by Bethany-Kris
Maxim tapped his cigar against a crystal ashtray as he finished speaking. This was the first Roman had heard anything about a dinner. He didn’t want to be included in any Yazov meetings, and had little to no use for the brigadiers in regards to his own side of business. He had every intention of working at the chop shop alone, other than his hand picked crew, just like he did back home.
What was he even supposed to do around the estate until dinner?
Play with my nuts?
Coke was still a no-go, too. So that was out of the question, and it was looking like he was going to have to suffer the formalities of the Yazov Bratva simply because he didn’t have any excuse worthy enough to get out of it.
Fun.
Maxim continued staring at him, clearly waiting for the only acceptable response that he expected to come from Roman. One that he wanted to come without question.
And it did.
Unfortunately.
“It would be my pleasure,” Roman said.
The only problem with that?
He was a bad fucking liar.
Always had been.
• • •
Maxim and Dima had to have known that Roman held no interest in breaking bread with the rest of the Yazov men. And yet, there was nothing they could say about it since Roman had accepted their invitation.
Once he’d walked out of Maxim’s office, he decided to take the boss’s suggestion of checking out the mansion and the rest of the estate. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and any plans he might have had were fucked now. Nonetheless, he was under no disillusion. He understood good and well that he was always being watched. Men showed themselves in every corner of the mansion, and only a few cameras covered certain areas.
Maxim would be sure to get an exact report of Roman’s every activity in his house. If this was New York, and his father had essentially forced him to stay until dinner, Roman would have gone up to every camera that was watching and given it some footage to remember.
This was a whole different ball game. He had to consistently remind himself to watch his ass—nobody else was going to do it for him.
Maxim Yazov’s mansion was considerably large, and sat on a plot of private land that kept any curious neighbors far away. He passed more corridors and rooms than he would know what to do with if this was his home. Wealth covered every bare inch that it could. From the rich stains that glossed the hardwood floors to the heavy, silk drapes hanging from every window.
It was much bigger than the Avdonins’ family home. But then again, Roman’s mother always insisted they didn’t need to go overboard with the size of their home as long as it had everything they needed, and was easy to maintain. Clearly, the values of his parents differed from that of the Yazovs.
This house reminded him of jocks in a locker room bragging about the size of their cocks. Ultimately, none of it mattered if you didn’t know what to do with it.
He had slipped out of the sliding doors at the end of one of the rear hallways to find himself inside what could be best described as a conservatory. A glass dome-shaped extension at the back of the house that was big enough to contain its own large swimming pool. A good thirty by forty feet with an apparent deep and shallow end. Perfectly maintained, green grass with a stone pathway leading to sitting areas at the edge of the pool, and the light inside this conservatory seemed to make everything magnificently brighter than it needed to be. Everything appeared magnified, and the sun’s heat was trapped because of it, making the air hotter than it already was. Every breath he took was accompanied by the taste of chlorine.
Roman blinked, glancing up to stare at the sun through the curved glass roof. He was about to shade his eyes when he heard a splash. His first clue to the fact that he wasn’t alone in the space.
He was too far away to see the pool clearly, thinking so far that he had been completely alone. Finally rid of the men who were milling about the place, and seemingly watching him from a safe distance, he moved toward the edge of the crystal clear, cerulean water. All he could see of his unknown companion in the pool was the flash of an arm—wet, cream-toned skin—and a dark head of hair bobbing below the surface.
The closer he got to the pool, the more certain he was that the person swimming in it was a woman. She sluiced through the water expertly, traveling with impressive speed from one end of the pool to the other without once showing any sign of fatigue. She only came up for air just quick enough to dip back down in the water, and not for long enough to notice that she was no longer alone.
One lap.
Then a second.
Roman came up to the edge of the pool, watching all the while. She still hadn’t noticed him because she hadn’t once looked up. Whatever was motivating her to keep swimming wasn’t about to slow her down yet. He couldn’t take his eyes off her even though he didn’t know who she was, and if he was even supposed to be watching her in the first place.
There were definitely rules in the Yazov home he wasn’t aware of, and he wasn’t in a position to break them. All things considered ...
But Roman knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he had seen this woman’s face. At the end of the third lap, when she was on the other side of the pool, she finally stopped to reach up and grab the ledge, straightening herself slowly while she wiped her face with the crook of her elbow.
He hadn’t seen her face yet, but her slender back was on display for him now, distracting his attention as his gaze traveled over the curves of her shoulders and the water dripping down her spine. She appeared to be wearing a bra instead of a proper bikini top. The semi-sheer, white lace was nearly the same color of her pale skin.
Finally, she looked over her shoulder, and the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen found his. At first, all that stared back from her was distance—or rather, it was like she saw right through him. As if he wasn’t standing there at all.
But goddamn.
He had never seen eyes like hers before; shockingly beautiful from so far away and yet entirely blank at the same time. There was something striking—and haunting—about them.
