by Nicole Fox
Her cheeks blanch, and I nod. “That’s what I thought.”
The car in front of us pulls ahead, and the man behind the valet desk waves me forward. I hesitate and turn to Bella. “You stay quiet and you smile. You look pleasant until we get up to the room. If you do anything to draw attention to us, I will kill you.”
“Yeah, because that won’t draw any unwanted attention,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes.
I ignore her and continue. “If you try to escape or wave down help, I will kill you. If you—”
“I get it,” Bella snaps. Then she points to the valet stand. “You’re drawing attention to us by holding up the line. I promise to follow your lead if you promise to stop threatening to kill me.”
I’m glad to have the promise of her cooperation, but I also feel less in control than ever. Bella acts like she isn’t even scared of me. Like I’m an annoying fly buzzing around her ear that she has to swat away. But I don’t have time to worry about that now because she’s right, the valet looks impatient, and a car in the line behind us honks.
When we pull up, the valet opens Bella’s door first, offering her his hand. I practically spring around the car so I’m waiting for her on the curb, my eyes never leaving hers as the thin man in the pressed black suit helps her to the curb, all the while ogling her chest.
“Are you two here for any special occasion? Honeymoon? Anniversary?” he asks, fishing to see whether she’s single. His eyes glance down to her left hand, checking for a ring.
“No,” Bella laughs easily, patting his forearm. “We aren’t together. Not like that, anyway.”
“Oh?” He looks delighted.
I frown at her, shaking my head lightly to discourage whatever role she’s playing, but Bella either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“Just business partners,” she says, reaching out to pat my shoulder. The simple gesture sends a zing down my right arm, and I try to ignore it. “I’m single.”
“Oh.” The valet’s pale face goes red as he sees the look in Bella’s eyes. The soft rise of her eyebrows, the flutter of her lashes. She pouts out her lips in a way that makes me want to brush the pad of my thumb across them. “Then maybe you would want to get a drink in the bar later? I get off in a few hours.”
Bella opens her mouth to say something, but I end this little flirtation before it can get out of hand. “We have a meeting tonight, so she won’t be able to make it. Sorry.”
I place a hand on her lower back and push her towards the hotel’s entrance. The valet behind us says something, but I don’t hear it, and I have no intention of turning to find out what it was.
“That was rude,” Bella says without looking at me. Her head is held high, eyes straight ahead. After seeing her lying on a concrete floor, I almost forgot this environment is where she’s most comfortable. Bella grew up wealthy. She knows how to interact with these people. How to blend in.
“Leading that poor man on was rude.”
“Who says I was leading him on?” she asks, wrapping her arm through mine as though we’ve done it a thousand times before.
My mouth twitches into a smirk, and I shake my head. “The day a guy like that gets a woman like you, I’ll walk into the police station and confess every crime I’ve ever committed.”
“Would that confession take a while?” she asks.
The woman behind the front desk—a blonde with too much blush—is smiling at us as we approach, and I smile back. “They’d probably break it down in three or four separate interviews.”
Bella nods and then smiles beside me while we check into the hotel. The room is under one of the many aliases connected with my father, Charlie Williams, and the woman doesn’t so much as blink as she checks my ID, accepts my cash, and hands us our room cards.
When we’re in the elevator, Bella slides her arm out of mine and takes a step away. “A woman like me?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about what I said before. About the guy at the valet desk. “Don’t make me tell you you’re beautiful. You already know it.”
She blushes but doesn’t argue.
The room is a suite. There’s a living room with a plush cream-colored sofa, a flat-screen television, and a writing desk. French doors open into a bedroom with a queen-sized bed and a master bathroom just off that. There’s a standing shower and a jacuzzi tub.
“This is better than the cell,” Bella says, leaning against the doorway leading into the bedroom, arms crossed over her chest. “Now, why are we here?”
I thumb through the room service menu. “I already told you. The men your father is working for might be coming for you, and—”
“My father doesn’t work for anyone,” she says. “He’s a good man.”
“Good men find themselves in big trouble more often than you’d think,” I say, dropping the menu onto the coffee table and looking at her.
Really looking at her.
When I was following her, she was a beautiful stranger. In the basement of my father’s hideout, she was a beautiful prisoner. But now, sitting in a luxurious hotel room with a bed no more than fifteen feet away, she’s just beautiful. And it’s distracting.
Her dress is tight over her flat stomach and the flare of her hips. It’s obvious she spends time taking care of herself and maintaining her body, but a lot of it’s natural. No amount of cardio or weight lifting would help her legs or breasts fill out her silhouette so well.
“So, this organization,” she says, standing tall and walking to the minibar in the corner. “What do they want with me?”
“The same thing we want with you,” I say. “Or nothing. I brought you here as a precaution.”
She turns around, her expression solemn, all signs of snark and sarcasm gone. “And what do you want with me?”
The question feels like a trap. I want so many things with her. I want to do so many things to her. And even though I know she doesn’t mean it that way, I stand to attention as the words pass her lips. “My father wants to use you to get to your father.”
“No,” Bella shakes her head, her lips parted in an ‘O’. “What do you want with me?”
