Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet #2) - Nicole Fox Page 0,38
but I see her stand up and move towards the dress just before I shut the door and walk back downstairs. Hannah is smart enough to know she shouldn’t be lingering in the living room. Wherever she is, I hope she stays there. I don’t trust her.
Molly’s silver dress is simple, but sexy.
The neckline plunges across her chest and snaps around the back of her neck, leaving her back exposed down to her waist. I lay my hand on her lower back as we walk to the car, and it’s physically difficult to release her. I’ll have to fight the urge to touch her all night.
“Are you nervous?” Molly asks.
The question pulls me from my thoughts—mostly thoughts of touching all of her exposed skin—and I realize my fingers are digging into my knees hard enough my knuckles are white.
I loosen my grip. “No.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “You’ve looked a little nauseous ever since I walked downstairs. Are you sure you aren’t the one who is pregnant?”
We are separated from the driver with a soundproof sheet of glass, but I still turn to Molly with a warning in my eyes. No one else should know about her condition … not yet.
“He can’t hear us,” she says a little louder, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth up. She leans forward and cups a hand around her mouth, directing her words towards the divider. “Take the next right.”
The car continues moving straight and steady. No deviation whatsoever.
“Go back to the apartment. I forgot my panties!”
This time, I reach across the seat and lay a hand over her mouth, though I can barely keep the smile from my own face. “What is wrong with you? Weren’t you nervous just a few minutes ago? You better not have taken any drugs. You’re pregnant.”
Her eyes go wide. “Are you not supposed to take drugs while you’re pregnant?”
For a brief moment, I think she is being serious. Then, I see the spark of amusement in her eyes and shake my head. “You are bad.”
“And you’re smiling,” she says softly. Her hand lifts like she wants to reach out and touch my face, and I resist the urge to curl against her palm like a cat. Then, she drops it in her lap, her smile dimming slightly, becoming more restrained. “If we both went into tonight nervous, I’d never make it through. You’re supposed to be the one holding me together. So, whatever has you worried, I want to help take care of it.”
“Sorry.” I run my hands through my hair and lean back in my seat. “I’ve been distracted lately.”
It is more than I usually admit to anyone, but I don’t feel vulnerable. Not with Molly. I feel safe.
The realization hits me all at once, and the thought once again arises unbidden in my mind: I can’t let her go. I can’t let them go.
Molly reaches across the seat and lays a hand on my wrist. Her fingers are long and thin, and her skin is warm against mine. “Well, no matter what else is going on, all we need to focus on tonight is being a convincing married couple.”
I turn my hand over and thread my fingers through hers. “I think I can manage that.”
Her eyebrow arches up in a challenge. “Are you sure? Because, as a wife, I can be quite demanding.”
She shifts slightly in the seat, her legs uncrossing, knees falling apart slightly. Without permission, my eyes trace the curve of her breasts in the dress and dip lower, falling into the shadow beneath the slit of her dress. I swallow back the desire clogging my throat.
“What kinds of demands?”
Molly drops her hand to the exposed skin of her thigh and slides it slowly up, her fingers whispering over her skin in a way that makes me want to grab her firmly, the way she needs to be grabbed. “Well, for one thing, you’ll have to stay close to me.”
I nod before she is even finished speaking. “Done.”
Her mouth puckers to one side, hiding a smile. “And keep me satisfied.”
My gaze flicks back up to her face and then down again. “In what ways?”
She shrugs, her hand moving higher, pushing the fabric of her dress aside to expose her upper thigh. So much of her leg is showing that I have to wonder whether the joke about forgetting her panties was real or not.
“Food if I’m famished,” she says, her words breathy. “A drink if I’m parched.”