't seem to form words. Both options don't seem to have any downsides.

"Hmm. Guess I'll let you think about it." He steps back then puts his arm on my back and leads me into the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He opens the drawer and pulls out a toothbrush in a box and toothpaste. "Feel free to use anything you want in here." He motions to the cabinet and drawers.

"Thanks."

He steps back, walks to the shower, then turns it on. I take the toothbrush out of the box, put the paste on it, then begin to brush my teeth. Through the mirror, I watch Adrian drop his shorts and step into the glass shower.

My heart hammers in my chest. Nothing about Adrian except the scratch marks on his back isn't pure perfection. The water rolls off his body, and I can't decide if he's sexier dry, sweating in the gym, or in the shower. Then he lathers liquid soap in his hands and rubs it over his bare flesh.

Good Lord.

I finish brushing my teeth, debating about whether I should join him or not. After searching for a hairbrush and finding none, I decide to keep watching. It makes sense he doesn't have a hairbrush since he keeps his hair almost shaved. I have one in my purse, but I don't want to miss the scene in front of me. I prop my bottom on the counter and cross my legs.

Adrian glances over and smirks. He finishes his shower and dries off then wraps a towel around his waist. He puts his hands on the counter near my bottom. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"Yep."

He pecks my lips. "I made a reservation at Sarcasm for seven."

"Wow! Impressive. I'm on the list for December. How did you get in?" I ask.

"I'm a silent investor. If you like it and want to move your reservation up, let me know."

I chirp, "Oh, the benefits of a date with Mr. Ivanov."

He licks his lips while his gaze drifts over my body. "Those aren't the benefits."

My flutters erupt. I'm sure they don't even come close.

I tease, "You're awfully sure of yourself."

"Only about things I know I can deliver on."

My lower body throbs. Heat flies to my cheeks. Images of waking up and glancing down to see Adrian pinning his gaze on me with his cocky smirk make me squirm on the quartz. The memory of his mouth all over my body intoxicates me. "I need to go home and get ready."

"Okay. Make sure you pack a bag." He steps back and goes into his closet. While he gets dressed, I go to the bedroom and put my clothes from yesterday on. He drives me to my place. When we get to my apartment, he drops me off at the door.

"You don't want to come in?"

"I have something I need to do first. I'll be back around six thirty."

"Okay."

He possessively tugs me into him, kisses me, and leaves me panting. I shut and lock the door. It's only three, so I decide I have time for a run. It's nice out, and I spend an hour jogging along the paved shoreline, thinking about Adrian and our night together. My counselor's voice pops into my head. Go slow in your relationships.

I ignore it. She definitely wouldn't approve of me spending the weekend with Adrian after what he initially did or since we just started seeing each other.

Adrian isn't Tim.

I'm not in my twenties anymore.

I push her voice out of my head and run faster. By the time I get to my apartment, I'm full of sweat and trying to catch my breath.

I go inside, take a shower, then fix my hair and makeup. When I'm satisfied with how I look, I go into the closet and assess my wardrobe. Sarcasm is a new five-star restaurant. It's been open since last fall, but the waitlist is insane.

I flick my wrists as I sort through my clothes hanging on the rack. I mumble, "No... Trying too hard... Not sexy enough... Yes!" I remove a new dress I bought a few months ago from a designer I met at a show. It's a purple bodycon dress with tiny black streaks throughout the abstract design. When I saw it, I had to have it. It costs more than I usually spend on clothes, and I haven't had the right occasion to wear it yet.

The pair of stilettos I bought from another local designer catches my eye. A student at the university designed them, and I picked the shoes up at an art fair. Purple and magenta swirl together on the canvas. I add a pair of black and silver dangly earrings and a watch I also got from an art fair.

For over an hour, I pace my apartment, staring at the buildings as the daytime light turns to dark.

Why am I so nervous? I date all the time and don't get anxious.

I've never had a man like Adrian coming to pick me up.

The door buzzer snaps me out of my thoughts, and my flutters increase when Adrian's deep voice and Russian accent hit my ears. "It's me, my printsessa."

I release the lock and wipe my sweaty palms on a dishtowel, then wash them with soap and dry them. Adrian knocks on the door, and I open it.

