Billie and the Russian Beast: An Enemies to Lovers Russian Hockey Player Sports Romance [50 Loving States, South Carolina] (QUARANTALES Book 2)

by Theodora Taylor

  I stare down at the end piece in my hands. “I was the one who took care of my mom when she got sick. But her last words to me weren’t thank you. She told me to take care of my brother. Like I didn’t even matter. Like she expected my life to continue to revolve around his forever.”

  Cheslav sneers. And I rub my arm self-consciously. He probably thinks I’m an idiot for complaining about coming in second to a professional football player.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Dance and football are two totally different trajectories. And only a spoiled brat would feel resentful that her passion wasn’t valued as highly as her brother’s. I love my mother. She did the best she could as a single woman raising two kids on a security guard’s salary. I shouldn’t be upset.”

  Cheslav scrunches his brow and hurt flashes across his face. “That is not what I was thinking at all, krasotka. I am only admiring you. You had hard life, and your family did not properly appreciate you. But you stay generous and kind. Even to awful Russian blackmailer like me.”

  My cheeks warm, remembering how I called him that before I stormed out of his penthouse. And I find myself telling him the truth. “I don’t think you’re so awful now. This time together has been…nice. A lot nicer than I expected.”

  “I agree, krasotka.” His eyes darken. “And as soon as our thirty days’ trial is done, I will be even nicer to you. All night long.”

  Sex, the elephant in the room that neither of us has brought up. Until now.

  Forget my cheeks, my whole face is burning up.

  “So what did you and Vladimir do for fun back in Russia if not puzzles and board games?” I ask him, determined to change the subject.

  “Last century, we Rustanovs maybe not so good family. We are very successful criminals until Alexei, the head of our family, decided to take our organization in different direction. Clean direction or how-you-say-it…legitimate direction.”

  Whoa, maybe Cynda had it right after all…. “So you’re saying the Rustanovs were basically mafia until your cousin decided you guys needed to go legitimate?”

  “Yes,” he answers with a nod. “My guard Vlad is leftover from the old Rustanov family. He has been with me since we were boys, understand? Kind of like half-nanny, half-bodyguard. Before I was born, the Rustanovs were only partly in legitimate business world, and we had many enemies. Now we are all in, and we still have many enemies. However, we retaliate with things like forced mergers and hostile takeovers, not enforcers. And the boy children born of my generation are given two choices: business or hockey. Fortunately, my brother and I liked hockey very much, and we were, like many Rustanovs, very good at it.”

  I nod my head. “That is fortunate, but what does that have to do with what you did for fun when you were kids?”

  “Hockey was all we did for fun,” he answers. “Also, my father taught me to play chess as he believed it sharpened the athlete’s mind. And of course to gamble, which is why I always bet big, not little. But other than that, hockey was our only fun. All we were allowed to do.”

  “And now, your hockey career is almost over.” My heart cracks with the realization, “So you’re only just now learning to have fun.”

  He pauses at my words. Then reaches across the puzzle and takes my hand. “I am sorry about pushing you away that morning I found out hockey season was on pause. It felt like you were trying to take my puck. So I played defense. But now I understand you were trying to assist me to goal.”

  This guy and his metaphors.

  I look at him. And he looks at me.

  And I can’t tell you who lunged first, but we collide into a kiss on top of the dining room table.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I know what I said when I agreed to quarantine with Cheslav. I know what I insisted. But here I am with pieces of Baby Yoda digging into my back while I watch Cheslav toss my flip flops before yanking down my joggers and panties.

  However, he doesn’t fall on top of me after I’m naked enough to do the do. He just stands there, his eyes raking over my body.

  This would normally make me feel all kinds of beautiful, but right now…

  “Cheslav…” I say, my voice aching with need.

  “Give me moment, krasotka,” he answers. “Let me enjoy this.”

  He takes his cock out and strokes himself with his eyes glued to my naked pussy. “I like seeing how your pussy becomes wet just by my looking at it. This tells me you have wanted me like I want you.”

  His tone is casual and lazy. Like we have all the time in the world to talk. Technically, we do. But I have no patience for this conversation. Desperate need claws at me. Makes me whine, “Don’t tease me.”

  “Who is tease here? Accountant krasotka who says I cannot have her. Or poor Russian hockey player who was made to wait so long?”

  “Me!” I answer, not caring what I said before. “Definitely me!”

  Cheslav sneers, his eyes darkly amused. “We will agree to disagree as they say. But you are mother of my child, so I will not make you beg. This time.”

  I’d laugh, but I’m too damn horny. All I can do is sigh with relief when he climbs onto the table, braces himself on top of me then slides right on in without any more argument.

  You’d think it would be awkward. It’s been weeks and weeks since we last did this. But no…we come together like there was no break at all.

  Cheslav’s lips find mine, and in no time at all, we’re on fire, burning hotter and hotter until an orgasm consumes me with its flame.

  Like the rest of South Carolina, I’ve been on edge since the governor issued his home or work order. I’ve lain awake in my bed at night and worried about my clients, myself, and the baby growing inside of me. I’ve also wondered how and when everything could possibly get back to normal when the best estimates for a vaccine are still a year away.

