Page 57 of Marrying the Savage

I blink. He knows about Anya.

“Have you had me investigated?”

“Yes.”

“At least pretend shame,” I say.

“No.”

“You and shame really are strangers.”

“We were not introduced.”

I hate that I almost smile.

He begins speaking again, calm and practical, as if we are discussing ordinary domestic matters rather than my abduction-marriage. “You will not leave the house without security. You will not speak to Sergei privately. You will not answer calls from Sokolov. You will not⁠—”

“Are you making husband rules already?”

“Yes.”

“Should I be taking notes?”

“If it helps you obey.”

I stare at him. He looks back. The audacity of this man is large enough to require permits.

“I have spent all day being passed from one controlling man to another,” I say. “If your grand plan is to become Dmitri with better cheekbones and more murder rumors, you are going to be disappointed.”

His eyes narrow. Then, very slowly, his gaze drops to my mouth.

“To be clear,” he says, “I don’t plan to be anything like Dmitri Sokolov.”

The air changes. I feel it immediately. Heat, low and unwanted, gathers in my stomach.

“Good,” I say, but my voice is not as steady as I would like.

Damir steps closer. Not touching me, but somehow worse. “There is also the matter of the consummation.”

I stop breathing. “The what now?”

“Consummation,” he repeats calmly. As if he has said tea service.

I lift one hand. “Absolutely not.”

His brow rises.

“No,” I say again, waving my hand between us like I can physically sweep the word out of the room. “No, no, no. We are not doing medieval paperwork sex.”

For half a second, he only looks at me.

Then he says, “Medieval paperwork sex.”

“Yes. That. Whatever legal barbarian nonsense you are about to suggest, cancel it.”

“I didn’t suggest anything yet.”

“You said consummation. That is never followed by something reasonable.”