Russian Enforcers Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)

by Nic Saint

  Only now did she notice they were heading north along the Hudson, and a ripple of panic echoed through her. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I told you already. My place.”

  “This isn’t the way to the Lower East Side?”

  “We’re not going there. I’m taking you to the house.”

  She sat bolt upright. “You don’t have a house!”

  He grinned. “I’m afraid this wasn’t in the file, honey. I do have a house, only I didn’t bother to tell anyone about it when I bought it last year.”

  She gave him a hard stare, only slightly mollified. “Where?”

  “Briarcliff Manor. It’s a small village north of New York.”

  “I know where Briarcliff Manor is,” she said impatiently. She wondered whether to believe him or not, then didn’t detect any of the warning signs in either his voice or posture, and decided to cut him some slack. This was, after all, the guy who’d saved her life.

  “I’ve been thinking about getting out of the game lately,” he suddenly told her. “Been doing this stuff for so long now it’s getting old.”

  “You? Retiring?” She gave an audible snort of incredulity.

  “You find that so hard to believe?”

  “I find that very hard to believe, Mike. You’re the eldest Petrov. You’re the one poised to take over from your father. You don’t get out of this game.”

  “Watch me,” he said softly, and she thought there was something wistful in his expression. Something she hadn’t seen there before. A vulnerability.

  “But why? I mean, you’ve got a good thing going here, you and your brothers and sister. You’ve got respect, money…”

  “People chasing after me with guns,” he added dryly.

  She narrowed her eyes, then held out her hand. “What about a truce? I don’t kill you and you don’t kill me?”

  He took her outstretched hand. “Truce,” he gruffly agreed.

  The moment their hands touched, a tremor skittered up her arm. He must have felt it too, for he held on, his thumb caressing the back of her hand. The hand enveloping hers was calloused and large, and she wondered how many women he’d touched—how many women he’d undressed. She felt an unfamiliar sensation stirring her blood at the thought that Mike Petrov was a real man’s man, the kind of man she should be used to by now, but found was very different from any other man she knew.

  His touch was firm yet relaxed, and she found the warm feel of his hand on hers soothing and electrifying all at once. She wondered with a shiver what his plans were. He was taking her to his house, to a place no one even knew existed. She would be at his mercy there, completely dependent on him. The thought both frightened and exhilarated her, and she swallowed away a lump of uneasiness.

  For a moment his steely green eyes bored into hers, and she saw the arousal there, the carnal desire. With a sudden pang of excitement she realized he wanted her—wanted her bad. Which was only natural, for she wanted him too.

  CHAPTER 6

  Mike stared at the woman for a good long minute. That she was beyond stunning he already knew, and if the way his cock was painfully throbbing was any indication, he had to have her before the night was through, or else he wouldn’t live till morning. She might be a stone-cold assassin out to put a stiletto in his chest but he didn’t care. He wanted her in his bed. Tonight. And he didn’t think she’d put up much of a struggle either. After all, she was in no position to protest when he had his way with her. She’d tried to kill him. She wouldn’t mind if he exacted his own sweet revenge.

  He glanced from her blond tresses, now an unkempt mess crowning a very pale face, to her chest and down the length of her gorgeous body. She was still wearing the same skimpy outfit. The clingy dress did little to hide her impressive assets, and the swell of her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. It was an entrancing sight, one he could revel in all night.

  While she was unconscious he’d been quick to relieve her of the small gun she kept tucked away in her clutch purse, the knife strapped to her thigh, and the knee holster. She was the epitome of armed and dangerous, but then he hadn’t expected anything less from Stiletto Tonya. He’d heard the stories. He knew how she was capable of taking down a man twice her size with a single blow to the temple. How she was one of the few women on the planet who could actually kill a man by squeezing him to death with her thighs. The thought appealed to him a lot more than it should have.

  He’d take his chances. Nobody had ever managed to take him out yet. Enemies had taken potshots at him for years now, and he’d survived them all. He was sure he would survive Emily’s thighs of steel.

  “What happens when we arrive at your place?” she asked in a hoarse voice. She must have noticed the glint in his eye, he thought with satisfaction. He didn’t mind giving it to her straight. One professional to another. He stroked his thumb along her lips. So soft…

  “We’re going to play a little game,” he announced with relish.

  “What game?” she said, eyes wide. She might be a stone-cold killer, but she was also a woman. All woman, all over. Which was fitting, as he was all man.

  “I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you give me the right answers, I’ll let you ask some of yours.”

  She seemed relieved, or disappointed. It was hard to tell. “That’s it? Twenty questions?”

  His hand moved to her chin. “If you lie to me, there will be punishment involved.”

  She shivered, and it wasn’t from fear, he knew. Anticipation? Was it possible she was as aroused as he was? Hard to tell. She hid her feelings well.

  “What kind of punishment?”

  He let his hand trail down from her chin to her throat, feeling the pulsating heartbeat there, then let it slide between the folds of her dress. Her breath caught when he captured her hot flesh. His thumb caressed her hardening peak, and as she panted a surprised gasp, he rasped, “Let’s just say we’ll keep it…interesting.”

