What would Harper do in this situation?
Well, Harper damn sure wouldn’t make it easy for him to walk away. Of that Violet was certain.
Violet stared up at him with what she hoped was a complete lack of guile and said, “I understand. You’re probably right.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped as he gave her a terse nod. “Good night, Violet.”
When he turned away from her and started moving toward the door, she asked, as casually as she could muster, “Would kissing me goodnight count as taking advantage of how I’m feeling?” She bit her lip. “Friends kiss friends goodnight sometimes, don’t they?”
He stopped dead in his tracks. His fists opened and closed at his sides as a battle between what he wanted to do and what he thought was the right thing to do waged within him.
Inwardly, Violet smiled. Harper would be so proud of her.
But whatever smugness she’d earned quickly evaporated when Nikolai spun on his heel, stalked back to the bed, cupped her face in his hands and kissed the ever-loving crap out of her.
The look in his eyes when he raised his head was hot enough to make steam rise off her skin. “Good night, Violet.”
He was gone before Violet could find her voice.
Chapter Fourteen
He was a fucking idiot.
The woman of his dreams had been in his arms—warm, grateful, willing—and he’d turned her away.
His dick would likely never forgive him.
It’d been about an hour since he’d said goodnight to her, and he’d been pacing from one end of her apartment to the other ever since. She’d fallen back to sleep immediately.
He was quickly finding that out about Violet—she could fall asleep faster than anyone he’d ever met. He wished he could say the same about himself. His years with Sentry had taught him to survive and function on little to no sleep for days on end, weeks if necessary. Now, even when he wanted, sleep it remained elusive.
Nikolai knew better than to even try to sleep tonight. Not after having been so close to Violet. The sweet, sultry scent of her skin, the silken feel of her arms as they tightened around his waist, the warmth of her breath as it skated across his chest, the honeyed taste of her…
Jesus. He paused in his pacing to adjust his jeans, which were quickly growing way too restrictive.
What the fuck had he been thinking when he got out of that bed? He’d been at the fucking gates of heaven, and he’d pretty much told Saint Peter, “No, thanks. I’d rather not come in. I’ll just stay out here in hell all by myself.”
“Fucking idiot,” he muttered.
But even as he cursed himself, he’d realized something in that moment, in Violet’s arms, that forced him to take a step back.
Everything about Violet just felt right. He couldn’t think of one thing in his life that had felt right since he was a kid back in Russia all those years ago.
To him, Violet was home.
And it wasn’t just the physical pull of her. It was much more. Like the way she blurted out her inner most thoughts when she was nervous. Like the way she took care of everyone around her before she even thought of taking care of herself. Like how she’d forgiven him for everything he’d done to her.
And she was so damn smart. Smarter than he could ever hope to be. She’d devoted her life to helping people, people who had no one else. That was his Violet. Champion of the hopeless lost causes. He loved that about her.
He loved…her.
Sentry had stripped nearly everything away from him, but they hadn’t been able to touch the part of him that remembered what love was. It’d been so long since he’d felt it that it’d taken him a while to recognize it, but he’d been halfway in love with her when he kidnapped her all those months ago. Being with her today had just finished the job.
But it was way too soon to tell Violet how he felt. Not to mention it was the worst possible time in the world to dump one more thing on her. She was dealing with more than she should have to as it was.
What had given him the strength—or stupidity…however he wanted to look at it—to walk away from her tonight had been his complete obliviousness to how she felt about him. He knew she was attracted to him…but love? How could she possibly love him? She didn’t know him nearly as well as he knew her.
She hadn’t had the advantage of stalking him for weeks before they even met, after all.
So, the real question now was how the hell was he going to make her love him back? Because letting her go wasn’t an option now. It wasn’t fair to her, and he wasn’t good enough for her by a long shot, but he was a selfish bastard. He’d be damned if he was going to lose the only woman who’d managed to make him feel human again.
