White Rabbit
Page 14
She saw what he did.
Because while Anya might have thought she was being cavalier, her actions were rather transparent. She was waiting to be introduced—or at the very least, was waiting for Uilleam to acknowledge her presence at all.
He promptly ignored her. “Mikhail, this is Karina Ashworth.”
“Prekrasnoye svidaniye u vas zdes’—A lovely date you have here,” Mikhail complimented with a smile as he picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
He didn’t have a chance, not that he needed one apparently, to translate before Karina responded. “Spasibo, Mr. Volkov.”
Mikhail looked pleasantly surprised as he regarded her. “You speak Russian?”
Karina, as charming as she was beautiful, merely shrugged. “Enough to keep up.”
As if he needed another reason to think she was amazing. Though, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t actually known she could speak the language. It sent his curiosity racing, wondering what other hidden talents she possessed and what more he didn’t know about her.
She’d seemed to handle herself quite well while they’d been in Paris too, which made him wonder where she had found the time to learn the languages.
So many questions, and all the time in the world to get them answered.
Seeming thoroughly impressed, Mikhail couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her as he gestured to his wife. “Uilleam, you’ve already met my wife. Karina—”
“Charmed,” Anya cut in before he could finish, extending the hand with the giant diamond ring resting on her finger.
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Volkov. I absolutely adore your dress. Timothy Ardeen has such beautiful designs.”
Though Uilleam hadn’t the slightest idea who that was, Anya seemed to. Her expression changed then—as if she’d had every intention of being as rude as she was known to be but then seemed to think better of it.
“Yes, he does,” she said, her tone a touch softer now.
“Blue is such a lovely color on you,” Karina went on, easily sliding into her chair once Uilleam pulled it out for her.
Was it terribly selfish that he wished he didn’t have to share her with anyone? He wanted to keep her tucked away where only he could enjoy her smiles and the way she laughed so freely when something amused her. To study that wrinkle she got between her brows when she was concentrating.
He wanted it all—every quiet moment they spent together. Even during his sleepless nights when slumber evaded him. He’d always rather enjoyed his solitude, but with her, he’d grown to love spending his nights beside her.
She brought him peace even as he didn’t deserve it.
And if he kept her tucked away where nothing could get to her, he knew he’d only bruise her wings.
Shoving that thought away before he took his seat, he looked back at Mikhail. “And your son?” he asked. “He’s doing well, I trust?”
Mikhail’s expression shifted for a fraction of a second, just enough to make Uilleam wonder what thought had just gone through the man’s head at the mention of his son, Mishca.
“Good, good,” he said easily—evasively. “Following in his old man’s footsteps.”
Uilleam was far more accustomed with the rules of Cosa Nostra rather than the vory v zakone, considering his ties to Carmelo Albini, but he wasn’t unfamiliar with the bratva. He knew the oath they took and the stories behind the dark ink that covered their skin. He also knew that unlike the Italians, family ties weren’t always celebrated.
It wouldn’t and didn’t matter that Mishca Volkov was the son of the boss. That didn’t guarantee him a seat at the table.
The privilege had to be earned.
Before Uilleam could unpack that further, the waiter arrived with a smile, ready to take their order.
Mikhail requested a bottle of the restaurant’s most expensive champagne for the table before Uilleam ordered for Karina and himself.
But it wasn’t until their food arrived and Mikhail had a couple of vodkas in him that they finally got down to business.
Despite his earlier misgivings about what this night might bring, he found he didn’t quite mind the Russian and his wife as much as he thought he would.
But as the night wore on and they’d agreed to a few deals and promise of future favors, Uilleam found even as he heard the man’s words—even watched him speak under the pretense of listening—the part of his brain that hadn’t been working right since the moment he met her was focused on Karina entirely.
It happened without him even meaning to.
The moment he turned to look in her direction, he couldn’t stop himself from staring. At the curve of her jaw. The slight tilt of her smile—or even the way her eyes dropped to her plate when she laughed.
He was transfixed.
Body and soul.
A troubling thought if he’d ever had one. He was a Runehart—he lived for his work. Most days, it felt as if it were the only thing keeping his wayward brain interested in the mundane. But no matter the meeting or task—he found he was still more interested in her.
He both loved and resented that fact.
Loved, because it was humbling to know someone loved him as selflessly as she did, but he also resented it because he knew she would always be a way to hurt him because of how he felt for her.
A target for his enemies.
“Exceptional woman, she is,” Mikhail said conversationally, drawing Uilleam’s attention back to him. “I’d heard she was pretty, but I hadn’t expected more than this.”
If he’d tapped his finger any harder against the side of the glass he held, Uilleam was sure the crystal would have shattered beneath his hold. “All third parties weaving tales are unreliable sources. Who was yours?”