Does she mean that question the way I want her to mean it? I’m not sure, so I don’t say anything. That seems like the safest response.
She walks towards me, one foot in front of the other like she’s walking on a tightrope. Her hips sway easily, like she isn’t even trying. And I don’t think she is. She can’t help but be alluring. Like a siren luring men from their boats to crash upon the rocks and die in the salty ocean.
“Your father wants me for his own reasons, but why do I feel like your reasons may not be your father’s?” she asks, head tilting to the side. Her dark hair falls over her forehead, obscuring her eyes for a second until she brushes it back.
“I have no reason. Only my father’s matters.”
She frowns. “You would have slit my throat because your father asked you to.”
“Is that a question?” I ask.
“No.” She studies me, her eyes searching me from top to bottom like she’s looking for a hidden manual somewhere. A book of instructions to better understand me. “I’m just trying to figure out why you would kill a person who has done nothing to you. I’m trying to figure out what kind of man you are that you can’t think for yourself and would allow someone else to force you to do their dirty work.”
Before I can think better of it, I’m on my feet and stalking towards her. Bella’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t retreat. She stands her ground. “Do not mistake me for a mindless soldier,” I growl. “There’s a difference between obedience and loyalty. I’m loyal to my father because he has been loyal to me. I trust his decisions, and if he had told me to kill you, I would have.”
Bella casts her blue eyes towards the floor. “Did you want to?”
“Want to what?” I step away from her.
“Did you want to kill me?”
The question feels like a dousing of cold water. I remem
ber the knife in my hand, clutched between my fingers the way it had been so many times before. Yet something felt different. There was hesitation, resistance. It felt as though I was nearing the end of the line of loyalty. As though I would have needed another reason to go through with it.
Bella stares at me, waiting for an answer I don’t want to give. I brush past her and head to the minibar. I crack open a ten-dollar mini bottle of a liquor I don’t even bother to read and toss it back in one drink.
Chapter Six
Bella
I don’t know who to trust anymore. I thought I could trust my father, but now I don’t know anything. Who has he been doing business with? Or is all of this an elaborate plan by Yuri and his father to tear down my mental defenses? To make me doubt myself and my family?
Yuri’s father, Ivan, can’t be trusted. I knew that the moment he spun around and smiled at me. He’s a liar, a manipulator. But Yuri? With Yuri, I’m not so sure. I saw the way he gripped the knife when his father handed it to him. I saw his knuckles go white, saw his face go white. Either he was pulsing with rage, or he didn’t want to kill me. I lean towards the second option.
I believe Yuri would have done it, but I don’t think he wanted to. That distinction gives me a small amount of comfort as Yuri dodges my question and heads straight for the minibar.
“You don’t have to answer that,” I say as he tips back a shot of what looks like vodka. “I’d much rather you answer my other questions.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, grinds his teeth, and then sets the small bottle down on the counter hard enough I think it will smash. “What questions?”
“Why is my father working for you?”
Yuri turns around and leans back against the bar. He’s wearing a leather jacket with a plain white T-shirt on underneath, and I can hear Ivy berating me for being so predictable. You’d French a dog if he was wearing a leather jacket. That isn’t even remotely true, but Yuri isn’t a dog, and he’s a lot more handsome than even most men. And a lot more of a kidnapper. I swat the invisible Ivy away.
“Apparently, he isn’t,” Yuri says with a shrug. “Though, he was working with us for the same reasons anyone does. Money.”
I shake my head instantly. “He’s never cared about money. He became a senator to do the right thing.”
Yuri pushes himself off the bar and walks towards me slowly. I know I should cower and shy away from him, but when he’s near me, I feel like a sunflower stretching for a drop of sunlight. I can’t help but fix my gaze on him.
“For someone so smart, you sure are naïve,” he whispers, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks past me and drops down on the couch. “It’s simple. We wanted more power in Washington, and your father wanted more green in his wallet. Our desires matched up, and we became partners. Now, it seems, someone else has offered him more money.”
“Even if that’s true, there has to be more to it than that. He wouldn’t do this just for the money.” Whether it sounds naïve or not, it’s what I truly believe. My father may be in deep trouble, but he isn’t a bad man.
“His motivations are a mystery to me,” Yuri says with a shrug. “I only know that he has worked with us for years. And now he isn’t.”
“Something must be wrong. Something must have changed.” Maybe he was threatened. Forced to work for whatever this secret organization is or face death. Or maybe they threatened me. Maybe my dad is only doing what he can to protect me. The thought makes my knees weak, and I practically stumble to the couch and sit on the cushion furthest from Yuri.
He looks over at me. “Are you okay?”
I scowl at him. “It’s been a long day.”
“Then you better rest up. We have plans tonight.”
I remember his words to the valet. We have a meeting tonight, so she won’t be able to make it. Sorry. “You were serious about that? Who are we meeting?”
“We’re just going out,” he says. “You look like you could use a little fun.”
I cross my legs and my arms and turn away from him. “I’m not going anywhere. You kidnapped me, but I’m not going to be paraded around like some puppet with you pulling the strings.”
