by Bella King
“I can wait,” I blurt, but it’s obvious that I can’t.
He laughs, tossing his dark-brown hair back. It’s gotten longer since I first met him, and his beard has grown as well. He obviously hasn’t had time for upkeep, but I like the rugged look he dons currently. I wouldn’t mind if he stuck with it for longer.
“I wish I could have spent more time with you this past few weeks,” Nikolai says, his finger tracing along the woven wood texture on the tabletop.
“But you’re too busy with business,” I say, hinting at disapproval.
“It’s for the better,” he replies, looking up at me. “But now isn’t the time to talk about that. I want to know more about you.”
“You already know everything about me. I’ve shown you everything,” I tease.
He smiles, stroking his bearded chin. “Have you had the chance to do any writing while you’ve been here?”
I shrug. Truthfully, I’ve done next to none, but that isn’t what I’ve told my editor. “I’m still looking for inspiration. It’s boring at home all alone.”
“I can spice things up for you,” he offers.
“I like that,” I reply, feeling the tinge of pink return to my cheeks.
“So, you came here to get away from it all,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his broad chest puffing out as he throws his hands behind his head. “And now, you’re stuck.”
“I could think of worse places to be stuck,” I reply. “But yes, I wanted to get away. My ex cheated on me, you know?”
“You may have mentioned that,” he says, a frown on his face. “I don’t think that’s a very good thing to do.”
“You see, everyone says that but how many people have done it?” I ask, pointing a finger up.
“Not me,” he says. “I don’t play that game.”
“You don’t have a girlfriend,” I point out.
“If I did,” he says, leaning in again. “I wouldn’t cheat. That’s not the bratva way.”
I chuckle. “How can I trust a crook to keep his word?”
Nikolai straightens his back proudly, jabbing a thumb into his chest. “I’m no crook. I come from a long line of respectable and honest mafia bosses. I don’t know how you people do gangs in the United States, but this is Russia. We play differently.”
“Well,” I say, holding my hands up. “Excuse me for the assumption.”
“You’re excused,” he replies seriously.
“You can relax, Nikolai. I think you’re a good man, even if you’re a crook,” I say, pushing his buttons a bit.
His eyebrows crumple inward in a frown, but there’s a smile on his lips. He has a sense of humor somewhere beneath that thick layer of bravado and seriousness. I like to see it come out.
“The wine,” Nikolai says, turning his head as the elevator makes another dinging sound.
It’s time for us to get this date started.
Chapter Twenty
Elaine
Only once the wine is in front of me, tempting me with its delicious color and fragrance, do I remember that I’m not supposed to drink. Maybe it’s okay in the very beginning of a pregnancy, but I don’t have all the facts at my disposal right now.
I’m not going to risk downing a glass and getting myself into trouble if I find out I wasn’t supposed to do that. The baby I’m carrying is much more important than a night of frivolous fun, even if it is with Nikolai.
I eye my glass of wine, running my brain on full throttle to think of what to do with it. I could knock it over my accident, but Nikolai would just insist on getting me another one. I’ll have to make him think that I drank it.
“Cheers,” Nikolai says, raising his thin crystal glass up to the middle of the table.
I grab mine nervously a tad too enthusiastically, sloshing it around enough to drip a little over the side of the glass. That’s one sip gone, but I can’t slosh it out over my hand the entire night. I’ll look like a fool.
I tap my glass against his and raise it to my lips, pretending to drink a sip before placing it down. There has got to be a way to get rid of this stuff without arousing suspicion. I can already feel the prickle of my skin as blood flushes to the surface in panic. I’m turning bright pink in the face again.
Say something stupid. He’ll just think you’re embarrassed about that and not the fact that you’re pregnant and can’t drink wine.
“I’m not wearing panties,” I blurt, immediately regretting the words that have left my mouth. I am wearing panties, so it’ll sound even more stupid if he looks under the table and sees the black lace that covers me.
Nikolai raises a dark eyebrow, a smile coming across his face. “And it only took one sip to get you there,” he teases.
I laugh. My voice is nervous as hell, and I sound like a bumbling idiot, but at least I have a reason for my face to be this pink. I’m doing well despite my circumstances.
“Maybe I’ll have a look after dinner,” he says. “I hear they don’t mind if guests get frisky on the rooftop.”
“Really?” I ask, holding my wine glass like it owes me money. “Wouldn’t the waiter see if he came up?”
Nikolai shrugs. “Not if you let him know that you want some privacy. They’ll understand.”
I think he’s suggesting that we have sex on the rooftop after we eat, but the only thing on my mind right now is getting rid of this damn glass of wine. If I had thought ahead, I could have asked for water, and he would have been none the wiser. Now, I’m stuck with a glass that I can’t drink, but I have to make him think that I did.
I raise the glass to my lips, looking at him to prompt a drink in response. I let the wine touch my lips, but I don’t drink it. Once he lifts his glass, I put mine down, but I don’t bring it to the table. I slosh it over onto the floor behind me while his vision is distorted by the glass in front of his face and bring it back to the table, only half full.
