Inked Athena (Litvinov Bratva Book 2)

“What fresh hell is this?”

I eye the pink monstrosity Samuil’s packing like it’s about to sprout fangs and bite me. If anyone is going to put their mouth on me, though, I’d rather it be him. I’m not sure if it’s the pregnancy hormones or if he just looks extra good today, but Sam’s eyes are burning like a winter storm as he looks up from his task to drink me in.

“It’s packing,” he replies. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re about to leave me again. Although—” I squint at the last item he just stuffed into the case. “—we might need to discuss why you’re packing my panties for a business trip.”

His gaze bounces between me and the eyesore at his feet. “Princess, if you believe I’d choose that as my getaway gear, we need to have words.”

I can’t help but grin. “Pink brings out your eyes, though.”

In a heartbeat, he eats up the space between us. One hand connects with my ass while the other hauls me against his granite chest. “The Versace limited edition is yours.”

I sigh and melt against him. He’s so warm and solid and so Sam that it hurts. “Seriously, though. Why are you packing? Last time you packed without warning, we ended up as fugitives in Scotland.”

“You make it sound so dramatic.” He straightens to his full height and looks down at me, six-foot-four of pure muscle and danger. “I seem to recall you falling in love with this castle.”

“Stockholm Syndrome. Don’t get it twisted.”

Speaking of “twisting,” though, his fingers are doing interesting things with the hem of my nightgown. Pushing it up, teasing it higher and higher. And with every inch of skin he exposes, I get a little bit weaker in the knees.

I force myself to push him away and keep him at arms’ length. “Answers, please.”

He chuckles. “I thought for sure the Gianni would put you in a more compliant mood.”

“Designer labels don’t make me wet, Sam. Intel does.” I press my palm against his pecs, secretly counting his heartbeats. “Who’s trying to kill us this time?”

“What happened to my ray of sunshine who couldn’t stop smiling? You’re turning cynical on me.” He tucks my hair back behind my ear, and damn him, even that whisper of a touch has me craving more. “Can’t a man surprise his woman?”

“She got kidnapped by the Russian mob and knocked up by their boss.” I arch an eyebrow. “Ring any bells?”

His laugh rumbles through his chest and into mine. “Best mistake I ever made.”

“The kidnapping or the knocking up?”

“Both.” Like the touch-starved fool I am, I lean into his palm with my cheek. “There’s nothing to fear, Nova. I just thought we could use a trip.”

I scan our bedroom, our sanctuary, and sigh. As beautiful as this place is, as Pinterest-perfect, as secluded and safe, it would be nice to change the scenery for a little while.

“Fine. But tell me we’re coming back.”

He engulfs me in his arms, tucking me under his chin. “This isn’t another escape plan, Nova. Just a shopping spree.”

I frown in suspicion. “Keep talking.”

His mercury eyes dance with mischief. “Time to upgrade our wardrobe. Lord and lady have certain standards to maintain.”

If this is manipulation, it’s fucking masterful. I’ve been MacGyvering my pre-pregnancy clothes with rubber bands and living in Sam’s sweats for weeks now. I’d sacrifice my firstborn for some proper maternity wear.

I’m about to demand we leave immediately when suspicion creeps back in. “We do have internet access, do we not? Could order everything online.”

He exhales. “Still doubting me?”

“Can you blame me?”

He grazes my forehead with a kiss. “Different story this time, angel. No one’s hunting us down. No hidden agenda. Cross my heart.”

“Prove it then. Where are we going?”

“London.”

Electric anticipation zips through me. “London… didn’t you just come from there?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t with me. Plus, I was keeping my head down. Barely counts.” His arms snake around my waist. “This time will be different. We’re living the high life at the Ritz Carlton. Trafalgar Suite.”

I nearly choke. “Holy shit— Hope’s gonna lose her mind! That’s the Notting Hill suite! Julia fucking Roberts stayed there, Sam! I’ll be breathing her air!”

“Pretty sure that air’s long gone by now.”

But I’m already halfway to cloud nine. Finally breaking free from this stone prison. With him.

I surge up, claiming his mouth. “That movie’s my absolute favorite! Did you plan this?”