  “You can’t do this, Petrov,” she breathed, her eyes shooting fire. And yet he noticed she didn’t make any attempt to remove his hand from her breast. After a tense moment, he returned it to the steering wheel.

  “I can do whatever the hell I want, darling,” he growled.

  “Touch me again, and you’re dead,” she shot back.

  Touch her again, and he would be dead. From spontaneous self-combustion.

  CHAPTER 7

  Briarcliff Manor was a cozy small town populated by the richer set, and Emily wondered how Mike Petrov had ever been able to afford a place here. The car veered off the main road onto a narrow lane leading into a patch of forest.

  After a short drive, a bend in the lane suddenly opened up to a view of a large mansion. Sprawling and intriguing, Emily found herself properly impressed.

  The two-story property stood on a spreading lawn, the circular drive leading to a porticoed front porch. The moment the car hit the drive, floodlights came on, illuminating the lemon-colored walls with blue trim, the balconied windows with aquamarine shutters, and the gabled red roof. It looked like something from a picture book. Like a real home.

  She turned to Mike, touching his arm in her enthusiasm. “It’s wonderful.”

  “I like it.”

  She detected the pride in his voice. “How can you afford a place like this?”

  He shrugged. “I have my ways.”

  “Come on, Mike,” she prompted. “We’re in the same line of work. Never in my life could I make enough to pay for a place like this. What’s your secret?”

  He merely gave her a mysterious wiggle of his eyebrows, then exited the car.

  She had to admit the man had flair, though she still felt trepidatious about the games he’d announced. The moment he’d laid his hand on her, she’d had a hard time keeping her cool. Shivers of anticipation had rocked through her core, and the only thought emerging from the welter was the desire that he replace his hand with his lips. No man had ever had that effect on her. Ever. His touch wa
s simply electrifying, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have him moving between her thighs, his hardness deeply rooted inside her, his body grinding away against hers, his cock stirring the depths.

  She took a deep breath, and stepped out. The night air did much to cool the heated passions that were roiling in her center. The entrance to the house was even bigger than it appeared from the outside. She found herself in an atrium, the ceiling soaring high above. The space rose two stories, a skylight allowing a paltry moon to bathe the space in its feeble light.

  While she was still awed by the atrium, he took her by the hand and led her into the library, filled with book cabinets from floor to ceiling. There was a ladder to slide along the shelves, and tables set in the center for easy perusal of the tomes. There was even a hearth. For the long winter evenings, she reckoned.

  “Have you read all of these?” she asked, duly impressed.

  “I figure I might start in once I retire,” he told her.

  Retirement? Was Mike Petrov thinking about retiring? She still couldn’t believe it. A Mafia soldier never retired. He either died in the saddle or in jail. But Mike was still in the prime of his life, not ready to retire at all. The man was an enigma, she decided, and vowed to discover his secrets sooner or later.

  They walked into a parlor, cozily furnished to receive guests, and then finally arrived in the living room near the back of the house. Picture windows gave out onto a garden, though it was hard to make out as there were no street lights. Mike had found himself a private place, set back from the world. And his family.

  The living room was sparsely but tastefully furnished, all pine and utilitarian furnishings, the one thing standing out the humongous TV set. Emily imagined Mike watching the ball game with his buddies, their feet propped up on the coffee table, tipping back brewskis.

  She followed him into the next room, and gasped when she caught sight of the kitchen, with its gleaming surfaces and countertops. The place was huge, and when Mike opened one of two fridges, she caught a glimpse of fully stocked shelves. So he hadn’t lied. He actually lived here.

  “Want anything?” he asked with arched eyebrow. “Your stomach should be fine again by now, and you must be starving.”

  The moment he said it she realized it was true. She was starving. The nausea she felt before had disappeared, and now it was as if her stomach was stuck to her ribs. She nodded eagerly. “I am starving.”

  He gave her a grin. “Thought so. What about a chicken omelet? It’s one of my specialties.”

  She stared at him. “Don’t tell me you actually know how to cook?”

  “Love it,” he announced, rooting around in the fridge. “One of my hobbies, in fact.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Can’t you tell by the size of this damn kitchen? I swear when I saw this place, I fell in love.”

  She took a seat at the counter and watched him stir eggs in a glass bowl, then add cubes of chicken and plunk a pan on the stove. She eyed him with admiration. “You can actually cook,” she marveled.

  “Yup,” he said, focusing on his omelet. The sizzling sounds and delicious smells made her mouth water, and when he gave her that grin again, the dimples in his cheeks winking at her invitingly, she felt pure desire melt her bones and reduce her to a pile of quivering jelly.

  He plunked a plate in front of her and laid out cutlery, then shoveled eggs onto her plate and set about popping bread into the toaster. “Eat, before you fall off that chair from sheer exhaustion.”

  She dug in, and when he joined her, and added crispy toast to the menu, she thought she was in heaven. She’d been so starved she could have eaten a horse. They sat companionably side by side, and for the first time that night, and perhaps for the first time in a long time, her mood was almost cheerful. She threw him a sideways glance, and when he pointed to her plate to repeat his command, “Eat!” she felt small eddies of pleasure lap at her soul.

