Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 68102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
While she enjoyed his touches and kisses . . . she couldn’t help but think he’d get sick of all of her issues.
The nightmares.
The way Oleg’s voice got into her head. Telling her how worthless she was.
Useless.
Not good for anything.
Except a fuck.
Sofia knew she shouldn’t let Oleg get to her . . . but sometimes it was hard to see how she could repair the damage he’d done, even though she’d tried as hard as she could to tune him out.
Colm wasn’t Oleg.
She knew that. But what if she got caught up in the moment and forgot who was holding her, who was kissing her? What if she reacted badly without meaning to?
No, Colm needed someone with less baggage. Someone worthy of him.
And she hadn’t even touched on her damaged back or her other secret.
“Baby, look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
“I don’t like that look on your face. Tell me what’s going on inside your head. You keep everything to yourself and that’s not healthy.”
“An Anisimov has to keep up a standard. An Anisimov cannot break down, and certainly not in front of others.”
He gaped at her in shock. “Who told you that? Your cousin?”
Crap. She hadn’t intended to say that.
“No! My, uh, my father.”
“Is that why you rarely tell people how you’re feeling? Because you think you need to keep up your family’s reputation as cold robots?”
“That’s not my family’s reputation!” she protested.
He just stared at her.
“I guess,” she admitted. “And I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You could never be a fucking burden.”
He said that now . . .
“Sofia, I don’t like the way you’re thinking, but I also know I don’t have time to convince you. Luckily, I plan to have all the time in the world to show you just how precious and amazing and worthy you are.”
God.
She wished they had that.
“I also don’t like that you barely eat. I’m this close to taking over again and ordering you to eat.”
“I don’t think that will work anymore,” she told him.
“You don’t?” His voice sounded . . . curious.
“No, last night I was in a . . . in a different mindset. I don’t think that I can let myself go there again.”
“Baby, you think you can resist me if I want to take you there?” he said in a low voice.
A touch of nervousness filled her, and he obviously saw it as he put the plate down and cupped her face with his hand. “I’ll never use my power to abuse you. That’s something I will promise you right now. And if I ever did, you’re to go find Rogan straight away and tell him what I did. He’ll keep you safe.”
He seemed to think that she was his.
“Colm . . . you . . . I . . . your power?” she finally had to ask.
“Hmm. My power over you. I only used a fraction of it last night. But you know I have the ability to do what needs to be done. You felt the urge to submit to me, didn’t you?”
Had she?
Maybe she had, and honestly, that was kind of terrifying.
“I don’t want to be a doormat. I won’t be. Not again,” she told him as firmly as she could.
Even though a part of her was screaming that she should give him whatever he wanted if it meant he’d love her.
God. What was wrong with her?
“And, again, I ever treat you as anything less than my fucking queen; you go to Rogan and you tell him to take me out. And I will tell him the same thing. Sofia Anisimov is no one’s doormat. She is no one’s punching bag. Or pavement.”
“Pavement?” she whispered, barely able to speak around the lump in her throat.
“For someone to walk over,” he explained.
Wasn’t that exactly who she was?
Someone to be used. To lie to and manipulate.
“Sofia Anisimov is a queen who everyone should fucking bow down to and worship,” he told her fiercely.
“I don’t want anyone to worship me.”
No one except him.
And, really, all she truly wanted was to be loved.
“Too late,” he whispered. “But even queens need looking after. In fact, they need it more than most because they can forget to take care of themselves. They need soldiers willing to do what it takes to ensure they are healthy and happy. That’s what you get. The soldier. The caretaker.”
“Hmm, I think you’re more warrior than soldier,” she told him.
“Is that so?” He grinned. “Your warrior?”
She sighed. She wished. If he could be her warrior, she’d always be safe.
19
“Hey, everything is going to be okay, baby,” he murmured to her, running a finger down her cheek.
“Is it?” she asked, not really meaning to.
The words just slipped out, the need for reassurance something she couldn’t ignore.
“It will be. I promise.”
She smiled sadly. “You can’t promise that.”