His mysterious shrug comes with another kiss to my crown. “A magician never tells. Now, make moves—we’re wheels up in fifty-seven minutes.”

“Oddly specific.”

“So are your spa appointments.”

My jaw unhinges. “You’re shitting me.”

“Three hours of pure queen treatment. Nothing less for my woman.”

My mind short-circuits. The closest I’ve gotten to spa-level luxury was face-masking with Hope and playing amateur pedicurist. Maybe that’s why my brain starts throwing up roadblocks.

“The puppies, though…” I chew on a nail. “And my garden… Mr. Morris needs help with⁠—”

“Don’t tell me you’re choosing potatoes over paradise.”

I try to protest—God knows why—but then Sam captures my face between his palms and shuts me up with a kiss that makes my toes curl.

When he breaks away, my head’s spinning like a carousel on acid. “Come on, baby,” he purrs, voice pure sin. “Run away with me.”

Bastard’s playing dirty.

What’s a girl to do but surrender?

The trip from Moorbeath to London feels like someone hit fast-forward on reality.

After weeks of isolation, seeing the world still turning is a mindfuck. Every building is a symphony. Every passing stranger looks like the Mona fucking Lisa.

Then we hit the suite, and I’m counting thread counts like a psychopath. Can’t miss a single detail.

I’m on our balcony, getting high on rose perfume when Sam materializes behind me.

His arms cage me in. “Worth it?”

“That’s rhetorical, right? Only a crazy person would hate this. It’s fucking insane.”

“Good. Because we’re calling it home for the next week.”

I shake my head. “I’ve only ever been in one hotel room before this. It was on the ground floor of the Red Roof Inn in Illinois for my cousin’s wedding.”

Samuil’s mouth twists to the side. “Sounds… quaint.”

I snort. “You don’t have to be polite. It was about as good as it sounds.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks, still making an effort to be a gentleman.

“Well, I was fifteen and forced to share a room with my brothers. So no, not really.” I break off. It’s the first time I’ve casually mentioned Tommy and Mike since they died.

It’s bizarre, knowing they’re dead. A part of me still has trouble believing it.

Samuil pulls me from my thoughts with a gentle caress against my cheek. “That’s behind you now, Nova. Time to enjoy this moment.”

“You’re right.” I give him a huge, fake smile and point to my face. “This is me, enjoying the moment.”

He thumbs my bottom lip. “Cute. Now, come inside with me.”

“But right now, I’m enjoying the view.”

“You can admire the view later. After I’ve given you your gift.”

“‘Gift’?” I tug my hand out from beneath his. “I thought this—” I gesture to our surroundings. “—was the gift.”

“It’s one part of your gift,” he admits, tugging me towards our suite. “The other part is waiting for you on the other side of this door.”

I’m not sure my nerves can take any more surprises. One or two more whelms, and I’ll be firmly in overwhelmed territory.

But Samuil looks so handsome smiling at me, and I don’t want to disappoint him after everything he’s done. So I throw the door open, prepared to ooh and ahh over whatever brand name gown, world-class meal, or chest of gold he’s got waiting for me.

But absolutely nothing prepares me for what’s waiting on the other side.

“Hey, babe.”

Hope is dressed in a tartan skirt and a fuzzy white sweater, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed casually over her chest. So calm, cool, and la-di-freaking-da that I want to scream just looking at her.

I promptly hurl myself forward and we collide in a tangle of hair and limbs. “Don’t ‘hey, babe’ me, all cool! What in the hell are you doing here?!”

She laughs and squeezes me back just as hard. “What, you think I’d let you live your best Julia Roberts life without me? Please.”

“I can’t believe you’re here!” My voice breaks embarrassingly, but I don’t care. I just keep squeezing her until she wheezes, but it still isn’t enough.

Is she real? Am I? Is this really happening?

“I flew in a few hours ago. First class, no less. It’s almost enough to make me forgive your man for keeping us apart all this time. When I give him the knee to the balls he deserves, I’ll be a touch gentler.”

Yeah, it’s Hope, alright.

I twist to look at Sam, finding him leaning against the wall with that infuriating half-smile that makes my knees weak.

The bastard planned this perfectly.

“You’re welcome,” he drawls.

All I can do is laugh.