Oh, help me, Lord.

He's the hottest man on earth.

His black dress shirt has a few buttons unfastened. The letters L-E-V from his chest tattoo peek out. The line between his two pec muscles is well-defined, and Vs into his neck. He holds out a bouquet of Gerbera daisies. The skull tattoo covering his hand faces me. I'm unsure why I love it so much, since I'm not into skulls, but something about it always grabs my attention.

He's a bad boy who's too panty-melting.

Peach blossom, Turkish rose, and amber mix with the fresh flowers, creating an intoxicating scent. I take a deep breath as Adrian's eyes roam over me. He pierces me with his icy-blue orbs. "You look beautiful, my printsessa." He dips down and gives me a chaste kiss, which only leaves me wanting more.

"Thank you. You look nice, too. And I love Gerbera daisies. They are one of my favorite flowers."

"Took the chance you weren't into roses the way other women are."

"How did you know?" He's right. I think bringing a woman roses is nice but doesn't display a lot of creativity on a man's part.

His lips tick up. Blue flames travel over my body. It's as if his gaze alone is licking my skin with fire. A full-on arrogant expression fills his face. "There's nothing average about you or your flair."

The humming in my blood intensifies. I laugh to break up the butterflies dancing in my stomach. "I always think of the movie Office Space when I hear flair. Then I think of all the fifteen pieces they made Jennifer's character wear."

"Office Space?"

"Yeah. Have you not seen it?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Oh, well, you should. It's a good movie."

He nods. "Put it on the list, my printsessa."

"The list?"

He shrugs. "Things to do on a lazy day. We should get going."

A lazy day with Adrian. Yes, please.

"Let me put these in water." I go into the kitchen. My apartment is an open concept, and Adrian strolls over to the window.

"You have a nice place," he says.

I remove a vase out of my cabinet. "Thanks. I've been here for about five years."

"I'm glad you live in a better neighborhood than Hailee or Aspen."

I glance toward him. He's got his hands in his pockets. His shirt stretches perfectly over his back. It Vs into his lower body and his tucked-in shirt displays his rock-hard ass.

Even Adonis, the god of beauty and desire, would be jealous of Adrian's body.

"They aren't the safest places, but it's what they can afford. I'm not sure what other choices they have, and I don't blame them for not wanting a roommate. The only way I would live with someone again was if I was in a serious relationship," I admit.

"Safety should come first," he insists.

I sigh. "It's not that simple."

Adrian spins. "Where's your overnight bag?"

My cheeks heat. I blurt out, "It's in my closet."

"Packed?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to get it for you?"

"Sure."

I fill the vase, cut the stems, and put the flowers in it. "All done," I chirp when Adrian steps out of my bedroom with my bag. His signature cocky expression fills his face.

Why does that look turn me on so much?

I bet lots of women hate it. Maybe if his smirk regarded another woman, I would. Perhaps the idea I'm part of the reason he wears his arrogance makes my loins pulse.

He puts his hand on my back and guides me out the door and into the parking garage. When we get in his SUV, he veers through the structure, and we're soon on the road.

"Are you from Russia?" I ask.

He nods. "My mother made Obrecht, Natalia, and me immigrate. My father had already passed. I was sixteen."

"Was it hard?"

He shrugs. "Yes and no. Things in Russia had gotten dangerous. The first few years after we moved were challenging since we didn't know English, but we were happier." His voice fades, and his jaw clenches. He grips the wheel tighter.

I want to ask him about his sister, but I don't want to upset him. "Was it hard to learn English?"

"At first. It got easier." He puts on the blinker and turns. "What do you do? I know you work in fashion but not what you do all day."

I chirp, "Oh, I play dress-up. I try on outfits and give my opinions on clothes."

"Really?"

I snort. "No. I wish. Although it was my dream job when I was little."

"Does that position exist?"

"Not really. You're either a model who wears the clothes or the designer and buyers who have opinions about them." I turn in my seat.

"So you design?"

"Quite a bit, not that I get any credit for it."

"Why not?"

"Bowmen pays my salary. Everything I create he owns. I also pick out all the materials and order them. His last collection had twenty pieces. I designed sixteen of them and helped with the other four."