Because he couldn't seem to look away. Even though she was in the water, he was the one drowning.
Only her voice broke the daze.
“Did they send you to come get me?”
She called out to him from the other end of the pool. Her voice had a slow and dreamy quality, like she was taking her time with each word before she let them escape her lips, a careful consideration of the things she chose to say. It made her voice all the more melodic because of it, too.
She turned to the side ledge of the pool then, and began to drift towards him. Her slender shoulders bobbed gently in the water, small waves kissing the column of her neck with each rise and lower.
A woman moving through water shouldn’t be an entire experience, but there Roman was ... fucking experiencing it. Whatever it was.
“Well, are you?” she asked him again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She paid no mind to what he said, almost as though his words passed right through her. Her mind was elsewhere entirely—he could still see that distance in her gaze as it drifted from him to the doorway, and then back again.
But when she finally did stay focused on him, though—she truly saw him. For a brief second, he watched those big eyes of hers open further, and her stare looked him up and down. She tipped her head to the side a bit, a small grin playing at the edges of a plump, but tiny, mouth.
She didn’t know him.
Well, he didn’t know her, anyway.
But she looked at him like they did—like they knew each other very well.
Had they met before—was he supposed to know her? He was damn sure he wouldn’t have forgotten a face like hers, not even on his wildest of nights when his memories were left more fragmented than consistent. Even from this distance, he could see the tenderness of her small features, her sharp nose and bow-shaped lips. Dainty came to mind—she lo
oked like delicate fragility come to life, but wrapped in the sensual package of the body of a woman.
The sunlight streaming harshly through the glass dome reflected brightly on her face, spilling over her shoulders and through the water as she passed through a thick ray. It bathed her in a golden hue, making her damp skin glisten and adding a bit more color to her porcelain tone.
She couldn’t have been older than twenty, the smooth face that spoke of youth said life hadn’t quite taken her that far, yet. Although, he couldn’t forget that gleam he first saw in her eyes—that distance that spoke of an old soul.
They existed.
His grandfather swore it.
You have one, Anton told him once. You can see it in others, too—so look.
Apparently, he’d finally found another. Why didn’t she look at him the way other women did? If they knew him, well ... Mob Prince. Mutineer. Womanizer. A man who might be the greatest lay, but someone not to be trusted. The thief. But if they didn’t know him, it wasn’t like he gave off the safe, kind vibe, either.
But that didn’t matter.
No, she was looking at him like she had never laid eyes on another man before, but as though she saw right through him at the same time.
Her stare did that.
Those blue, blue eyes.
It set Roman off balance. He bet that he wasn’t the first man to wander into this woman’s path and suddenly find himself entranced just by being in her presence. Some women held that appeal—or so he was told. This was the first time he’d ever actually experienced it.
Couldn’t say he liked it.
Lies, his mind taunted.
“He told me to wait, but I had nothing else to do. I was bored,” she explained as she continued to inch closer, drifting slowly in the water.
Her words didn’t match the way she examined him. Roman still didn’t know what she was referring to.
In that moment, he became painfully aware of how strange the scene truly was. A beautiful young woman whom he didn’t recognize was swimming alone in this gigantic pool inside the Yazov home. One he’d been told to explore. Did she not own a bikini or just hadn’t bothered with one? Was she even supposed to be here?
And shit.
Because she was in the pool, should he be there? The idea that she could maybe get in trouble for this—it bothered him. Roman stepped closer to the edge of the pool.
“Are you going to be okay?” he called out to her.
She was looking through him, too far away in her mind to meet his eyes, anymore. That small smile came back to tug at the corner of her mouth, as if he had just said something silly and should have known as much.
“Yes, I’m always just okay,” she replied, monotone. “They make sure of it. Masha makes sure of it.”
What the fuck was she talking about?
Roman was starting to get the feeling that if he asked her too many questions she would shut up, cut him off, even.
The closer she came to him, the more clearly he could assess her. Admire her, really. Honesty was the best policy, after all. She had the quality of a wildflower on the top of a hill being thrashed around by a strong wind.
Yeah.
Like a good gust might blow her right the fuck over. The very sight of her actually had his chest tightening with a protective urge he couldn’t explain. No woman had struck him damn near speechless and simultaneously confused all at the same time without doing much at all.
Drops of water clung to her skin like beads. Her dark hair was slick and wet, pasted to the sides of her face. All that exercise had caused her cheeks to turn a deep pink, the tip of her nose, too. There was no denying the fact that this woman was extraordinarily beautiful.
So much so, she deserved a second look. And maybe the kind of husband who would kill a man for daring to take a third.
He realized she was watching him too when she spoke, snapping him out of his dazed admiration of her body. He couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed at being caught, but frankly, she was studying him just as closely.
Roman even considered asking if she liked what she could see.
“Is this about the planner?” she asked, arching one dark brow high. “Is she waiting to see us?”
