Page 17 of Desperate Measures

Forty wasn’t as far away as it used to be, and the truth was, Maggie had hit the nail on the head.

I’d been thinking about the state of my life just lately. Thinking about growing old alone, and I had to admit it was unappealing.

I wasn’t a good man. I mean, I wasn’t a serial killer or anything, but my hands were far from clean. Some of the shit I’ve done was under order of the Volkovs themselves.

Maybe Michaela’s life wasn’t so far from mine after all. Sure, she likely grew up sheltered from the darker, grittier aspects of her family’s life.

But we both lived in the same hard world. Only her view was from the penthouse and mine from the perch beneath.

She still smells like lilacs.

The first time I met her I remember breathing in a delicate floral scent I’d never encountered before.

“What is that?” I asked as we waited for the elevator in Volkov Towers so many years ago.

“Excuse me?”

“Your perfume,” I explained.

“It’s lilacs,” she murmured, blushing prettily.

“Nice.”

We’d parted ways right after her response. I chose to take the stairs instead of riding in the elevator with her. Like something in the back of my mind had told me not to be alone with the young Volkov.

Why that memory should filter into my brain now, I hardly knew. Only she’d been too young then for me to do more than offer a vague nod at her response. I’d been smart to leave.

Lilacs.

I never knew anyone else to favor that scent. It was fresh and sweet, delicate.

Like her.

I stepped further into the room. The judge seemed to notice me, and his eyes flicked to mine. I dipped my head, telling him without words not to give me away.

I wanted the moment to take her in before she knew I was there.

Am I really going to do this? Bind this woman to the monster that I am?

Michaela wore a simple ivory dress, cinched at the waist with a thin gold chain for a belt. The skirt stopped mid-calf.

My eyes went lower, and fuck me, I had to admit I liked what I saw.

She wore stockings. The kind with the seam along the back, like something out of a 1950s magazine, with what looked like vintage heels on her feet.

I wondered if she had a garter on or some other naughty confection beneath her pretty frock. An image of her wearing just that flashed in my brain and a possessive growl rumbled in my chest.

Such a pretty little thing.

My cock swelled. I closed my suit jacket, almost positive it was long enough to cover any bulges I’d rather keep to myself.

“Alright, everyone ready?” Maggie announced, bringing attention to the fact I was standing directly behind my intended.

“One minute,” the woman in scrubs said, facing me with a narrow-eyed gaze.

“Liam O’Doyle,” I said my name, offering her my hand.

“Michelle Davis.”