by K. J. Dahlen
My hand went further up her thigh.
With her legs stretched, she wasn’t able to move or let go. She was poised in an intimate position, her silk shorts and tank offering very little in the way of protection.
She huffed. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Hell of a view from here.”
Any second now, she would realize the private show she was giving me. If she gave up or tried to cover herself, our deal would be kaput. Then marriage, and maybe she’d spread her legs for me a different way… My hands crept up the back of her thigh.
She inhaled, holding completely still.
“One more rung,” I mused behind her. “I wonder what it will bring?”
Her indecision was carved into every tense muscle of her lithe body. Fear. Insecurity. Curiosity. And, from the subtle tang in the air, more than a little lust.
“Will it bring you back inside to me, printsessa?” I murmured.
Her head hung down a little, a breeze lifting her hair from her face. “I barely know you.”
“I know.”
“But I want you,” she confessed.
“I know that, too.”
Her head whipped around to meet my gaze, the sudden movement making her wobble. Without thinking, my hands splayed out to clutch her perfect, round bottom. I wanted to pull her back down, but I needed her to believe it was her idea.
Her submission. Her surrender.
“Can I trust you?”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if the question came from her innocent eyes or her perfect pink mouth. I looked past her creamy skin to the darkness beyond and raised an eyebrow. “You prefer suicide?”
Her laugh came out like a hiccup. Blinking away tears, she sniffed. “I suppose there are worse fates.” Sighing, she climbed down off the railing—with my help. As soon as her feet were back on the concrete of the patio, though, she pushed me away. “Don’t even…”
“I’m gratified to know that marriage to me ranks only slightly higher than jumping off the roof of a motel in Jersey.”
She held her hand up, her thumb and forefinger pinching about an inch of air. “This much.” But a smile tickled at the edge of her lips, nonetheless.
I remained on the balcony as she went back inside. As I leaned and scanned the parking lot, the chilled metal of the railing bit into my arms.
Now I just had to convince her of the benefits of marrying a strange Russian mafia enforcer. I might have to show her the size of my… gun. Tugging at my beard, I waited for the sting of sensation to bring me back to the present time and problem. We would make it work.
When I got back in the bed, she was huddled in a ball, her nose barely peeking over the covers. “Moy Anya,” I said gruffly as I hauled her into my arms. Her shivering took another few minutes to subside. It wasn’t until I closed my eyes that she spoke.
“I won’t run again. You have my word.”
I woke up before Anya sometime later. I didn’t have to move to feel the imprint of her small hand in mine and her feet balanced on top of mine. She was nestled safely in the vee of my crotch and I threw a prayer heavenward that I could escape without waking her.
I thought again about the marriage plan, but I didn’t see any way around it. It would secure her citizenship, alleviate the Ramone warfare, and also prevent Boss Petrov from using her in ways that were… inappropriate in my books.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever really know what the Boss had wanted with her, but thinking about her being forced to have sex with other men made me physically ill.
Carefully, I extricated myself from the bed and grabbed a shower, hoping that she wouldn’t wake up for a few more hours. She needed her sleep and we had a big day ahead of us.
I dressed. She slept on. I checked my email and voice mails on my phone—several from an angry Pakhan Petrov—yet she didn’t stir. Finally, I had to wake her, or we would miss our checkout time. There was no need to call extra attention to ourselves.
Her eyes flew open as my lips landed on her cheek. “Wake up, printsessa. It’s our wedding day.”
6
Anya
“This is your house?” My tone indicated my disbelief. I saw Viktor try to hide his smile. “This isn’t a house…it’s a mansion.”
I was staring at a big stucco and stone home with a carriage-style driveway with a fountain in the center. Just the entryway alone was massive, and I hadn’t even walked inside yet.
“It’s not as big as it looks,” he said modestly.
I looked at him dubiously. “Really.”
He grinned, flashing a dimple through the unscarred part of his face and his trimmed facial hair. I blinked, trying to take in his good mood without being completely shocked. He amended his statement. “Well, okay, it’s big. But it’s not as intimidating as it looks. Promise.”
He showed me around and then left me to get settled. After I unpacked the few belongings I had, I realized I should have asked for breadcrumbs downstairs. When I finally found him again, I took a seat at the kitchen bar and he served me some food that his housekeeper-slash-cook Judy had made for him.
“Now what?” I asked, forking the pork chop into my mouth and moaning in the pure delight of the tender meat. There was something to be said for American meat. No pun intended.
“Now we wait.”
I stopped eating. “Wait for what?”
He grabbed his plate and sat down at the bar with me. “You don’t really think they’ll just let this go, do you? Either Petrov or Ramone will come for you, and we have to be ready.”
“How am I supposed to be ready at any point? And how long will we have to wait?” Was I supposed to have a backpack packed on standby? That was no way to live. So much for freedom.
“I don’t know how long. Could be days, weeks, months. The Pakhan knows where I live, but I doubt he’ll be the first to approach. He’ll wait to see with Boss Ramone does.”
I still couldn’t believe that Boss Ramone was my father. Wasn’t sure what to believe. It was so far-fetched that it sounded like a fairy tale—only, in this story, I was unsure of who the villain was.
