Unmeasured (Unmatched Book 1)

by Alyssa Turner

  His hazel eyes glinted in the midday sun as he reached past her to press his palm on the door, holding it open for her. Sam easily walked beneath his arm, and the melody of “London Bridge is Falling Down”, passed through her head as if it were some sort of prophecy. But was she the fair lady? Ha! Probably not.

  She took a place in line and tried to play it cool. “Did you come for their amazing soup, like me?”

  “No. I just came for you,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

  She folded her arms. “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “Ivan told me you attend the university with Marielle.”

  “And so you thought you’d do a stake out?”

  “This place is the most popular place to eat near campus. I thought you looked like the type to know a good thing when she sees it.”

  Sam smirked. “You could have easily been wasting your time.”

  “Ah, but I don’t think that I have.” They got to the counter and the curly haired clerk already had two bowls of lentil soup spooned up and ready for them. “Fast-talking American women as pretty as you aren’t easy to forget. Even Rêne here said you’d be in today for your favorite soup.”

  Sam eyed the timid-looking young man with the blue name tag as he turned bright red and handed over her bowl. She’d be lying to say she was surprised he’d remembered her. “Thanks,” she said, but she wasn’t sure it was gratitude she felt. Oleg took the bowl from her immediately and carried both of their soups to a table near the window. He waited for her to sit before taking the seat opposite.

  Sam decided not to let his thinly veiled insult slide. “If you think I speak fast, it’s probably only because your English is as bad as my French.”

  “I studied at Oxford. My English is fine.” Oleg picked up a spoon and dipped it into the bowl nearest her. Sam watched curiously as he raised it to his lips.

  “You have your own, you know.”

  Oleg smiled ever so slightly; just one amused lift of the corner of his mouth. He pursed his lips then and lifted his hazel eyes to meet hers as he blew softly over the spoonful. Then he presented it to her like a gift of liquid gold.

  Sam frowned at the spoon and then at him. “Seriously?”

  “Open,” he said.

  “Is that your favorite word or something?”

  This time, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.

  “You do realize that I am absolutely capable of feeding myself.”

  “Being capable has nothing to do with it.” Oleg chuckled and his gaze licked at her face like a flame, making her flush with heat. “Then again, maybe it does.” He lowered the spoon but didn’t place it back in the bowl. “Putting your freedom to choose in someone else’s hands is harder than you might think.”

  Sam knew he was working reverse psychology on her. She knew it was a cheap trick designed to make her yield to his will. Still, her mouth itched to open and prove she could do it if she wanted to. And she wanted to.

  He raised the spoon again and held it at her lips. The smolder in his eyes could have singed her eyebrows. The smell of rich, hearty goodness filled her nostrils. Could she say no to this, to him?

  Sam opened her mouth and dabbed her tongue against the sticky warm liquid. Oleg’s smile was back. “Yes, Samantha. Open for me.”

  There was more to this than soup. “Then what? After I open for you, what’s going to happen?”

  He leaned forward. “Then you’re going to do it again…and again.”

  She opened, and he gently pressed the spoon between her lips, smooth to the back of her throat and out.

  “You have a beautiful mouth,” he said with a rasp that did something nice to her insides.

  “Aren’t people going to think this is strange?” Samantha said, licking her lips and then opening for another spoonful.

  “What do you think? Is this strange?”

  Another warm mouthful overtook her taste buds. “Of course it is.”

  “You’re so sure? You look perfect feeding from my hand.”

  Samantha was suddenly aware of Rene staring at them, stopped in mid-motion as he cleaned a table. For months, she had flirted with coy smiles and pithy quips. It was a game she played often when she sensed a man was attracted to her but too shy to do anything about it. No matter that she wasn’t actually interested, the attention was for the taking, and like most things she wanted, she couldn’t resist. They were harmless, friendly flirtations that didn’t amount to anything. Only now, she was the one being toyed with. She pushed Oleg’s hand away.

  “I don’t even know what I’m doing here with you.” She stood and her wooden chair scuffed loudly against the floor.

  “Sit down.”

  “I don’t have to do what you tell me.”

  “No, you don’t have to,” he said simply and licked the back of her spoon before placing it on the napkin next to the bowl. He looked up at her. His expression was so peaceful, so darkly angelic. Samantha felt the pull of it; his invitation twinkling in his eyes.

  She sat.

  *

  Oleg took pleasure in the way Samantha stared at the spoon next to her bowl. He could already imagine hours of delight watching her navigate his requests. If only he had hours to spare. He’d ended up following his instincts and not his sensibilities when he decided to chance another meeting with her. Timing was usually his strong suit. Samantha had him ignoring the cell phone message from Michal. He’d get back to reality soon enough.

  “Why don’t you pick up your spoon, Samantha?”

  She knitted her delicate eyebrows, and the confliction in her blue eyes betrayed her. In the end, she picked up the dishwasher-worn utensil and dipped it into her bowl.

  He nodded at her with approval. “Now hand it to me.”

  Reasserting her obstinacy, she pushed the bowl away. “Tell me what you are doing here.”