  But joining with Cheslav like this soothes me. It’s like he’s the anxiety meds I’ve been missing. The only thing my mind needs to stay right. The only exercise my body truly craves.

  Luckily the table is sturdy. We end up lying on top of it for a long blissed-out time after he rolls to the side and pulls me into his arms.

  “What does this mean?” I eventually ask.

  “It means same as what I already told you,” he answers with that hard, Russian accent of his. “You are mine.”

  “I don’t…” I struggle to put words to my feelings. “I don’t want to be somebody’s possession. That’s not how I see myself.”

  “I understand, krasotka. Before I lay eyes on you, I do not see this situation with wife and baby for myself, either. But here we are. You belonging to me.”

  I open my mouth to protest again, but before I can, he adds, “And me belonging to you.”

  He kisses me on my forehead. “Do not worry. If you are my object, know that I am yours too.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Do not worry…

  If I think this is one-off sex, Cheslav proves me wrong about that. That night, he takes my hand after we’re done with dinner and invites me to watch TV in his room. And I don’t argue when I end up not seeing a bit of whatever program he turned on because he’s too busy kissing me silly.

  But then we get very serious about making up for lost time.

  The next morning, Cheslav wakes me up with his hand in my pussy. Then when I’m wet and awake enough, he slips in from behind.

  As the sun comes up, so do I, gasping as a climax lights up my whole world.

  “I like the feeling of being inside you without condom too much,” he informs me after pulling out. “You will have to monitor me. Make sure I do not become completely addicted.”

  I laugh.

  But that smile disappears right off my face when he slaps me on the ass and says, “Let’s rinse off. Then we will take our run.”

  “Hey, what happened to not having to exercise if I let you get it in?” I demand when he takes me by the wrist and starts tugging me out of bed.

  “That was for old a
greement. For quarantine agreement, I make you exercise until you agree to become my wife.”

  There’s a lot of grumbling that morning.

  “I know you are pregnant, but I am this close to punishing you if you do not stop griping about necessary exercise,” he tells me that morning while we’re eating the eggs and steak I made for breakfast on the balcony.

  “Punish me how?” I ask, something wicked rising inside of me.

  His green eyes darken with lust even though we did it that morning. “I will not tell you how. I will show you…”

  And show me he does.

  Another week passes in a blur of studying, sex, and puzzles. We only partially finish Baby Yoda due to the pieces lost to our reunion sex. But after we give up on finding the last three pieces, we laugh and order a few more puzzles.

  We’re working on one featuring two hedgehogs playing chess with snails when Cheslav’s phone goes off.

  He sneers down at it when he sees the name on the caller ID. “It is my brother.”

  He answers it and says, “Hello, Tyoma.”

  His brother says hello in Russian. Then he asks a question I can’t understand until Cheslav turns the phone around and tells him. “I am doing 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle with my beautiful fiancée. See?”

  My cheeks heat. Not just because Cheslav has the phone pointed at me, but also because he keeps on referring to me as his beautiful fiancée to his brother, even though we’re not technically there yet—that feels all sorts of crazy.

  “Hi, Artyom,” I say nonetheless. I don’t feel comfortable using the Russian diminutive Cheslav calls him by.

  “Hello, Billie,” Artyom answers. He’s ruggedly handsome, like his brother. However, his hair is long and unruly, which gives him more of a boyish look. A very bad boy, if what I’ve read on the internet gossip sites is correct, but he’s been nothing but polite and charming to me whenever we talk.

  “I see my brother has not yet lost his mind because he is unable to play hockey,” he says now with an affable grin. “It is obviously because he has such beautiful company. I am jealous.”

  And just when I think my cheeks couldn’t get any hotter.

  “He’s keeping me sane too,” I tell Artyom.

  Cheslav turns the phone back toward himself to add, “Yes, this is favorite activity of mine. Keeping her sane.”

  And just in case his brother doesn’t get that sexual innuendo, Cheslav punctuates his statement with a wolfish grin.

  “Can we have some private talk?” his brother asks after they exchange a few more pleasantries.

  Cheslav nods, then walks away, speaking in rapid-fire Russian.

  I stay focused on the puzzle, but I ask the Alexa device to play the latest episode of Death, Sex, and Money, my favorite podcast when he doesn’t immediately come back.

  The show’s nearly over by the time Cheslav returns to the table. He has a weird look on his face like he’s tasted something strange.

  “What’s up?” I ask. “Is everything okay with your brother?”

  “Da, more than okay. He has opportunity to buy his team, and he wants me to come on as his partner. I would be co-owner, running day-to-day, and overseeing the coaching staff.”

  “Wow! That’s amazing!” I say, clapping my hands. “You’d get to mix hockey and business. That sounds like a dream job for a Rustanov. Am I right?”

  “Da, you are right,” he answers with a quick nod. “My cousin Nikolai does same with the Indiana Polar.”

  “So you even have a mentor to provide some guidance for your journey. That’s awesome!”