He wanted to simply to inquire why, exactly, the man had found it pertinent to discuss someone who shouldn’t pertain to them in any way.
He certainly didn’t plan on slowly torturing the man until he understood that Karina’s name was never meant to leave his mouth. Certainly not.
Mikhail shrugged as if he understood quite well what Uilleam was implicating. “It’s never a shame to have a gorgeous woman at your side,” he said easily, patting Anya’s thigh.
It wasn’t, but that didn’t mean she was safe.
No one was safe in this world.
“No, I can’t imagine it is.”
“Your father didn’t believe in that philosophy.”
It was as if he’d been doused in freezing water. His attention snapped back to Mikhail, taking in everything about the man’s expression.
His smile felt brittle. “Mm.” It was the only sound he was able to make without actually speaking.
“Your father was an … interesting man, no?” Mikhail asked as he cut into his steak, not seeming to notice the way his wife and Karina fell silent and oblivious to Uilleam’s darkening mood.
He knew better than to react. It had taken years of careful practice, control, and discipline to not physically display how any mention of Alexander affected him. Most knew, quite well, that it would be in their best interest if they avoided all mention of the man, if only because they had feared him, but now he needed to make that abundantly clear.
“I heard he’d gone mad in those last days. Touched,” he said with a point of his knife at his own temple. “Can’t imagine that was easy for someone like you.”
He didn’t know the fucking half of it.
No one did.
No one knew that he had suffered greatly at the hands of the man as he grew more power hungry and, in the process, became more paranoid than any man should be. He’d started to see ghosts behind every corner until they hadn’t just lingered when he went out in public, but they followed him home as well.
Uilleam had also been sure he would die at his father’s hand—nearly did when Alexander had beaten him so badly, they’d placed him in a medically induced coma until the swelling in his brain went down.
Not too much longer after that, Kit,
after learning the ways of the Lotus Society, and after hearing about what had happened to Uilleam, had come back and tortured the man to death before finally putting a bullet in his head.
The image was still there, always waiting just out of focus until the moment a fleeting thought entered his head and it sprang forth
He didn’t need to be reminded of that time in his life—when he hadn’t been able to defend himself. Not nearly the person he was now.
Especially by someone like Volkov … and especially in front of Karina.
But as he contemplated, just for a moment, how he would ultimately make the man suffer for this slight, Karina’s hand covered his beneath the table.
Just the barest trace of her fingers ghosting over his knuckles, then the back his hand until he turned it over and their palms met. Her expression didn’t change from carefully pleasant nor did she miss a beat in re-engaging Anya in a conversation about interior design and the best studios in the city.
And at that moment, he could breathe a little easier.
He smiled as he regarded Volkov, already thinking of their next meeting. “No, it’s never a shame to keep a beautiful woman at your side.”
Because there were moments when no one else realized she was the only thing keeping them from taking a bullet to the head.
11
Bend
Champagne had never been her friend, no matter how much she enjoyed drinking it.
It went down too easy unlike the vodka she drank mixed with cranberry juice and Sprite. One glass could easily turn into two without her noticing, and since she wasn’t much of a drinker to begin with, it took far less to make her world tilt on its axis than it would for someone else.
But fortunately, she hadn’t started feeling the effects of the bottle Mikhail Volkov had bought for the table until she and Uilleam were on the way back to her apartment.
But as soon as she did, Karina found herself smiling absently over at Uilleam, staring at the way the moonlight reflected off the sharp line of his jaw and the shadows clung to his cheekbones.
It certainly wasn’t fair how easily he captivated her, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.
Not a day or a month or even a year would ever be enough when it came to him.
“You know,” she said conversationally, easing out of the killer heels she’d been wearing all night. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drive.”
It seemed he preferred to be driven, but much to her surprise, instead of a driver when the dinner was over and they’d said goodbye to the Volkovs, a car had been waiting instead. So stark in a gleaming black and in pristine condition, she thought it might had been bought that night, then brought to the restaurant.
He’d refused to confirm whether that theory was correct.
His gaze never turned away from the road, but she could still see the slight tilt of his mouth as he smiled. “My mind wanders when I’m thinking,” he remarked after a moment. “Not the best circumstances behind the wheel of a vehicle. Besides, I’m not in any mood to share you any more than I already have wearing that dress.”
The compliment made her smile, glad she’d chosen the more risqué choice for the night. She hadn’t truly been upset with him earlier, but she had been thrilled at the idea of making him eat those words.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
And considering his expression earlier, that was a bit of an understatement.
Or the way he’d seemed unable to take his eyes off her over the course of the night, even as Mikhail had engaged him, the tattoos on his knuckles shifting as he cut into his food. She’d made a concentrated effort not to listen to what they were saying, but from the moment she’d see the ink darkening his skin, she had been curious what a man like him could provide Uilleam.