Yes, the timing was terrible. That much was true. They had to figure out who was trying to kill her before he could focus on winning her heart for real. But that was alright with Nikolai. One of the only useful things Sentry had taught him was patience, and he had an abundance of it.
Their time would come. And speaking of time…
Glancing at the hints of sunlight that were starting to peep through Violet’s heavy curtains, Nikolai guessed it was about six. He had no idea what time she needed to be up in order to get ready for the drive to the wedding. All he knew for sure was that she’d need coffee before she could do anything at all.
Edging as stealthily as possibly into her room, he checked her alarm clock. She’d set it for seven, which meant there was no use starting the coffee yet.
Violet flipped onto her back and flung an arm out onto the pillow next to her. A snuffling little snore escaped her parted lips.
He couldn’t hold back a smile. For someone who exercised so much control and restraint in her waking hours, Violet slept with what could only be described as wild abandon.
Did she exercise equal abandon when she was awake in bed as she did when she was asleep in it?
God, what he wouldn’t give to find out.
Violet sighed in her sleep and kicked a leg out of the blankets. Her sleep shorts had ridden up, revealing a delectable expanse of creamy white skin. She had a tiny strawberry-shaped birthmark on her upper, inner thigh. He wanted to trace it with his tongue.
His dick was 100% on board with that idea.
Nikolai cursed under his breath and tucked the blankets back around her. Falling on her like a rutting beast certainly wasn’t a sound plan for making her fall in love with him.
He gave the empty spot beside her in bed one last longing glance, and turned to go.
“Soon, kotehok,” he whispered. “Soon.”
Chapter Fifteen
Even with all the fucked-up crap that was going on in her life at the moment, Violet was absurdly happy to be attending the wedding of her sister and her ex-boyfriend with an insanely hot guy who would stick by her side the entire night. If that wasn’t a giant “fuck you” to the douchebag who cheated on her with her sister, then she didn’t know what was.
Not that she wasn’t still nervous about the whole thing. Even with Nikolai at her side, could she look her sister in the eye, smile, and offer congratulations on her wedding to a man who was willing to fuck over—literally—one sister for the other?
Yes, she thought somewhat bitterly. She would. Because that’s what Violet Marchand did. She was always the first one to turn the other cheek. Violet had never been one to deny anyone their happiness.
Even when someone else’s happiness came at the expense of her own. It was all part of the public mask she’d gotten so used to wearing.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach when Nikolai knocked on the bathroom door and asked her if she was ready to leave, which annoyed her. Damn it, this wasn’t a real date, she reminded herself. Nikolai was her date because it was his job to protect her. He’d certainly made it clear that nothing else was going to happen between them anytime soon.
He knocked again when she didn’t answer. “Yes,” she said as she reached for the door. “I’m ready.” Then she pulled the door ope
n and her jaw practically hit the floor.
The butterflies in her stomach started fluttering about again, bumping into each other drunkenly as her gaze took him in, head to toe. He wore a charcoal-colored suit with a crisp white dress shirt and a deep red, textured silk tie. His hair was, for once, neatly combed, the scruff on his jaw gone. And had he always been so tall?
Holy hell, Harper had been right.
Nikolai Aleyev was fuck hot in a suit.
He smirked down at her. “Thank you.”
Violet’s chin hit her chest. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
D’oh!
Well, too late to try and be cool now, she supposed. She lifted her head and let out a resigned breath.
His eyes drifted down over her dress. She was wearing the red vintage Versace she’d gotten for a song in her favorite little downtown thrift store. She was sure Lexa would approve, because Nikolai was definitely Versace- worthy.
“You are stunning,” he said, his voice so thick with tension it made the comment sound like an understatement.
She blinked up at him. Had anyone ever called her stunning before? She didn’t think so. She’d always been the smart one. The one who had to be Sabrina when she played Charlie’s Angels with her friends, because she wasn’t hot enough to play Jill. Was it anti-feminist of her to admit that in this moment, she liked being called stunning more than anything else she’d ever been called?
