His Pregnant Christmas Bride(49)

Her heart started hammering with worry. But he was turning to her, plucking her up and into a kiss that, as usual, overwhelmed her.

When he finally let her feet touch the ground again, her hands roved over his rock-hard body, still uneasy. “You okay?”

“I am now.” He gave her another mind-melting kiss. “There’s a lot more to take in than even I thought.”

She knew what he meant. His family. “Is that why you were off in another realm? Why you’re so tense?”

“I was lost in thought, yes. But I’m tense because I’m not making love to you. That is making me downright dangerous. You do remember I put my libido in a deep freeze for years, and now I’m constantly burning. So this—” he brought her hands to his body, sliding them down his chest to his erection, each inch the consistency of steel “—is because of you.”

She pouted. “Whose idea was it to not make love to me?”

He huffed in self-deprecation. “I do get stupid ideas. Always concerning you. I thought I could last a week with all the preparations and the family and friends around to distract me. Especially since their presence isn’t conducive to our kind of explosive encounters. I also thought the torment of abstinence will serve a purpose, make sure I’d give you a wedding night to remember for the next few lifetimes.”

“I’ll remember each night with you longer than that.”

At her hotly aroused statement, he devoured her again.

He was kissing her within an inch of her sanity when her parents walked in. Groaning, they separated, even as her parents started retreating in embarrassment.

But since she did have to try on dresses, and pick one of the dozen Ivan had provided her, she decided to postpone what she’d sought him for, said she was the one who had to go. Her parents accompanied her.

As they walked out, she again felt her parents’ subdued melancholy and lingering unease.

Like her, they hadn’t truly gotten over Alex’s death. And though she had reassured them she knew what she was doing, marrying a man whose rivals called him Ivan the Terrible, who had enough power to tackle a world leader, it was evident they were still worried. She also suspected that even though she’d expanded on the story he’d provided about her and Alex’s accident, they still felt something was off about it and about his role in the whole thing.

But since the truth would only hurt them more, she couldn’t allay their suspicions. Not now, not ever.

* * *

A couple of hours later, after she’d drowned in fairy-tale gowns and picked the one that made her feel least guilty to wear only months after she’d lost Alex, everyone gathered for another of Ivan’s exquisitely catered dinners.

Much later, after the younger generation and their kids went to bed, only she, Ivan and their parents remained.

Ivan took the men to the pool table, and she found herself alone with her mother and his.

As each sat sipping her choice of herbal tea, his mother turned from watching the men and looked back at Anastasia.

“You know, Ana, ever since I first saw Ivan there’s been this...overwhelming feeling that comes over me whenever I look at him. And it’s not because he’s the most powerful and important man I’ll ever meet in my life. There’s just something about him.”

Gritting her teeth, Anastasia said, “Yeah, it’s called charisma and influence. He makes everyone feel this way.”

Aunt Glenda sat up closer, her eyes so earnest. “It’s not that, though I do recognize this about him. There’s just this...huge side to him I feel he’s hiding.”

“Yes, exactly.” That was Anastasia’s mother, sitting up on her other side, making her feel they were squeezing her in the middle with their curiosity and concern. “It’s like there’s another person beneath it all. Are you aware of that? Do you know who he really is under this...facade?”

“It’s not like I’m worried that he doesn’t love you as completely as you love him—” Aunt Glenda stopped, seemed to be getting more distressed the more she tried to explain. “It’s just... I wonder about what he’s hiding. I know it’s crazy, but what I feel...” She looked back at him and fell silent.

So recognition was haunting her, despite the transfiguring changes he’d undergone, through ordeals, maturation and intention. And she was disturbed, groping for explanations, something to make her feel secure again in the safe, suburban life she’d built, and paid for with his life.

Aunt Glenda looked back at her, putting down her cup, looking frustrated, even agitated. “God, I wish I could explain it. I wish I knew what I was feeling.”