“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?”
He looked at me with intensity and heat in his eyes and my choice of words was suddenly infused with a deeper, more intimate meaning. He said softly, “I have some ideas.
I cleared my throat. “I mean, where can I go if I want to get away from the house?”
The smile fell from his face. “Anya, you’re not going anywhere. Absolutely not.”
I furrowed my brow. “Uh, yes. I can. I’m not staying here for months! I’ll go crazy.” He must be mad to think I would—
“Anya, this is not a suggestion. You will do as I say.”
I laughed in his face. “You don’t own me.”
He didn’t laugh in response. Nothing about him was in a light, humorous mood. My laugh died quickly. As soon as I was silent, he shrugged and reminded me, “I have a document that says otherwise.”
My entire body went cold. I had thought he was different, but he was just like the others. They wanted to control me, like a piece of property. I had trusted Viktor, and now I was finding out that my trust was misplaced.
“Anya, don’t look at me that way. I’m just trying to protect you.” He grabbed my arm and tried to tug me to him, but I refused to budge. The tears prickling my eyes embarrassed me, and I looked away from him with resolute dignity—or at least I hoped I appeared dignified, and not just pathetic.
“Don’t touch me, Viktor,” I commanded softly.
For the first time, I wasn’t attracted to him. All I wanted was to get away from him.
He sighed. “Don’t be like that, Anya.” He tried to reach out for me again, but I shrugged him away.
“If you need me,” I informed him, ”I’ll be in my room. Locked away like a prisoner. Oh, wait. I am a prisoner.”
I was able to maintain my composure and kept my head high, until he reminded me, “It’s our room, prin
tsessa. Don’t forget that.”
After one week in his mansion—no matter how palatial—I finally had enough.
I’d decided that Stockholm Syndrome was for the… Swedes. I was a proud Ukrainian. I did not—could not, would not—fall in love with the guard to my cell. Yes, I was probably delusional, but I was also bored to tears. I didn’t care what he was doing, I wanted in. When he got home for the day I met him at the door, having heard the purr of his car’s engine and the gravel shift on the driveway as he pulled up.
“You need to take me somewhere.” I stood there with my arms crossed.
“What? Where?” he asked, confused as he unfolded himself from the seat. “Oh. Do you need some… feminine supplies?”
I wrinkled my nose. Such a man. “No, of course not. I would just ask Judy for that. No, somewhere. Anywhere. Out.”
He rubbed his temples. “You know I can’t do that.” The car door slammed behind him with more force than necessary. I winced at the sound, and my arms fell to my sides as I approached him.
“Viktor, you can do whatever you want. That’s the point. You can do whatever you want. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here, waiting for you to get home.”
He flashed a quick smile. “Like a devoted wife?”
I didn’t smile, and his grin quickly faded. A welcoming wife with a martini, I was not. That much was clear already. “I’m serious. Somewhere, anywhere. Movies, dinner… heck, even McDonald’s.” At that point I felt an impulse to break out in a run and race him down the driveway to the main road. I needed to be free.
“Anya..,”
I cut him off by taking two steps forward, until I was directly underneath his nose, our bodies only a breadth apart. I could see how my nearness affected him. And the truth was, he was affecting me as well. I breathed in his now-familiar smell, my entire body thrumming with need for him—a need that I didn’t fully understand.
“Take me somewhere,” I whispered, not bothering to conceal my attraction to him. My hands went to his steely forearms. “Please.” I would use whatever tools were necessary to tempt him into going somewhere that wasn’t private.
“If I take you somewhere, then you’ll owe me,” he said softly.
Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a great idea. Owing Viktor? And judging by the way he was staring at me, he didn’t have perfectly innocent ideas floating through his head right now. “Owe you what?”
He grinned deviously. “Now that would ruin the fun.”
I weighed my options. I was going crazy, cooped up in here. “Where would you take me?”
“I thought you said you didn’t care?”
I sniffed indignantly. “I don’t, I’m just curious what the currency is, here. It had better be something a little better than McDonald’s. Or the gas station.”
He looked down and rocked back on his feet. “I do have this… thing that I would normally go to tonight.”
I was interested. Curious. He never told me personal things about himself, including standing plans that he apparently had. “What is it?”
“It’s uh… a blub—”
“I’m sorry, you mumbled.”
“Book club,” he repeated, looking a little embarrassed.
I rolled my eyes. “Are you going to tell me what it really is, or will I have to guess?”
He seemed confused. “No, it’s really a book club.”
“Viktor, come on. I won’t laugh. Just tell me what it is.”
He leaned forward, bringing his lips to within an inch of mine, and spoke so softly I wouldn’t have heard if I weren’t so close. “I did not lie to you, printsessa.”
I shivered, surprise and arousal battling for supremacy in my body. God, he was hot when he wasn’t being all protective and jailor-like. “You mean it’s really…”
“A book club, yes.”
I felt myself growing damp at the idea of this man of contrasts—surly but amused, violent but protective—in bed with… a book.
“You have a strange look on your face, Anya.”
