That was my initial impression.
There were none of the clean lines I appreciated, none of the hard angles and smart leathers I preferred.
But…it was comfortable.
It was also clear she’d only received the delivery of furniture this morning or the day before.
The sofa was still at an odd angle, which made me wonder why the delivery drivers hadn’t arranged it for her before they left. The sofa was massive, which was a plus, it was also a dark beige with flecks, which I didn’t like, not when the fabric was linen. Even someone like me spilled shit from time to time. But I could see why she liked it.
The mink back wall, the dark mauve side walls, all complimented the cream/beige linen, and the teak wood armrests offset it perfectly. A leather cube armchair had been replaced with a winged back armchair that matched the sofa’s carvings, but was in a mink a shade darker than the walls.
The TV was still suspended, but beneath it was a new console, and it was that shabby chic shit that I didn’t necessarily appreciate, but it gave the area a more comfortable feel.
I’d had no carpet on the ground, just a small sheepskin rug, but that was all different now. There was a large, dark brown one underfoot, and it spanned over half the room with a swirling pattern that reminded me of leopard print without the delineated circles.
There were several free standing lamps that were dotted here and there, some roughhewn, upstanding logs that she had lamps on too, and behind the sofa, another console table, this one metallic, yellow gold to the point of being brassy, with a glass top and a large bowl of purple flowers that floated on water.
All in all, it wasn’t me, and I wouldn’t have said it was her, but it didn’t have another woman’s pussy juices on the gear, and I didn’t hate it—so it was a win.
I wondered if she’d bought the sofa with the notion of having sex on it, because it screamed bed to me. I could even, God help me, imagine her curled up on one side and me on the other as we watched another movie or something.
The very idea had me pulling a face, which made me realize she was here.
Watching me.
“You don’t like it.”
The flat statement had me cutting her a look. I didn’t appreciate that I hadn’t known she’d approached—still, she could be quiet when she wanted. I’d learned that the other day during my video call with Aidan.
But any annoyance I’d felt at her not answering the phone surged into outright fury the second I clapped eyes on her.
I almost understood what that phrase ‘a sight for sore eyes’ meant.
She wore short shorts in black denim that offset the pale cream of her skin, and an oversized sweater that mocked the revealing nature of the shorts. It was big and baggy, shapeless, cashmere and expensive… It was also loose around the neck, somehow framing the marks I hadn’t put there.
I knew my strength.
While she’d encouraged me to put my hand to her throat, I hadn’t touched her with such ferocity.
Which meant someone else had.
My nostrils flared at the sight of her. My dick went to full mast, even as my primitive response to her being injured put my mind and body at war.
“Who?”
Her mouth pursed. “You know who.”
That Vasov had made me break my promise to her not only outraged me, but it prompted immediate action.
“I’m going to assume that when the family was invited to meet with you, they were never taken to the true address?” I queried carefully, even as I fought the desire to go over to her, to kiss those marks, to soothe the pain she must have felt during their creation.
“You would be right,” she replied.
“Where does he live?”
She didn’t hesitate and gave me the address. Something settled inside me when I knew she’d been expecting this.
She’d been waiting for me to return.