  He tried to decipher the question, the intentions behind her words. “What response are you hoping for?”

  Samantha shrugged. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t date married men.”

  “I don’t want to date you.” It was an honest answer. Movie nights and clinking wine glasses over candlelight held no allure. Oleg wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted from the sexy blonde sitting in front of him. With everything on his plate, training a new submissive wasn’t in his future this year. He should get up and forget the feisty American with her curious eyes and promising pink lips. He forced himself to stand. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Enjoy your soup.”

  “Wait.” Samantha placed her hand on his arm. “I…”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. The words seemed caught in her throat behind a juicy looking pout. Oleg tried not to be seduced by her ambivalence, but every dominant cell in his body taunted him. He could give her clarity, give her the freedom to relinquish the need to say anything at all. With him, she would never need to think about what to say, she would only need to react.

  In the time it took to bend forward and close the space between their mouths, Oleg should have come to his senses. What was he doing there? He supposed he’d come for that kiss.

  She didn’t retreat, and he didn’t outplay his gamble. He eased forward slowly, ensuring she would know that he came in peace. Samantha accepted the tender press of his lips and the gentle sweep of his tongue, and the sound she made fluttered into his mouth as if a bit of her soul tore free, even as she froze like a startled deer. Then the deer grew antlers.

  She smacked him. Oleg captured her wrist in his large hand before she could pull it back.

  She seethed. “Who do you think you are?”

  Oleg placed her hand on the table. “Forgive me. I was mistaken.” He straightened and felt an urge to tug on his lapels, to smooth them with his thumbs. A glance at his watch came next. He was late to meet with his uncle

  *

  Captured in the ever-present snarl of vehicles inching across the Seine, Oleg mused over the events o
f the last half hour. He’d chased a kitten of a woman, and the kitten had growled. The sting on his cheek still lingered slightly. Such a rebuff should have been the end of it, so why was his cock still slightly hard? He adjusted himself and checked his watch.

  “It will be another ten minutes, sir.” His driver, Jean Michelle was a soft-spoken man for his size.

  “Merci,” Oleg said and pulled his phone from his jacket. It was good that he’d decided not to drive himself today. Parking would have taken another five minutes at least. He called Viktor to let him know he would be delayed for their meeting. He didn’t like being late. His uncle liked waiting even less.

  That morning, he’d been summoned to review the details of the building supply company Viktor planned to set up in the 10th district to house his new loansharking operation. Developers often ran out of money. With the gentrification of the neighborhood, everyone wanted in on the next big real estate windfall. Viktor wanted a piece of the action, and Oleg had to agree, the numbers looked right. But the biggest catalyst was that neither of them wanted to see the Durchenkos make a dime. The time was right to exact revenge on his parents’ murderers. A long-dormant war effervesced, and now Oleg would have a front row seat.

  Jean Michelle parked in front of the newly constructed steel and glass office building where Empire Construction was headquartered. It was an impressive structure, standing among the many corporate monoliths in La Défense. He’d been at Oxford when the building was erected and had seen the pride on his uncle’s face the first day he visited him there. The building was a reflection of Balashov success. The gleaming façade stood as a perfect metaphor for the cover Empire Construction offered his family. There was the legitimate money Empire made from commercial construction contracts and the dark river of cash that ran underneath. The duality had become second nature for Oleg. It was easy for him to forget the truth when he’d spent most of his time enjoying their success without so much as getting his hands dirty. He buttoned his jacket and walked briskly through the revolving door. It was time to pay up.

  His phone buzzed inside his breast pocket. A quick peek displayed Karina’s number. He sent it to voicemail and pressed on. In the elevator, it rang again. He answered, “Karina, I can’t talk at the moment.”

  “I’m done with this place. If you don’t come and sign me out of here, someone is going to get hurt, and it won’t be me.”

  “Karina. I really don’t have time for this.”

  “I’m going crazy in here! Just come and get me.”

  “You have another three weeks left. I’ll call your practitioner and get an update on your progress when I’m finished with my meeting.”

  “Fuck my practitioner!”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “No…”

  Oleg sighed and pressed the end button. Fucking child. He mumbled. He’d need to establish clearer boundaries with his fiancée. Even the sound of her voice made his skin crawl.

  The office was scarce of employees. Viktor trusted very few people so close to the nexus of his operation. The floor below housed the balance of the staff. Most of them were entirely clueless about the true nature of the business.

  “Nephew. Come join us,” Viktor said, standing up and pulling him into a hug.

  Oleg put his arms around the older man, who felt almost frail in his grasp. The elder gentleman’s slight frame wasn’t to be underestimated. Some men held power beyond their physical strength.

  “Sorry I am late.”

  Viktor nodded. “You are forgiven. Sit. Your cousin will fill you in.”

  Dimitri glared as Oleg took a seat at the table. “I already have the inside track on two developers that are bleeding out.”

  “Oleg, I want you to make the first contact. Offer them your financial services.”

  Oleg frowned. “I didn’t think you would be calling on me to be involved in that way. I’m more cut out for the behind-the-scenes work.”