Swallowing hard, she turned around and gestured to her zipper. “Can you help with this?”
“Of course,” he said, his voice gruff.
When his hand—huge, hot, calloused from years of hard work—touched her back, tingles shot up and down her spine. And the feel of his breath on the back of her neck as he stepped closer to move the zipper up…Jesus. Could her heart handle beating any faster than it was at the moment?
And was it just her, or was there something decidedly erotic about the rasping sound the metal teeth of the zipper made as they joined?
“There,” he said after what felt like an eternity. “Got it.”
She turned back around. “Thank you.”
And there they stayed. In her bathroom doorway. Staring at each other.
Violet’s brain screamed at her mouth to say something—anything—to break the tension. To keep from grabbing him by that silk tie, dragging his mouth down to hers and kissing him with everything she had. The way his gaze dropped to her lips made her wonder if he was having a similar internal struggle.
“So,” she began, trying for a cool, breezy tone, “Are you ready for your first Marchand family event?”
His brow furrowed. “I would’ve said yes, but something about the way you asked that makes me wonder.”
She chuckled without a trace of mirth. “All I can say for sure is that you’re in for an interesting night.”
He squared his shoulders and set his jaw, looking every inch the determined, stoic bodyguard. “I’m ready.”
This time her laugh was 100% genuine. “You really have no idea.”
Chapter Sixteen
Violet’s dress, Nikolai decided, was designed for shock and awe.
And it was doing its job like a damn pro.
The crimson silk draped over her breasts and hugged the gentle curve of her hips. The skirt was shorter than what she normally wore, falling to mid-thigh. But the best—and worst—part of Violet’s ensemble?
No visible panty lines.
Holy God, the view he’d get if she bent over just a tiny bit…
Fuck.
Sitting next to her—pressed to her side, thigh against thigh—in the church for what he swore was the longest wedding ceremony ever performed, had been torture. And the desire to reach over, grab her hand, and hold it in his own had been damn near overwhelming.
They’d arrived a little later than anticipated thanks to traffic on the expressway, so they’d had to sit in the back, away from Violet’s mother and other sister, which was just fine with Nikolai. He was still suffering too greatly from the effects of Violet’s dress to form coherent thoughts and pretend to be charming for her family.
But as he checked Violet’s coat at the reception hall and helped her find their placecard, he knew he couldn’t avoid socialization much longer.
Pity that.
He ushered Violet in ahead of him, taking a moment to appreciate her ass in that amazing red dress. Suddenly, she stopped and spun around, and Nikolai was pretty sure he was about to get slapped for leering at her ass, but she merely leaned into him and whispered, “That’s the singles table.” She gestured to a table full of sad sacks who for some reason made Nikolai think of Island of Misfit Toys. Wow.
“Guess I’m doing a good job of saving your life after all,” he said.
Her answering smile lit up the room like the fucking sun. So beautiful.
A loud, urgent squeal cut through the din of clattering silverware, polite conversation, elevator music, and fake society laughs, almost causing Nikolai to draw his concealed Glock. Surely such a shriek was the result of someone being brutally murdered or assaulted, right?
As it turned out, no.
“Vi Vi!” the owner of the shriek of the damned called. “Thank God you’re here!”
A pocket-sized blonde woman with a cloud of frizzy curls and a neon orange dress so bright it hurt to look directly at it leapt up from her table—the table at which Violet and Nikolai were supposed to sit…great—and jogged on five-inch heels in their direction before launching herself into Violet’s open arms.
Violet giggled and staggered backward as she seemed to catch all of the woman’s weight. The sound of that giggle reached straight down into Nikolai’s pants, wrapped itself right around his dick, and squeezed. Jesus. As if the dress wasn’t distracting enough, now he had that to deal with?
“Dalia!” Violet wheezed as the other woman strengthened her hold. “It’s so good to see you!”