That wasn’t so hard. It appears as though I’ve finished half of my wine in two large sips, an easy con to pull off. The wine behind me will dry quickly with all the heaters around. All I have to do is pull this off another time or two, and I’ll be in the clear.
I rub my stomach under the table but then pull my hand away as I remember not to make a habit out of it. Even if Nikolai can’t see me under the table, it’s better not to let the habit form in the first place.
The elevator dings once again, revealing our waiter pushing a silver cart stacked with dishes. We ordered half the items on the menu, and I’m ready to dig in. I can easily dispose of the rest of the wine while Nikolai is loading up on stuffed mushrooms and salmon.
Once the food is served, and glasses of water are filled, we dig into the generous helpings of food between us, allowing a few blissful minutes of silence for eating before we attempt to make conversation.
The food is amazing. It’s far better than I imagined it to be, but that might just be because of how hungry I am. Either way, this place is great, and I wouldn’t mind staying in Russia longer just to come here again.
I toss the rest of my wine behind me while Nikolai is hunched over a plate of garlic bread, then go for the water. It tastes better than wine with all the food I’m eating. As much as I enjoy a glass or two of wine with dinner, I don’t mind giving it up for nine months for the health of the baby.
I take a sip of my water and pat my lips with the embroidered napkin in my lap. “This is wonderful,” I say to Nikolai.
“I thought you might like it,” he replies. “Do you like mushrooms?”
I shake my head. They never were my favorite. Too slimy.
“Really? You should try these. You won’t even know that they’re mushrooms,” he says, waving one around in the air on the end of his fork.
“I’ll pass. There’s so much food here. I haven’t even tried everything that I like,” I reply.
“Your loss,” he says, popping it into his mouth. “I used to pick mushrooms when I was younger. We would go into the woods and find some to eat for di
nner at the end of the day.”
“Can’t you die if you eat a poisonous one?” I ask.
“I could, I suppose, but we knew which ones to pick. We used to find loads of parasol mushrooms and fry them up in a batter. They’re delicious that way,” he explains.
“And this is normal in Russia?”
“Of course. You don’t pick mushrooms in the U.S.?” he asks, looking amused.
“Only if you’re looking to trip,” I reply.
“To take a trip?” He frowns, looking confused.
I laugh. “A psychedelic trip. People use certain mushrooms for that.”
“Ah,” he says, popping another into his mouth.
“But we go apple picking, or we pick strawberries.”
His eyes light up. “Apples? Do you make apple pies with them?”
“I guess you could,” I say, giggling at how excited he is.
Nikolai’s eyes are abuzz with delight at the idea of making pies out of freshly picked apples. It’s a classic American image, but I feel that we’ve strayed pretty far from it in recent years. You’re more likely to buy a plastic-wrapped single-serve pie from a vending machine these days.
I don’t want to ruin his fun, though. “We can pick apples if you come to visit me at home,” I suggest, taking another sip of water.
“I’d love to,” he says, a goofy smile on his handsome face. “And then we could make a pie out of them.”
Is it wrong to say that I’m in love with this man already? He is the father of my child, even though he doesn’t know it yet. I don’t want to jump into things, but for a mafia boss, he’s awfully domestic. I guess that’s one of those bratva values he’s always going on about.
I grab another dish from the table and scoop half of its contents onto my plate. I can’t let myself get swept away by his charm so quickly again. I need to figure out if he would freak out were I to reveal my pregnancy to him.
I roll a meatball around on my plate with a fork. “You’d make a great dad, I’m sure,” I say softly.
“I hope to be one. We could pick mushrooms in Russia, then fly down to the United States for apples,” he says, looking pleased with himself.
I look up at him. “Wouldn’t you be concerned about the mafia business getting in the way?”
“No,” he answers simply.
“Why not?” I ask, surprised by his answer.
“By the time I have kids, all of this chaos will be over. I’m not going to raise a child in this environment.”
Boy, do I have news for you.
I swallow hard, trying to keep a straight face as I nod along with what Nikolai is telling me. Either I’m going to have to keep this baby a secret forever, or I’m going to break the news that he might not be able to wait until after the chaos has passed to bring another life into this world.
I personally think it would be cruel to deny him his own offspring, so I plan to tell him about my pregnancy. Eventually.
“And you?” Nikolai asks, smiling at me.
“Me what?”
“Do you want to start a family?”
I nearly choke on my own spit, struggling now just to breathe without sounding like I’m having a damn heart attack. I clear my throat, feeling a lump constricting my windpipe as I rack my brain for a response that doesn’t sound like a blatant lie.
“Eventually,” I say, grabbing my water and taking a sip. “Eventually, I would like to do that.”
Nikolai nods, then gives me a mischievous look, pushing his lips out and narrowing his eyes at me. “Do you want to dance?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Nikolai
There’s only one thing on my mind as I wrap my hands around Elaine’s waist and pull her close to me. It’s that I wish all of this violence would end and that she wouldn’t go back to the US so quickly after all.
It’s cruel that love has to come to you at the most inconvenient of times. When everything is hopeless, or there’s no way that things could work, that’s when it hits you. It’s unrelenting, pounding you with wave after wave of euphoria, convincing you to give in and face the consequences another day. Then, once you’re fully committed, once you’re all the way in, it’s a sucker punch to the gut, leaving you heartbroken and begging for the love you once felt to disappear forever.