  “Da, this is what I said to my brother when I told him I would get back to him after talking to you.

  I scrunch my brow. “What do I have to do with it?”

  He shakes his head at me like I’m crazy. “You are my soon-to-be wife, the mother of my child. You think I will agree to this without talking to you? And of course, I will not leave here if you don’t agree to come with me?”

  I look at him.

  And look at him some more.

  So many logical reactions run through my head:

  Yeah, Minnesota is most of the way across the country. But we could do long distance while I work in South Carolina.

  And how about my dreams of becoming a financial manager? Minnesota would mean establishing a whole new network.

  Plus, he’s still an over-the-top athlete, and I’m still an extremely grounded accountant. Sure, we’re getting along now. But how about in the long run. Could two people as opposite as us work long term?

  Who knows? And the thing is, we don’t have to get married right away.

  I mean, we’ve only really known each other without any blackmail being involved for a few weeks. Like, shouldn’t we give it at least a year before tying the knot?

  And I cannot express enough how crazy it would be to get married after such a short time.

  All these answers run through my head. Rational answers. Sane answers.

  But suddenly I’m just tired.

  Tired of fighting him.

  Tired of fighting myself and how I feel.

  Tired of always being practical.

  And that’s why I simply say, “Okay, let’s do it.”

  He wobbles a little on the other side of the table. I can tell he was braced for an argument. Luckily he’s agile.

  “Okay?” he says after a moment of confusion. “To be clear, you are saying okay to moving to Minnesota.”

  I nod slowly, not quite believing what I’m saying myself. Or how right it feels. “Yes, okay.”

  His eyes narrow with a shrewd look. “If you are saying okay to Minnesota, you are also saying okay to marriage and Just Dance video announcing our engagement to the world. Minnesota is, how you say, package deal.”

  “Okay…” I say again with a shake of my head.

  Cheslav squints like I’m trying to pull something over on him. “So, that is yes to all my deal points.”

  “Boy, if you don’t get out of here talking about deal points. But yes, I’m saying yes to everything,” I answer with a laugh.

  “Yes! She finally said yes!” Cheslav yells triumphantly.

  I end up laughing even harder when he comes around the table and lifts me over his head. Like I’m the Stanley Cup.

  “I am going to make you so happy, krasotka,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You will see I am not just pretty boy. I am husband and father you can trust for rest of your life.”

  He says these heart-melting words, and then he lowers me down to kiss me.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back.

  And I don’t feel crazy.

  I just feel happy.

  Like now that I’ve agreed to marry a man I barely know, everything will be alright.

  Chapter Twenty

  Okay, no more secrets.

  The next day, I call Cynda with the news of my move, pregnancy, and apparent engagement.

  She’s ecstatic. “Finally, you’ll be in the same time zone as me! But how are you just now telling me about this pregnancy? How are you feeling? And what’s this hockey player’s last name? I want to look him up!”

  She’s firing so many questions at me it feels like I’m randomly picking one to answer when I reply, “Rustanov. His last name is Rustanov.”

  “Whoa, Rustanov, like random Russian dude or Rustanov like he’s related to Alexei Rustanov?”

  “Who?”

  “Sorry, girl, sometimes I forget not everybody’s in the medical industry like me. But Alexei Rustanov is the head of the Rustanov Charitable Foundation. He’s Russian but based here, and his foundation gives like crazy amounts of money to hospitals all over the world. His cousin is Nikolai Rustanov—that crazy hot former hockey player from the Indiana Polar—they used to call him Mount Nik? Remember?”

  “The truth is, I didn’t know much about hockey, and I still kind of don’t,” I answer with an apologetic wince. “But yes, he mentioned that Nikolai was a relation. So
his family’s worth millions?”

  “More like billions,” Cynda answers. “Some people say trillions—and real talk, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were on that Illuminati kick.”

  “Whoa.” My mind is spinning with all this new information. “Why would someone from a family worth that much be interested in me?”

  “Probably because billionaires have great taste,” Cynda answers, her voice frank.

  “Cynda, I’m not…”

  “Girl stop. You’re beautiful, smart, kind, and deserving of all the hot Russian billionaires. He’s lucky to have you. Not the other way around.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I answer.

  And this time, I’m not being humble.

  True, Cheslav can be a beast—especially in bed. Also, when we’re playing board games. He talks all the trash, and if he doesn’t win, best believe he’ll be making you replay him until he does.

  But he’s also super sweet. After going hard in bed, his favorite post-coital activity is snuggling for ridiculous amounts of time. He makes the Russian language sound soft and sweet—but only when he’s talking about me. He makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful, interesting woman on earth. And sometimes it’s hard to believe a fairytale like him is really happening to a sensible accountant like me.

  But I know Cynda’s too true blue of a friend to agree with me, so I say, “Thanks, girl. I just wish Gina was here to share in the good news.”

  “Me too,” Cynda says, her voice becoming a lot more somber.

  I’d sent the email from Gina and everything else we had to Cheslav. But Vlad’s “sources” had only been able to trace her as far as Wisconsin before her trail went cold.