“He was a vor, wasn’t he?” she asked now, brushing her fingers along the back of his neck and through the soft, curling strands of his hair.
“It should no longer surprise me that you know as much as you do.”
She cringed, so easily forgetting herself and the careful life she had constructed, but she nearly breathed a very audible sound of relief.
“You’re very good at your job.”
She was.
But she was also very good at manipulating the truth to fit her needs.
They had that in common.
By the time they arrived at her apartment, her mood had lightened, her troubles momentarily forgotten as he came around to help her out of the low sitting car. But he didn’t stop there. Instead, he swept her right off her feet so she wouldn’t have to walk barefoot.
It was easy to forget, as easygoing as he was and with the wall of muscle he kept around him, that Uilleam wasn’t weak by any stretch of the imagination. That beneath the demure suits and cultured disposition was muscle and strength that had her all too happily clinging to him.
He carried her right into the elevator, pressing her back against the wall to support her waist as he dipped his head forward to kiss her.
It was languid, all lips and heat and tongue right there at the end.
It was all she basked in as she held him close, her core clenching as he ground against her but not relieving her ache in the slightest. It only made her want him more.
She was breathless and shaky by the time the elevator stopped and the doors opened to her floor.
He set her on her feet in front of her door for only as long as it took for him to pluck her keys from her hand and get the door unlocked.
She tossed her shoes aside without a care in the world before leaving her purse on the couch as she passed through. Uilleam disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before she heard the rattle of glass bottles being shifted around.
Not even a minute later, she heard an audible pop before Uilleam appeared, loosely carrying another bottle of champagne in his hand.
He’s loosened his tie in the time it had taken him to enter the kitchen and come back out, the top two buttons of his shirt beneath undone, revealing the golden skin at his throat and chest.
He smiled as if he could see that she was a little too eager to be considered nervous because of the way he was looking at her—as if he found it amusing. He lifted that bottle to his lips and tipped it back, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed.
It was impossible not to watch him as he crossed back over to her, his gaze intent before he was suddenly there in front of her, tipping that bottle to his lips again. Only after did he slip his hand beneath the fall of her hair before dragging his fingers up and wrapping the strands around his fist.
He gave them a tug, a gasp falling from her as she tilted her head back the way he wanted. She only had a moment before he was offering her the bubbly alcohol, just enough to remind her of the taste before he was taking her mouth again, practically licking the taste from her lips.
All too quickly, she became distinctly aware of his presence in front of her and where they stood in front of the balcony door that left an unobstructed view of them in the middle of her living room.
At any moment, someone could merely look out their window into hers and see them standing there. They would notice the moment when the bottle was forgotten as he set it aside and started on the straps of her dress, dragging them over her shoulders until he could pull the rest of the material out of the way to expose her breasts, her nipples tightening to painful points.
But heat replaced the cold as he took one after the other into his mouth. First came the flat side of his tongue, then the sharpness of his teeth as her head tipped back and she lost herself in the sensations he created. And by the time he actually began to suck, her brain was foggy enough that she didn’t care he was undressing her where anyone could see.
This wasn’t like Hush when she had been protected by the two-way mirror and she only had to pretend people could potentially see them. There was no pretending now. No shield that would ultimately keep prying eyes off her.
But she didn’t care.
Unbidden, she attempted to glance back at the door, but he distracted her just as quickly by kissing her throat, then following it up with something a little harsher, a little better.
“Someone will see,” she forced herself to say, to admit, speaking past the need to just let him do whatever he wanted to her so long as he didn’t stop.
“Yeah?” he asked. He sounded too amused—too challenging—to make her think he was actually bothered by the thought. As if he wanted to push the stakes even further. “Then let’s give them something to watch.”
Surely, she couldn’t be blamed for not turning down an offer like that. To eagerly anticipate whatever he was about to do to her. Especially when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into the fold of his body before he seemed to think better of it at the last moment.
He took a step back, his hair in disarray from her fingers, his lips now curled up in a sinister smile.
“Lift your skirt.”
A second of uncertainty swept through her even as it felt as if her heart was mere moments from cracking through her rib cage, but that didn’t stop her from reaching with trembling hands down for the hem of her dress and pulling it up.
She was coherent enough to feel the material as it brushed over her thighs. Aware of the way he was staring, enraptured, as if she were a present he was slowly getting unwrapped.
But she was also just drunk enough that she enjoyed the thrill of having him watch her do it.
“More,” he encouraged, his gaze rapt on her lower half.
It was impossible not to see the erection straining in the front of his trousers, or the way his eyes seemed to glow with fire and unrepentant need.
No one had ever looked at her the way he did. As if she were some precious thing worthy of being beheld.
As if she were the only thing worth gazing at.
Desire swept through her, charging the air.
The way he sat with his arms splayed out across the back of the couch … like he was a god looking upon his subject.