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them both in. His hands shook as he tossed decorative pillows into the corner, then drew back the thick pale-green and beige comforter and cream sheets. By the time he was done, Jessica had wandered into the bedroom, watching him as she meandered and explored. The simple sight of her towel-drying her hair entranced him.
    “There’s not much of you here,” she murmured while examining a blue glass vase that complimented the dark waves beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. “It looks like a bedroom you’d see in some magazine spread.”
    Despite their perfect view, no one could see into the house thanks to the special coating on the windows, so he kept the curtains back, letting the last of the setting sun illuminate her beauty. As soon as they got back to Russia, he was going to have an appointment made with the best colorist in Moscow to return her dark hair to its former burning glory. When she raised her eyebrows at him while returning the vase to its spot on the dresser, he realized she’d made a comment.
    “No, there is not much of me here. It is merely place to sleep. Not my home.”
    She paused in her examination, her gaze focused on the pale wood floors before she closed her eyes. “Where is home?”
    “I have not had a home in five years.”
    She swallowed hard, twice, before bracing her hand on the wall for a moment. “I’m so sorry.”
    Growling deep in his throat, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the bed. “Here, now.”
    When she looked up there was an indignant cast to her refined features. “Pardon me?”
    “You heard me. I want you in our bed, now.”
    Her little huff of annoyance eased something deep inside of him and his rusty sense of humor began to reawaken.
    When Jessica had been gone from his life, his emotions had faded away until it seemed as if he only felt the shallow ghost of feelings. Well…all feelings except anger. His rage had rushed in to fill those empty spaces left by the loss of his family. Now his chest ached with the reemergence of tenderness, of the need to be gentle and loving with his woman.  Yes, he’d cuddled his submissives, but never because he particularly desired to. He did it because it was what they wanted and he needed their bodies and submission to remind himself that he was alive.
    His wife’s breathing grew shallow while she slowly slipped nude into the bed, and she lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling with her hands clasped on her chest. Letting his instincts guide him, he turned out the lights then joined her in bed and lay on his side facing her, propping his head up on his hand so he could see her clearly. Her eyes were closed, and her lower lip trembled as she held back tears.
    Part of him knew his tenderhearted girl cried when her emotions became too strong, but he hated seeing her struggle.
    “Jessica,” he whispered before placing gentle kisses all over her face, worshiping her with his touch. “What has made you so sad?”
    “Not sad, stressed.” She took a hitching breath, which came out in a rough laugh that made him wince. “Well, let’s see, I want to kill your father, like really kill him, and I’m trying to talk myself out of it. Then there is the thought of how I’m going to tell my family in the States I’m alive, or if that would just endanger them, along with Tatiana’s safety and how to ease her into her new life. And I’m not even going to go into my feelings regarding you.”
    “What feelings?”
    Her mouth snapped shut and in the dim lighting coming from an outdoor porch light below his windows he studied her exquisite profile. In the shadows she looked the same as he remembered and he couldn’t stop himself from tracing his fingers down her throat, over her racing pulse. She still refused to look at him, but turned her body enough to rub her cheek against his chest.
    “I used to wonder if I imagined how good things were between us, if I’d somehow tricked myself into seeing an idealized image of our