Mine to Keep (NOLA Knights #3) - Rhenna Morgan Page 0,86
powerful as to shake her from the heavenly space he’d given her. “My Queen is tired.”
His Queen.
Her heart smiled at the endearment, the same goofy feeling she’d been blindsided by the first time he’d uttered it leaving her as giddy as a teenager with a crush. No wonder people fell in love with just the idea of being in love. To feel this cherished. This adored by a man like Roman was heady if not addictive.
He shifted to the side, freeing her of his weight and his warmth.
She whimpered and rolled with him. “Where are you going?”
“The condom.” He pulled the covers tightly around her. “Close your eyes and rest. I’ll be back.”
Even in his absence, his scent lingered, a peaceful blend of the deepest woods and the crisp bite of fresh fallen snow. She let her eyes close once more and inhaled deep. Tucked her knees in tight and delighted in the tranquil moment. The sink turned off and on. Footsteps moved from the bath to the bedroom, followed by the muted chirp of electronics. The soft glow of the bedside lamp that burned behind her eyelids went dark just as the click of the switch sounded.
And then he was beside her.
Warm.
Strong.
And so very tender yet confident in the way he held her.
He spooned her tight, his big body wrapped perfectly around hers.
“Roman?” Just saying that much took everything in her, the lethargy after the release he’d given her dragging her deeper with each second.
His voice sounded as relaxed as her own, but there was humor behind it, too. “Yes, moya koroleva?”
Yeah, she wasn’t ever going to get tired of that. Not ever. She forced enough air into her lungs to speak. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
Hmm? What were they talking about?
Oh, right.
That.
And she needed to tell him before sleep claimed her completely. “For not giving up on me.”
“Never.” He brushed his lips against the tender spot behind her ear and his breath ghosted against her skin. “I will never give up on what is mine.”
Chapter Nineteen
Stacks of pancakes. An even taller pile of mega-thick Belgian waffles. Mounds of crispy bacon and a platterful of perfectly crisped hash browns. As indulgences went, the Saturday morning breakfast cornucopia laid out on Sergei and Evette’s kitchen table topped Bonnie’s scale of best ways to wake up.
Granted, it had taken Roman tempting her out of bed with a stout cup of coffee and some physical coaxing of a sexual nature to wake her enough to make it to this point, but wow—was it gonna be worth it.
She moved in closer and eyed the makeshift buffet, Roman tight behind her back. “This is an insane amount of food,” she whispered quiet enough Olga wouldn’t overhear from the stove.
“It’s not just for us,” Roman answered just as quietly. “The men are invited as well. Every Saturday morning, Olga makes the most of her kitchen and spoils us all.”
Spoiled indeed. If the core food wasn’t enough to make an impression, the toppings would leave even the most hardened cynic a reborn optimist. Powdered sugar. Blackberry preserves she’d bet were homemade. Brown sugar and cinnamon. Apple butter. Strawberries, blueberries and Nutella.
And of course—maple syrup.
Bonnie grabbed a plate, her once sluggish body perking right up for the sugar high dead ahead. “Well, if all those men are gonna dig in soon, then I guess I better load up in advance.”
Ten minutes later, she had a huge cup of black coffee and a plateful of bacon and Belgian waffles topped with blackberry jam and whipped cream. She slid into the chair next to Emerson who looked like he’d already mainlined four helpings of chocolate syrup. “What’s up, big man? Long time, no talk.”
Emerson chuckled like he was in on a secret.
Bonnie scanned Sergei, Evie, Kir and Cassie already seated at the table. “What’s he so giddy about? I mean, besides the breakfast paradise in the other room.”
Cassie pursed her mouth in a wry smile and reached for her coffee mug. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”
She rubbed her fingers along one side of her mouth, then the other. Yeah, she’d sampled a little of the toppings before she’d settled on the blackberries, but she wasn’t that big of a pig. “What? Is there something on my face?”
Roman picked that minute to settle in his own chair and Emerson beamed up at him. “She’s awful happy, Uncle Roman.”
Somehow, Roman managed a look back at Emerson that was both chastising and thoroughly smug. “A happy woman is the sign