Page 167

I breathe slowly and order every mutinous organ to behave. My brain is in charge here, dammit! Not my stupid vagina!

Not one bit of me acknowledges the chain of command.

Kane shuts the door behind us and guides me into a large leather chair on the visitor’s side of the desk. He goes to claim his seat, and then waves a hand.

“Open the envelope,” he instructs.

“Could I have one minute to reconstruct my face first?”

His gaze settles on my mouth. “Why? I like it just the way it is. Nothing better than knowing I ruined you without taking off a single piece of clothing.”

I blush hard enough that my blood vessels raise several alarm bells.

I pull out my phone and open the camera so I can see just how visible my internal state of mayhem is. “Some of us prefer not to broadcast to forty dinner guests that we spent the family photograph grinding against the host’s thigh.”

“Some of us do,” Kane agrees. “Some of us wouldn’t give a damn if the whole world saw you coming on my lap, just so long as they knew that you’d only ever do that for me.”

Oh.

My.

God.

We can’t be having conversations like this. It’s so far beyond the carefully laid out boundaries of our deal that it may as well be a different universe.

So, nope. Abort. Retreat. Will not venture further.

Using my phone’s front-facing camera as a mirror, I attempt repairs. The lipstick has migrated beyond the borders of my mouth. I wipe away the damage with my fingertip, add a new coat, press my lips together, and decide the result will have to satisfy Kane’s many armed relatives, colleagues, and employees.

Kane watches all of this with that ever-present smirk simmering on his face.

“You could pretend to do paperwork,” I tell him. “Or something.”

“I certainly could. I’d rather watch you, though.”

I scowl.

Then my screen lights up before I can put the phone away.

NIKO MAKOV added you to MAKOV CHRISTMAS.

A torrent of unread messages appears beneath the notification. Most are photographs of children making faces, Anton defending his cookie box from Yuri, and little ones scampering around.

Then the family photograph arrives.

I am in the center.

Kane sits in the middle chair with me on his lap and one hand wrapped around my hip. Niko crouches beside us, grinning recklessly. The little ones in front are making rabbit ears over one another. Everyone behind us has squeezed close enough that there are no gaps.

I am glaring at Kane.

Kane is looking at me.

Not one other person in the photograph has his attention.

“Niko added me to your family chat,” I say.

“I will have him executed in the morning.” Kane extends one finger toward the envelope. “Quit stalling and open it, Lilah.”