Much.
She didn’t think.
She shook the indecisive voice from her head. No. She wouldn’t. She would share Alekzander’s bed, if that’s what he wanted, and she would be adult enough to admit it wasn’t awful.
If it allowed her to keep her daughter, who cared if Sacha eventually lost a piece of herself? What was pride anyway? Nothing.
She focused on her warden and saw triumph glinting within the emotions swirling in his eyes. That was okay, too. It didn’t bother her. She felt her lips curve just a little. He saw her as a submissive, eager-to-please pushover, but she would show him. For her daughter, Sacha would become a rock. A mountain. One even a Tarasov wouldn’t be able to move. Her only place in this world was with her child, and she would wear a brave face while doing everything it took to stay there.
And if she failed herself by falling more deeply in love with a man who now hated her, then she would have no one to blame for that but herself.
“You have changed since we were last together,” she commented as she saw Maksim appear in the doorway, an impatient look on his face.
“What’s this?” Alekzander demanded.
“What?”
He tipped his chin at her. “You. You suddenly don’t seem upset anymore.”
“I am upset,” she corrected. “But this is what it is, so…”
“So…what?”
“So I will not fight you.”
“You won’t.”
“No.”
“Really.”
“Really.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Go over and stand next to that chair.”
She sighed quietly, and her teeth ground together only a little as she walked to where he’d motioned. Men were so immature.
“Come back to me.”
She held his eyes, absolutely forcing herself not to glare. She felt like a puppy as she went back to stand before him.
He inclined his head as though letting her know he was pleased. “You seem to have gathered your composure pretty damn well in only a few minutes. Would you like to tell me how you did that?”
“Are you looking for lessons?”
As Maksim choked, she held steady when Alekzander’s eyebrows slammed down. She never said she’d take everything he dished out.
“I could use the help, yes. But you must know that already.”
She blinked at his honesty, not expecting it. Especially not in front of his friend. “I am struggling, too,” she admitted so he wouldn’t regret sharing that with her. Could he be softening already?
“I’m sure you are. And you deserve to struggle.”
No. No softening, she realized when he brought his face close to hers. The heat coming from his body was astounding.
“All reasoning aside, after the time you’ve stolen from me, I think it’s only fair that you have to kick like hell to keep this beautiful head above water. At least for a little while.”
She was tempted to snap at him that she’d never have stolen it had he not set her up, but she caught herself at the last minute. What was the point? In the end, she had stolen months of his daughter’s life, and she couldn’t deny it. He would come to see they were both to blame.
She hoped.
“Mmm. I remember this side of you.” He dropped his voice so only the two of them could hear. “It used to come out when we were in bed.” He ran his knuckles in a lazy circle around her clenched stomach muscles. “You were desperate to please me back then, weren’t you? It’ll be interesting to see how long it takes me to get you to that point again.”
How smug would he be if she told him she was already halfway there?
“We shall see,” she mumbled, moving on before he could say anything more on the subject. “When I first found out who you were, I was terrified of you. Do you remember? But you convinced me you were not “that” man. You said your family was all about big business that sometimes had a darker side.” She moved around him, giving his hard body a slow once over. Thank God for breast pads and their ability to hide her stiffening nipples. “You are an established, high-ranking member of a Russian Bratva,” she said with complete certainty and a whole lot of feminine appreciation that she wished she had the skill to hide. That she wished she didn’t feel.
Shockingly, she felt no intimidation as she came to a halt before him and reached up to trace the strong line of his jaw. “You are Vasily Tarasov’s nephew, and what you want, what you feel you are entitled to, you get. No matter who or what you have to trample in the process.” She stepped closer and had to push up on her toes to get anywhere near his ear. “I am not afraid of you,” she whispered in Russian, realizing for the first time how true that was. She feared what he could take from her, but she didn’t fear him. “You own me now. You may do with me what you will. Anything you want. And I will let you because there is nothing I would refuse to do for the baby who has waited almost eight months to meet you. But through it all, I will not fear you, Alekzander.”