Chapter 7

"Krasivaya, Natasha. You take my breath away," he said to her, halting her bleak musing.

She blinked at him and smiled. She had hoped he would find her beautiful on her wedding day. Matron Tonya has braided her thick mahogany hair back in an intricate knot and wove one of the white lilies in at the back. Her actual dress was made of cream coloured satin with a lace overlay that fell to her feet. It was pretty and a little old-fashioned with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, but she loved it. Tasha had missed her family on her wedding day and had written to tell them of the event a few weeks prior. They were pleased that she had found a wealthy man and that she seemed happy.

David began to unbutton the front of his suit. Her eyes flickered to his fingers as he slowly drew the buttons one at a time through the fine fabric. She couldn't tell if this suit was new or not. If he had bothered to pick up a new, better one for his wedding day. David always wore black suits with black or grey collared shirts underneath. Sometimes he wore a tie when they went out for a fancy dinner. Today he was wearing a tie.

The wide gold band on his finger flashed as he pulled the suit jacket off his broad shoulders. She watched his hands a lot when she was with him. At first it had been because she hadn't wanted to see his face. To see the face of the man who was stealing her from her destiny and taking her for himself. Then she'd started watching his hands because she'd found them calming. She had begun to realize just how deliberate David was in all of his movements, beginning with his hands. The slow, measured movements David made with his hands never failed to soothe Tasha when she was feeling anxious, which she found happening less and less the more he took her from theatre life.

He reached past her to place his suit jacket on the back of a chair next to a wall. She kept her eyes on his hands, watching the way the cuffs moved revealing the veins under his skin as he stretched. Her heart quickened as she thought of the way he slid those hands across the smoothness of her cheek or neck when he leaned in to kiss her goodnight after dropping her off. He was always so gentle with her even though she could feel the tension boiling beneath the surface. She knew there was so much more to this man.

"Look at me, Natasha," he demanded, stepping closer to her.

Startled, her eyes flew up to meet his. Sky blue met relentless black. He held her worried gaze with one that refused to relieve her anxiety. He was not the kind of man that would back down from his course of action once he was set upon it. She wondered what kind of marriage they would have? Would she be expected to keep his house while he did what exactly? She knew very little about her new husband.

"Tell me what you are thinking, Natasha," he asked, his voice demanding obedience. "I do not like what is in your eyes right now." She twisted her hands together and tried to turn away, but he caught her arm. "No, stay and talk to me. Something is giving you anxiety."

A spark of annoyance flashed through her and she rolled her eyes a little, but blinked so he wouldn't see it. She sighed instead and shrugged. "Of course, I'm anxious David," she said softly. "I've been taken from the only home I have known for over six years and married in a church away from my family and friends to a man I barely know. A man who is fourteen years older than me. A man who I know almost nothing about. Aren't these things enough for me to be anxious over?"

His hand tightened on her arm a little and he pulled her steadily against his chest, his hand sliding up her back and into her hair, anchoring her against his body. His heat seeped into her, warming her as it always did, warming her doubts. She relaxed against him a little and brought her hands up to clasp his biceps lightly, feeling his solid muscles through the shirt he wore. He looked down at her, his eyes hooded and serious.

"These thoughts are valid, my little wife," he said quietly. "But they don't matter. I wanted you from the moment I saw you and so I took you. Maybe it wasn't fair, but we both know the world we live in isn't a good one."

A slight frown marred her brows. He automatically smoothed it with his thumb. "Sometimes it is," she felt compelled to point out. "It was good when I danced."

He traced her lovely features, the magnetic attraction that he had ensured from the very first touch rising between them. "Did I corrupt your good and fair little world, dancer?" he asked, his voice caressing the words.

She knew he was serious. He wanted to know her thoughts. David wanted to know what it was like for her to be torn from the only world she'd known, taken unwillingly and thrust into the role of wife. Of course, he knew that the Bolshoi wasn't uncorrupted. And he knew that she wasn't entirely unwilling to leave by the time David had finished wooing, though she knew he would have taken her willing or not. He'd never pretended otherwise.

She kept her blue eyes steady on him, letting him see the piercing expectation within. "Let us hope not, David," she whispered.

He smoothed his hand over her hair and plucked the lily from the dark red-brown stands, letting it fall on the soft satin cloth of her wedding jacket. His deft fingers reached past her narrow shoulders and swiftly unknotted the intricate braid that had taken nearly an hour to pin up. A small sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as his fingers smoothed and sifted the sections, sliding the soft hair around her shoulders. She closed her eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the pleasure of his hands against her scalp and neck.

David could be such a contradiction. Hard and cold one moment and then gentle the next. She would take whatever scraps of affection she could find, unsure of what tomorrow might hold. His fingers slid past the length of her hair, over her shoulder to the zipper at the back of her dress. Her eyes flew up to his face and her hands clenched where they still touched his arms as he slid the zipper down the length of her back, stopping only when he reached her waist. Her breath escaped in a sigh as he slid his hand in the back of her dress through the parted fabric. The heat from his hand scorched a delicious path down her back from her shoulder blades to her waist and back up again as he traced the length of her spine.

"Krasivaya," he murmured in her ear. "You are so beautiful, my love."

She moaned, the combination of his hands against her hair and back and his softly spoken words of endearment melting her. Before she knew what was happening he was sliding the satin and lace fabric of her dress from her shoulders and skimming it down her body until it too was pooled at her feet. She wasn't wearing a bra and it took everything in her not to jerk her hands up to cover her breasts. She knew he wouldn't allow her to cover herself though, so she kept her hands clenched against his shirt, using him as a lifeline. She used the chemistry flowing between them to bolster her courage. When she looked at him, her pupils were dilated and her cheeks were flushed with excitement.

"Hold still," he told her and bent to kneel at her feet.

She swayed a little with the loss of his solid presence and reached for his shoulder while he unbuckled each heel and slid them from her delicate feet. She clung to him while he lifted her feet one at a time and tended to her. When he placed her second foot flat on the ground and looked up at her she realized how much smaller she was than him, even when he was at her feet. He had one hand wrapped around her hip and the other around her thigh. It was not a difficult feat for anyone to be taller than a ballet dancer, the entire industry was short and at 5'1" Natasha was no exception. But with David bowed before her, his head at her breast level, it felt somehow significant.

She suddenly felt compelled to beg him, "Please don't hurt me."