Violet’s sister, Nikolai realized. Now that he looked a little closer at the woman clinging to Violet like she was a lifeline, there was a distinct resemblance between the two of them. But the resemblance was more in their facial features than anything else. Because while Violet’s dress, hair, and makeup were elegant and understated, everything about Dalia screamed…well, it just screamed. With her loud colors, brash voice, and heavy, vivid make-up, Dalia looked more ready for ladies’ night in Vegas than she did for a tasteful wedding in upstate New York.
“Holy God, Rosie stuck us at a table with complete duds,” Dalia said in a ridiculously loud stage whisper. “Making conversation with these stiffs has been torture!”
Several of the “stiffs” in question harrumphed into their drinks and turned away from the spectacle that was Dalia.
Violet shook her head and took a step back out of her sister’s embrace. “You had a few drinks before we got here, didn’t you, D?”
Dalia lifted her hand and blew a breath into it, sniffing delicately. Her eyes widened. “Can you smell it on me? I haven’t had much. Just a smidge.” She held up her thumb and index finger to indicate a smidge.
A tall man with a wry expression and eyes that sparked with intelligence behind a pair of thick, black-framed glasses stepped up and put a hand on Dalia’s back. “No, honey,” he said, “they can’t smell it. But your lack of volume control is a fairly clear indicator of how much alcohol you’ve had tonight.” He shot a glance at Violet and mouthed, “Three whiskey sours.”
Violet sighed. “Oh, my. Looks like we’re in for a loud evening.” Then she leaned over and gave the man a quick hug. “Nice to see you, too, Jeff.”
“Yep,” Jeff said, patting her on the back before throwing an arm around Dalia. “It’s been too long.”
Violet turned to Nikolai. “Nikolai, you probably already figured this out, but this is my sister Dalia and her husband Jeff. Guys, this is Nikolai Aleyev.”
Nikolai exchanged a handshake and a polite “nice to meet you” with Jeff, but when he held a hand
out to Dalia, she merely gawked at him until Violet gave her a nudge with her shoulder. Then, Dalia blurted, “Holy Christ, what are you, an underwear model?”
So, apparently blurting out random, sometimes inappropriate thoughts was genetic. Huh. Who knew?
Jeff’s chin hit his chest and Violet made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough.
“Um…” Nikolai started, more than a little thrown off his game by the question.
“No, Dalia,” Violet said patiently, “Nikolai is not an underwear model. He’s in personal security.”
Violet glanced at him questioningly. He gave her a nod of approval. He saw no need to make anyone nervous by explaining his true purpose there this evening.
“Fuck,” Dalia said, reaching behind her to grab her drink off the table. She downed what was left of it in one deep swallow. “I’d let you guard my person anytime, handsome. Know what I’m sayin’?”
Jeff sighed. “I think everyone here knows what you’re saying, dear.”
“I’m saying he’s fucking hot,” Dalia clarified unnecessarily and loudly. “Vi Vi, what’s up with you showing up with a fucking hot guy? He’s nothing like your usual type. Take Damien, for example.”
“Darren,” Violet corrected.
Dalia swung her arms out, chucking ice from the bottom of her glass halfway across the room, onto the dance floor, where several dancers were forced to change course before they slid through the mess. “Whatever. He’s a turd. An ugly, weasel-y, greasy little turd.”
“He’s our brother-in-law now,” Violet said.
Nikolai noticed that Violet didn’t argue with Dalia’s assessment that Darren was a turd. He didn’t find it hard to believe, though. Anyone who would cheat on Violet couldn’t be anything but a turd.
Dalia snorted. “That’s Rose’s problem, not ours. Looks like you traded up big time, little sis.”
Nikolai couldn’t hold back a small smirk, but he inclined his head in a formal, proper way and said, “You’re too kind. I thank you.”
Harper Hall Investigations Complete Series Page 88