“Do I?” I breathed.
What could I say? This book club revelation only added to his allure. Reading was sexy—panty-dropping, thigh-quivering, mouth-drying sexy.
In my imagination he read in bed, naked. In my current reality, the dark suit on his body did nothing to disguise his power and tenacity. He sometimes reminded me of a jaguar, but I couldn’t say why. Maybe it was his eyes.
“Anya?”
“Okay, I’ll go.” How could I not?
7
Viktor
I had a nagging headache, like I usually did when I was around Anya lately.
Granted, it wasn’t exactly her fault.
I seemed to have a problem with control around her, and I wanted to get it back. I was famous for my control, my unending patience. I needed to control this one tiny woman, and instead I was letting her run me ragged. Case in point, I was currently driving her to our Billionaire Book Club meeting, of all places. Something that was very intimate and personal to me. It was my one reprieve from the business—a place I didn’t worry they would find me, and where I didn’t have to be the underboss that everyone knew and feared. I could just be myself, if a little guarded about my place of work.
Anya was practically squirming with the excitement at being in the city. Her responses to my questions were so distracted as she stared out the window, that I stopped speaking after a while. Maybe I should get her out more, I thought to myself, but I truly feared for her safety.
We pulled up in front of Settlement—the restaurant at which we always met—and handed the car over to a valet. From the texts that flew back and forth the day before, I knew that everyone but Marcus was planning to be in attendance. A motivational speaker of sorts, Marcus was on tour and I knew he would miss the next meeting or two. Truth was, the room was getting a bit crowded now that some of the significant others were present at the meeting. I didn’t mind – it was actually nice to have some of the attention focused away from me.
When we walked in, I made sure that Anya stayed behind me, just in case an unfriendly was sequestered in the restaurant by coincidence. I stretched my arm behind me, warmth filling my belly as she took my hand. Thankfully, she kept up and I didn’t have to tug her as I lead her through the dining room and toward the corridor at the back.
As we neared the kitchen, though, Anya stopped in her tracks.
“What is it?” I asked, only seeing Lexi and Silas talking. A little farther into the private chef’s table room, I saw Maggie and the back of what was probably Luke, Lexi’s husband. Newlyweds, it was uncommon to see Luke and Lexi split up, but I supposed that a few minutes probably wasn’t the end of the world when they now lived together.
“Who are these people?” Anya whispered, turning her head towards me so that only I could hear the words.
“Well, Maggie and Silas were married but are divorced now. They share the restaurant. Mags isn’t technically in the book club, but as she provides us with food, she’s allowed.” I grinned. I had a soft spot for Mags. She was a strong woman and I respected that she hadn’t allowed Silas to push her around during the settlement.
“Why does he look familiar?” She pointed at Silas.
“He’s a celebrity chef. He’s been on pretty much all of the cooking channels. Maggie is even getting there after a few TV programs, so you might recognize her too.”
That better be the only reason she knew Silas. My jealousy flared up as I wondered if this might have been a bad idea. All these guys were good-looking, wealthy, confident men and I didn’t need to be chasing them away from Anya, or her away from them.
Her platinum-blonde head nodded in affirmation. “Yes, I think that’s how I know him. He’s really talented. And mean.”
I let out a laugh-snort. “You’re not wrong about that, sweetheart.” Silas Warner definitely had a temper on him. He was also a generous friend. But I’d never met a man so volatile outside of the business I worked in—which was saying something.
With my hands on her hips, I placed in her front of me so I could introduce her to all four of them at once. “Everyone, this is Anya… my wife.”
You could’ve heard a pin drop, the room was so quiet. It was Luke who was the first to talk. “You want to explain to me how in a week’s time, you fucking got married?”
I cleared my throat, surprised at myself for not thinking this through. I hadn’t intended to tell them we were married. I was just going to tell them she was a friend. Maybe even a date or a girlfriend. Something vague so they wouldn’t be surprised when I didn’t bring her back or we didn’t seem in love. Shit, now what am I going to say?
Anya saved me, surprisingly. She spoke up, her soft accent and husky voice enthralling the room. “Our families are connected. I’ve always loved him from afar, but it took an unexpected road trip this weekend to see that we were meant for each other.”
My hands tightened on her hips, and she flattened her palms over my knuckles. She didn’t look back at me, and she was lucky because she would’ve gotten a glare. What was she doing? Now my ‘friends’, or whatever you want to call the book club members, would expect us to be in love. So much in love, apparently, that we got married after a week of being together. Great.
Lexi bought it – hook, line, and sinker – and Maggie wasn’t too far behind her. Lexi came up and gave us both squeals and hugs, followed by Maggie, who grabbed me tight and whispered in my ear, “I’m so proud of you, letting your guard down, Viktor.”
I had no response for her, as my brain was still foggy with shock. Out of lack of anything better to do, I pulled Anya’s body back so it was flush with mine. I felt her quick intake of breath, but she didn’t let out a sound.
All’s fair in love and war, right sweetheart?
“We came here to discuss books, right?” Surely we had something more interesting on the agenda. Well, likely not, but I wanted to move the attention away from our elopement.