Adrian's eyes turn to slits. "That isn't right."

I shrug. "Is what it is."

"If you're doing all the designing, why don't you go out on your own? Start your own label?"

"Do you know how much money it costs to create a label?"

"No."

"A lot. Plus, I need my income to survive. At least Bowmen pays me a decent wage. For Chicago, my compensation is fair."

"Hmm."

"What's hmm, mean?"

"So you can sit down and design an entire outfit?"

"Sure."

"How long does it take?"

I shrug. "It depends on how intricate it is and how many items. It could range from an hour to several days."

"Did you design your dress?"

"No. I bought it at a show from a new designer I met. I don't design anything for myself anymore."

His eyes dart down my body, as if he's undressing me. He licks his lips then says, "It fits you perfectly, my printsessa. Why don't you make anything for yourself?"

Heat rushes to my cheeks from the way he's studying me. "By the time I get done with Bowmen's orders, I don't have energy left."

"Your boss sounds like a dick."

"I've called him worse," I admit. "So, are you or Obrecht older?"

"He's four years older."

"Really?"

"Why do you seem surprised?" He pulls into a lot and parks.

"I figured you were closer in age. How old are you?"

"Older than you."

"I don't remember telling you my age."

He checks me out again, and I try not to squirm. "You aren't forty."

I gape at him. "Obrecht is forty-four?"

"Yep."

"Wow. I would have thought you were both around thirty-eight."

Adrian unbuckles his belt and gets out. He comes over to my side and opens the door then reaches in to help me out. His strong arm cocoons around my body, and his palm grips my hip. "Your friends are all thirty-eight, but you're younger?"

"Did you research us?"

He snorts. "No. You don't look thirty-eight. My guess is you wouldn't be as close if you were in your twenties, so you're close to their age but a few years younger?"

"Thirty-six," I admit.

He opens the door and motions for me to go in. I step through. He encloses his arm around me again and leads me to the hostess stand. His body stiffens.

A beautiful woman with blonde hair pulled into a sleek French twist, a killer body, and perfectly manicured fingers bats her eyes. In a Russian accent, she coolly says, "Adrian." She quickly looks me over then refocuses on him.

Adrian's fingers grip my hips with more pressure. It's slight, but I notice it. In a voice colder than hers, he replies, "Dasha. I didn't know you were back in town."

"Two weeks. You know how much Yefim loves me. When he heard I was back in Chicago, he wanted me to work for him."

Adrian stays silent.

"I saw Ivanov on the list. I was hoping it was you." She scans his body, as if he's her man and I'm not standing attached to his hip. "You look well, Adrian. Time's been good to you."

His face hardens. "Is our table ready?"

Jealousy flares in my belly. I'm not naive enough to think Adrian doesn't have a past with other women, but Dasha looks like a model and has the sexy everything going on. Their exchange makes me believe she was something to him at one point or another.

"You aren't going to ask why I came back home?" She pouts.

"No. I don't care. Is our table ready?"

She softly laughs. Her voice oozes between sugar and ice. She coos, "Of course you do." She gives me another dismissive glance then leans closer to Adrian. "We'll talk later." She says something quickly in Russian while picking up our menus.

Adrian replies and scoffs. He guides me through the restaurant. The scent of her rose perfume floods my nostrils. They continue their conversation until we get to our table. I barely take in the sexy atmosphere while trying not to let Dasha see I'm affected by her.

She says in English, "I have the same phone number. Let's have coffee soon." She arrogantly stares at me while suggesting, "Or breakfast."

"That's enough, Dasha," Adrian reprimands.

My stomach flips. Please tell me he doesn't want her anymore.

How could he not?

They probably used to have hot sex.

Ugh. I don't want to think about it.

Great. Now all I can think of is her perfectly made-up face getting Os from Adrian.

Her smug exterior never waivers. "Have a great dinner. The food is excellent here." She leaves.

My insides shake with anger. Is he still interested in her? Now that she's back from wherever she was, is he going to want to see her again?

Adrian turns. "I'm sorry about that."

I force a smile. "It's okay. Who is she?"

Adrian glances at the ceiling then meets my gaze. "My ex-wife."