  “Look at the prima donna,” Dimitri said.

  Out of respect for his uncle, Oleg swallowed back the venom crawling up his throat.

  Viktor waved his hand at Dimitri, dismissing him. That insult was worse than anything Oleg could have said.

  “I need you to represent us. These people aren’t used to doing business our way. We don’t want to scare them. Not yet, at least.”

  Oleg took a breath. “I’m sure they know who we are.”

  Viktor leaned toward him. “This needs a certain kind of finesse. Taking over this new territory without making a mess is crucial. There’s been an inspector sniffing around one of our suppliers.”

  “Does someone need reminding where their loyalties lie?” Dimitri rubbed his knuckles.

  “They won’t talk. The getting is too good.” A mild twist of Viktor’s top lip painted his face with tiresome disdain. “My son, you always think violence is the answer, yes?” With a roll of his shoulder, he turned back to Oleg. “This is a job for someone with the virtue of restraint.”

  Chapter 7

  The late afternoon light seemed particularly glaring as Sam headed across the university courtyard toward the subway station. A feeling of being watched overtook her. It was a sensation she couldn’t validate. Not a soul seemed the least interested in her as she passed over the winter-worn lawn. The sensation tickled something inside her though, and she lamented over the suspicion that it was hope and not fear that niggled her.

  Shadowed faces bent over cell phones streamed passed in the busy quad. It took every bit of her self-restraint not to search for his striking features among them. If he was there watching her, he didn’t make himself known.

  The red metro sign marked the place she should be headed. Aerial class was not on the agenda today thanks to her banishment from the gym. As a matter of fact, fun of any sort wasn’t to be in her near future until her mid-term exams were over. The train destined to take her for a three hour study session in her flat would be arriving soon. There were two reasons she took the train. Avoiding Paris’s notorious traffic was one. But the shop on the same corner, full of sumptuous Parisian fabrics, might be her biggest incentive. Of all the irresistible distractions the city of lights held, the lure of her creativity was the strongest.

  “Comment puis-je vous aider, mademoiselle?”

  The sales agent stepped forward with her hands clasped together in front of her chest. She was misplaced from another era, with the expertly tailored Chanel style suit hugging her delicate frame. A warm smile brightened her tired face. Sam was sure the woman must remember her from all the other occasions she wandered into the shop before heading back to her flat.

  “No, nothing, thank you. No aider mois.” Sam cursed her broken French.

  The lady nodded and gracefully allowed her to daydream in peace. Sam lifted a remnant of berry-red lace to the last of the afternoon sun streaming through the shop’s window front. The intricate pattern of flower petals posed a demure contrast to the color. She imagined it as a halter-style bralette with a scalloped edge, and maybe a parade of tiny rhinestones marching down the back. The piece was a left-over remnant from a larger bolt, and the price was a steal. Still, she carefully folded it again and placed it on the pile where she’d found it.

  After nearly an hour, she decided that playtime was over. Time to return to the real world. Empty handed once again, she left for the Metro station. If she actually bought some fabric, she’d have to do something with it.

  A stone always settled into her belly after toying with those fabrics. Who was she kidding? She reached the platform in just enough time to watch the train doors close.

  Chirping sounded from her knapsack.

  She fished out her phone and pulled her glove off with her teeth. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Samantha. Your father and I are wondering if you will be home for your spring break. Your brother won’t be discharged until the end of May, but we’d love to have at least one of our children home with us for Easter.”

  “Are you and dad fighting again
?”

  “What would make you say a thing like that?”

  Samantha glanced at her nails and decided she’d stop for a manicure before going home. “You just want me to run interference between you two. Isn’t the Lake George house big enough for the both of you?”

  Olivia Hunter cleared her throat. “You’ll never make it as a diplomat with that lack of tact, my dear.”

  Samantha sighed. “So Kyle is coming home?”

  “His unit has been called back, and he’ll serve the rest of his tour at Camp Lejeune until just before Memorial Day.”

  Samantha thought about rambling around that big house alone with her parents, feigning enthusiasm for her law studies. She’d rather not. “Mom, I think I should stay here and prepare for the second half of my semester. I’ll be home for the whole summer.”

  “You can prepare just as well in New York. Besides, I want to get a good look at you and make sure you are doing as well as you say.”

  “Uh…. I’m on a train and we’re heading into a tunnel. I’m going to lose you. Love you!” Samantha hung up.

  *

  Hours later, Samantha slipped her key into the lock on her apartment door. Marielle raised an eyebrow as Samantha took a loud slurp of the last of her movie theatre milkshake. Sam closed the door to their apartment and tossed her knapsack on the velvet reading chair where she normally forced herself to read about case precedents.

  “Don’t you have a test tomorrow?”

  Samantha rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know that I have a mother already, and she’s ten thousand miles away?”

  “Fine. I’m going to bed. I have an early morning.”

  “Goodnight.” Samantha flit her fingers in the air as she picked up the remote for the TV.

  “You really need to make up your mind about what you’re doing here.”

  “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know,” Sam said and squeezed into the chair next to her bag. She unzipped it and yawned.