Roman’s own furrowed in confusion, his body responding to the fact that she was even closer to him, now. Close enough that he’d be able to touch her if she wanted. Because Lord knew he wanted to. He had a terrible habit of admiring beautiful things. And she certainly was that.
The woman continued to speak regardless of whether she got a response from him. Really, he just didn’t know what she wanted him to say when she was still talking in riddles that he couldn’t understand.
“What does it matter anyway? It’s not like I’ll actually be able to choose anything or make decisions. They’ll do it all for me. God. They’ll even pick my dress.”
He opened his mouth to speak, feeling the irresistible urge to ask for an explanation. Or maybe just to keep her talking. There really was a musical quality to the way she spoke, and how her words streamed together in her rambling.
Who is planning what?
A dress for what?
Before he could say anything, though, her gaze shifted to something behind his shoulder. Without warning, she hauled herself quickly out of the pool.
Water splashed everywhere as she straightened up right beside him. She was a punch to his gut. In panties and a matching bra that did nothing to hide the definition of what was underneath, fully soaked through so he could see the stiffness of her nipples underneath the bra’s fabric, she didn’t think twice about her state. Her cleavage was deep, the bra had shifted in its soaking weight to the extent that another inch down and her full breasts would be on display. The slenderness of her body, from the milkiness of her legs and their length to the soft curves of her calves, and even how tiny her waist was, he couldn’t look away from it all.
A part of him wanted to.
He should.
Not that she seemed to care.
Roman did his best to ignore the growing length in his slacks, and he cleared his throat in an effort to ... fuck, who would know? It was a strange war to fight within himself—equally torn between the parts of himself that very much liked what he saw, and another that wanted to wrap her up in a towel and hide her from the rest of the world.
He didn’t want to stop looking at her. At least, he managed to put his attention on her face. Dignity, and all.
Everybody deserved a little.
Right?
She rubbed her hand over her face in an attempt to wipe off what remained of the water dripping down from her hair. Giving him one last look, she stepped past him without another word exchanging between them.
He didn’t know what made her get out of the water or why she was running away. Her departure would be just as unexplained as her appearance in the pool, it seemed
Roman still had questions.
Who wouldn’t?
Most importantly—if she left now, would he see her again?
EIGHT
Karine was sure he had bewitched her somehow because the man who was standing there at the edge of the pool appeared out of nowhere when she looked up from the water. He had bewitched her with his eyes. Dark, despite the clear blue, and deep, hooded heavily with sharp brows that furrowed while he watched her.
Unlike most people she encountered in her daily life, this man didn’t seem to want anything from her but to watch. She had to go towards him, closer to him—it was like the water was pushing her in his direction and yet she didn’t know what he was doing there—unable to ignore the need to find out who he was.
The only explanation for his unusual presence was that he was one of her father’s men running an errand. Karine hadn’t been entirely aware of the words that spilled from her mouth as she went towards him. He didn’t seem to be much of a talker, and so she kept rambling in hopes that he might finally say something back that made sense.
Whoever he was—she
couldn’t help herself.
He just stood there looking like the most beautiful man she had ever seen, seemingly curious enough to remain there the closer she came. His strong jaw—and a mouth with lips she wanted to watch move, so she talked so he would do the same—was framed by a thick, dark beard, trimmed neatly. She found herself wondering what his pillowy lips might feel like pressed to hers, how they might taste, even.
Then, she saw Masha.
Over the man’s shoulder, Masha came running toward the glass door of the pool house, and Karine knew ... once again, she had done something that could get her in trouble. It happened to her quite often. She just wandered away ... distracted by a thought or something interesting that caught her wandering, wild eye. It was usually Masha who found her every time and brought her back to earth.
But the spell had broken.
Whatever trance the man had put her under faded fast at the idea she was going to have to explain her current state and situation. Pulling herself out of the water, Karine stood in front of him for a few moments, long enough for her to appreciate the sight of him that close, and then she headed away from him without a look back.
Masha made it through the door of the pool house before Karine could exit. A long fluffy towel was thrown over her one shoulder while she kept a tight grip on Karine’s forgotten dress and shoes in her other hand.
It took one look of Masha’s face to see the worry etched there. She almost felt bad.
“There you are,” Masha said in a rush, meeting Karine halfway to the door. “I’ve been searching for you. I found your clothes in the spa next door.”
The grass underneath her damp feet allowed Karine to imagine that she was free in a meadow somewhere far from here. Except Masha was there to drag her back into reality, and responsibility.
“You must stop disappearing on me like that, Karine,” Masha continued, throwing the towel around her without warning. “You know what that does.”
As the woman rubbed her gently up and down, trying to dry Karine’s body and her wet hair, she stood stock-still, allowing Masha to do whatever needed to be done. She couldn’t help but notice the way Masha threw a glance at the stranger over her shoulder.