“You act like you have a choice. You don’t.” He laughs like this is all some big joke.
“I thought we came here to lie low,” I say, repeating what he told me in the car.
Suddenly, Yuri slides across the couch until we’re only six inches apart. His arm is hanging over the back of the sofa, and I can feel the warmth of him sinking into me like he’s a space heater. I suppress the shiver that wants to rock down my spine. “We could always stay here if you’d rather.”
His voice is softer, warmer. I glance over to verify what I think is happening is actually happening. When I see his heavily lidded eyes and pouty lips, my stomach clenches. He’s coming on to me.
I turn away and take a breath. He’s trying to rattle me. He doesn’t actually want to stay in with me. He wants to scare me into leaving the room, but I’m not going to budge so easily. I turn towards him so I’m cradled in the crook of his arm and look up, eyelashes batting. “What would we do?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “What?”
“If we stay in the room,” I say, pulling my leg up onto the couch so my knee brushes along his thigh. “What would we do?”
Yuri stares at me, his pupils dilating. His lips twitch like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what, and after several long seconds of waiting for him to respond, I smile and stand up. “I knew it.”
I hear him shift on the couch behind me. “Knew what?”
I open the minibar and grab a bottle of water. “That you were bluffing. I’ll stay in the room and watch premium cable, thank you very much. If you want me to go anywhere with you, it will require force.”
Mid-drink, I turn around and suddenly, Yuri is there. I’m so startled, I drop the bottle, but before I can pick it up or even breathe, he has me pressed against the wall.
His hands carve down my sides like he’s trying to scrape my skin from my bones, and his hips circle into mine, sparking warmth in places I don’t want to feel it.
“What are you doing?” My voice is almost gone, barely a whisper.
Yuri draws his palm down my stomach and lower, driving the heel of his hand against me and making me squirm. I hate that it feels good. Then he leans forward until his lips are a featherlight touch against my neck. I can feel his breath, warm and moist on my skin, and I wonder what his tongue would feel like on my body. He tickles his fingers down my arm until his fingers wrap around my wrist. And in one smooth movement, my hand is above my head and pinned to the wall.
I gasp in surprise and Yuri’s other hand is on my jaw. He turns my face to his until we’re looking in each other’s eyes. His words are little more than an animal growl. “I don’t bluff.”
His lips are punishing against mine, an angry slant, and I use my free hand to push on his chest. It feels like pushing against a steel beam. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even react. I pound my fist on his chest like he’s the Tinman, and I’m checking for a heart. Still nothing. He turns his head to the side and parts his lips, and I surprise myself by opening my own mouth. When his tongue slides over my lower lip, part of me wants to bite it, but another part of me is curious.
Yuri is intense. Brooding. He’s all anger and sharp words and rough hands. But this is different. Unexpected. And it’s hard to fight the desire rising up inside of me.
His hand wraps around me and presses into the lower part of my back, drawing my hips into him. I can feel his length against my stomach, and whether he’s doing this to prove a point or because he has a secret crush on me, there’s no denying his body wants this. Just like there’s no denying my body wants this. I’m hot and trembling and needy all over as his kisses move from my lips to my jaw and lower until he’s nibbling at my collarbone and pressing kisses to the soft flesh of my breast. When he forces the top of my dress aside and flicks his tongue across my nipple, I give my
self over entirely.
My hand finds its way to the nape of his neck, tangling in the wavy hair there, and I hold him to my breast, circling my hips into him as he teases me, nibbling and licking and sucking. I throw my head back and moan, feeling a familiar warmth building in my stomach.
It’s never happened this fast. Not without a great deal of foreplay. I haven’t been with a lot of men, but I’ve been with enough to know that my body needs at least ten minutes of vigorous foreplay to even get close to an orgasm, but two minutes in with Yuri and I’m panting and trying to control myself.
“You’re already ready,” he groans as my hips buck against him. “I recognize the heavy breathing from earlier.”
Earlier. When his fingers were inside of me. I clench at the memory, both with embarrassment and need. “Only because you failed to finish the job the first time.”
It’s supposed to sound like an insult, but it comes out more like a plea. Yuri responds by sliding his hand down my backside and up under my dress. I know what he’s doing, but I still gasp when his hand brushes across the front of my panties. When he dips inside, I let my eyes fall closed.
“You’re just as wet as last time,” he whispers as he slides his fingers into me.
It feels like a drink of cold water after a day spent in the sun. My entire body relaxes until he’s the only thing holding me up, pinning me to the wall. He thrusts in and out of me slowly, and even with my eyes closed, I can tell he’s staring at me. Yuri likes being in control. He likes watching what he can do to me.
When I open my eyes and see his pupils blown wide, his mouth hanging open in concentration, I know I’m right. I lean forward and catch his lower lip between my teeth, biting it. “You sure like using your fingers. Is it because there’s something wrong with your ...” My eyes glance down.
Yuri raises an eyebrow and finally lets go of the hand that has been pinned above my head so he can unzip his jeans, his mouth twisted into a dangerous smile all the while. He practically springs out of the zipper, and my eyes widen. I try to collect myself before he can notice, but he chuckles.