That’s my experience, anyway. I don’t date much because it always ends poorly.
Tonight, however, I’ve suspended my disbelief that something beautiful between Elaine and I couldn’t work out, and I take her for a dance in the warm night air on the twinkling rooftop high above Russia. Tonight, I won’t think about tomorrow. I’m living for the moment again, and damn if it doesn’t feel like heaven.
“I like you,” Elaine says as I begin to move with her to the music, swaying at a slow but steady rhythm.
“I like you too, Elaine,” I reply, pulling her tighter against me.
“Life is crazy,” she says, looking up at me. Her eyes seem to get greener every time that I look at them. They’re so full of life.
“Sometimes I wish it wasn’t,” I say, focusing on the softness of her face.
“What do you mean?”
“The action, the crazy night, the long days – it’s overwhelming. Sometimes I wish I could slow down and live life like a normal person,” I reply.
“Oh,” she says, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Normal people are boring.”
“Yeah, but they don’t have to risk getting killed all the time,” I say.
“Some people never live in the first place. Maybe that’s cliché, but it’s true,” she insists.
“I’m very much alive, but I don’t get to enjoy it.”
Elaine slips her arms off my shoulders and puts them on my waist, hugging me and burying her face into my chest. “You can enjoy it now,” she says, her voice muffled from being pressed so hard into my body.
“I enjoy every moment with you,” I say, relaxing into her hug and swaying to the slow beat of the music playing. It’s universal, a simple jazz tune that I’ve grown fond of. I never used to like jazz, but Alek turned me onto it by playing it all the time in her helicopter.
Elaine looks up at me again, her eyes wide and urgent. “Would you leave me?”
“What?” I ask, placing my arms on her shoulder and pulling her back to look at her.
“Would you leave me?”
“Of course not. What kind of question is that?” I ask.
“I just wanted to know. You know, if I’m going to stay longer, then I don’t want you leaving me.”
I chuckle nervously, the prickle of new sweat forming on my neck under the shirt collar. “Well, I have to for work, but I’ll come back.”
“You better come back,” she says. “Don’t die.”
“I’m not going to die,” I say. “I’m immortal. Nobody can defeat me.” I hope that joking cheers her up. She seems upset about something, but I don’t know why.
I find that women can be unpredictable in their emotions, but there has to be a reason for this switch-up. Elaine is more levelheaded than most other women I’ve known.
“You’re a wonderful man, but you’re not invincible. I just don’t want to have to worry about you,” she says, her eyes starting to get shiny.
Fuck, is she going to cry? I’ve never had a woman be so concerned about my safety. It’s genuinely touching, but it sends me into a bit of a panic. I don’t know what to do if she starts crying. This was only supposed to be a nice date.
“Everything is fine,” I assure her, pulling her close again and tilting my torso to the music. “We’re alright.”
Elaine sinks into me, holding me firmly as we dance in the slowest way possible, only swaying just enough to differentiate our pose from standing. It’s more like a long hug than anything, but I’m all for it. The scent of her hair, the warmth of her small body, and the caring words are doing more than just making me lust for her. The yellow-green bud of emotion that I’ve carried is starting to bl
oom into something more powerful and much more dangerous.
I run my hands over her, feeling her body on mine as I search for answers to the emotions that I’m feeling. It’s hot in my stomach like I ate something spicy, and I’m uneasy in a way that makes me feel like I’ve had far too much coffee. All the while, I feel good, like nothing can get in the way of my goals and dreams.
Currently, those goals and dreams are centered around the stunning woman in a tiny green dress holding me tightly to the seductive jingle of piano keys. The urge to have her on the rooftop hits me like a tidal wave, and I succumb to it easily, getting washed out into the oceans of romantic bliss.
My hand slips down Elaine’s divine curves, cascading across the fine fabric that covers her plump ass. I’ve seen her body a few times now, but the excitement inside of me is as though it’s the first time. I’m certain that every time will be this way with her.
“You make me incredibly horny,” I whisper into her ear, pressing the growing heat between my legs into the nook it belongs inside of.
Elaine lets out an airy moan, moving her pelvis and grinding into me, massaging my cock to full attention inside of my slacks. She makes it so hard that it’s painful in the tight confines of my pants, begging to be let out so that it can get into a place much more comfortable.
“Do you want me?” Elaine purrs, slipping her soft hand to my pants and grabbing my cock suddenly.
I’m jolted with pleasure and surprise. I take a sharp breath in and laugh. “I want you more than anything in the universe.”
“They take me, own me like I’m your everything,” he demands, gripping my cock and balls hard enough to cause a tinge of pain.
She’s challenging me to ruin her over the dinner table, to yank down her panties so fast that the expensive lace tears, to place my hands on her wide hips, and to dive into her overflowing wetness so that I can claim her harder than the last time we made love.
I slip my hair through her jet black hair close to the scalp and squeeze my fist shut, pulling it at the roots to gain control over her movements. “You want this?” I growl, showing her how much power I can have over her if she wants it.