  It is often said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She wondered if the same thing wasn’t true for women. Not only did the man look like a Greek God, and could raise her temperature by several degrees with a single glance, he could actually cook! Not many guys she’d dated could boast that particular quality. She could see how wrong she’d been about him. There was definitely a lot more to Mike Petrov than met the eye.

  She sure was glad she hadn’t killed him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Mike sat back in his chair, and eyed Emily intently. They were seated side by side at the kitchen counter, their plates empty and their bellies full, and for the first time that night he thought she looked relaxed. And radiant. Good food definitely became her. She had that after-dinner glow, her cheeks flushed, her hair dangling in soft golden wisps about her face, her eyes shiny and bright, and a bright smile that hadn’t dimmed for the last half hour.

  Especially the glass of Beaujolais had done her a world of good. Gotten those pale cheeks flushed and burning again. She looked goddamn sexy and hot, and ready to take to bed. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her back at the bar, he’d wanted her. Now, after the ordeal she’d suffered through, he wanted her even more. She was still wearing that sexy black number, and he couldn’t wait to flick it away and strip her naked, sending more hot flushes up her cheeks, and making her violently squirm with lust and pleasure beneath him.

  He folded his hand over hers, caressing her soft skin. She didn’t move her hand, which he took as a sign she wasn’t averse to his affections. God, she was positively brimming with heat. He turned over her hand and pressed a kiss to the pulsating vein he found on her wrist. She held her gaze steady on his face, a faint smile playing about her lips, and he thought he’d never wanted a woman more. Sexual energy was crackling between them, shooting off the walls, like it had done all night.

  It wasn’t something that could be denied. He’d brought her here for her own safety, sure, but also so he could be alone with her and plunder that mouth and ravish that body before the night was through. He’d vowed she would land in his bed tonight and he was about to make good on that promise.

  “That was great, Mike,” she intoned throatily, and when he reached out and brought his fingers to her cheek, then lowered his lips to hers, she didn’t protest, but merely closed her eyes at the first touch of their lips. The moment they made contact, it was as if something fired off inside his chest, and his blood went from hot to boil in seconds. His tongue plunged beyond the seam of her mouth, and when it met hers in wet delight, she moaned. He slipped off the stool to clasp her against him, easily drawing her into the circle of his arms and molding her soft supple body against his unyielding frame.

  And then she was trailing up her own hands, and when he felt her fingers lacing in his hair, it sent a jolt of hunger humming through his system. He slanted the kiss and took it deeper, flicking against her tongue in a bid for more of that delicious taste, that wet heat he’d known he’d find there.

  His hands ran up her sides, his thumbs caressing her breasts, then arching over them and experiencing the hard peaks under his touch. Not being able to stand the barrier of clothing, he peeled off her dress in one quick movement of his powerful fingers. Naked and clinging to him, he covered her soft flesh, experiencing the hard nipples under his touch, and when she moaned again, he angled his lips down along her neck. Then he was hot on her breast, sucking her in, his tongue rasping along her puckered nipple until she cried out with delight. His lips still clasped over her, his hand reached down between her thighs and reveled in the searing heat and wetness he found there.

  Gasping, she suddenly implored, “The lights. Switch off the lights.”

  He didn’t question her but instantly plunged the kitchen in darkness, the only light penetrating coming from a skylight. He briefly glanced down the length of her body and caught a glimpse of the pale moonlight shimmering off her glowing skin, illuminating her perfect form, her chest heaving and falling rapidly. Heat seared through him like a fiery lance, and then he made short shrift of
her panties. He noticed intricate scar tissue spreading across her belly, but then she claimed his lips again, drawing his attention to her hot mouth.

  Wet heat spread through her core when his fingers dipped inside her, and she uttered a startled cry, more a whimper than a moan. Then his fingers were responding to the slick invitation of her pussy, and she writhed against his hand in lustful anticipation.

  His own breath came in short gasps now, as excitement roared through his blood, and then her slender fingers were unzipping him, freeing his burgeoning cock, and when she drew back the elastic band of his boxers, he came swinging out, the power and the majesty of his towering girth eliciting her mewling gasp. She curled her fingers around the throbbing girth and he groaned in sweet agony at her touch. He was so hard it hurt, and he watched in fascination as she crouched down, lowering her head to his engorged glans, and licked the droplet of precum from the tiny slit, then lowered her lips around him, dipping him into the heat of her mouth.

  Christ, this was too much. If she kept this up, he was going to come right here, right now, unburdening himself against the back of her throat in thick spurts. Ever so slowly he eased himself from between her greedy lips and lapping tongue, and hitched her up onto the kitchen counter, then spread her thighs, the wetness between them glistening their invitation.

  “Be gentle,” she softly urged. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”

  He could hardly believe his ears. A gorgeous woman like her? He would have thought she had to beat men off with a stick. But when he buried himself inside her, he did it with the utmost care and tenderness, and then they were moving together, their bodies finally united in the ultimate dance.