by Nic Saint
A surge of panic rose in her chest. “Yury? You mean—“
“The man your husband owes money to, yes.”
The man who had ordered the thin man to have her murdered. Fear clogged her throat. Would she be able to keep up appearances? She flicked a glance at the man she was going to marry. She didn’t love this man. She didn’t even know him.
As if surmising the turmoil roiling in her gut, he spoke softly. “We met at Barney’s. I like to go there for the late night concerts. You to soak up the atmosphere for the book you’re working on. We happened to be seated at the same table, got into conversation and one thing led to another.”
She swallowed. “How did you know I was a writer?”
He gestured at the wall of books in the living room. “Not hard to figure out.” He picked up her suitcase and started walking her to his van outside, Ram following on a trot. As he opened the passenger side door and helped her up, he said, “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
Before she knew what was happening, he’d lifted himself up, so his face was level with hers, put his hand on her cheek, and lowered his lips to hers. As the kiss deepened, his hand snuck around her neck, and he pulled her in, claiming, not asking, his mouth crashing down on hers with an insistence and an urgency that had her reeling, her body shivering from the sudden onslaught.
She jerked back, and when their lips parted, they were inches away, his eyes hot and glowering. “Yury will want to see us kiss,” he said in a low growl. “And if he suspects for one moment that ours is not a real union, he will have our heads. Understood?”
Her eyes were furious as they bored into his. “Understood,” she hissed, giving him the dirtiest look she was capable of.
In response, he gave her a nod of comprehension and released her from his grip. Before she could say any more, he’d slammed the door shut in her face. She quickly opened it again and scooped up Ram from the flagstone he was perched on, his little face expectant.
“Come here, honey,” she murmured, then buried her face in the little dog’s fur. “And don’t mind the big, bad man. As long as I’m around, he won’t dare hurt you.”
The dog gave a single yap, and when Vitaly slipped behind the wheel, she pecked a kiss on the dog’s head. At least somebody in this world loved her, she thought, and wouldn’t take advantage of her.
When Vitaly started the engine, her tongue flicked imperceptibly along her lips, the pressure where his had touched them lingering. She didn’t know why, but that one kiss had stirred something deep inside her that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. It was fear, she knew, mingled with an emotion that was foreign to her.
She stole a sideways glance at the burly man seated next to her, and surreptitiously studied his profile. The sharp lines of his face jutted out at awkward, unattractive angles, and his nose was aquiline, lending his features a harsh cast. Along with the swarthiness of his skin and the blackness of his shoulder-length hair, it added to the air of danger that surrounded him.
She knew not what to think of him. Yesterday, when he’d been sick with worry over Yana, he’d seemed almost… nice. Now? He was probably the most dangerous man she’d ever met. And yet when she was with him she felt strangely alive. As if his mere presence charged the atmosphere with an aura of vivacity.
Whatever else was wrong with Vitaly Loganov, life with him would never be boring, she instinctively knew, and reluctantly had to admit this secretly thrilled her to some extent.
She lay back against the headrest and absently stroked Ram’s tangled fur, automatically straightening it. And as she watched the house she’d called her home for the past five years disappearing from view, a twinge of fear told her she was sailing toward an uncertain future. A future now wholly dependent on a single man.
CHAPTER 9
Briefly, Vitaly considered taking the woman beside him to the airport where her flight awaited. But he knew it would only cause more trouble than she was worth. Yury wouldn’t accept any answer but the truth, and he knew the man to possess an uncanny knack for telling fact from fabrication. He’d know he was lying the moment he opened his mouth to speak.
There was a reason everyone feared and respected Yury Abraskamov. The man was ruthless when it came to weeding out the competition, but he was even more merciless when it came to dealing with his own. Loyalty was his highest quality, and one he expected from all his associates in return.
If you did right by Yury, he rewarded you with lavish gifts and the present of his friendship. If you crossed him, in business or personal affairs, your life wasn’t worth a cent.
Vitaly had worked for the man for going on a decade now, and he wasn’t about to risk his ire over a woman, even if she had saved Yana’s life.
He cast a glance at her and saw she’d fallen asleep, the wild tangle of hair spread across her face as her chest rose and fell to the rhythm of her deep, even breathing.
On an impulse, he reached out and pushed back her hair, tucking the strands behind her ear. He told himself he did this so the tickling mane wouldn’t disturb her slumber, but in reality he wanted an undisturbed look at her lovely features.
Ever since first laying eyes on her, he’d discovered she stirred something deep inside him. He wouldn’t call it love. He hadn’t known her long enough for a sentiment that deep to develop. But he did feel a strong attraction. The thought of her in his bed, lying next to him, excited him. In his mind’s eye he watched her emerge from the bathroom, the light illuminating her sculptured form, merely dressed in a negligee, before joining him and slipping beneath the covers.
He knew he had to have her, one way or another. The story he’d told her wasn’t even the half of it. Yury’s men wouldn’t merely kill her if her husband continued to play hide and seek with his money. They would do horrible things to her that no woman should endure. Especially not his woman. For no other reason than the fact he’d taken a fancy to her, he now considered her his, and he knew Yury would agree and never lay a finger on her as long as this was so.
He hadn’t told her, of course, for fear she might balk at his proposal, but Yury would expect their union to be blessed with a child very soon. From the day they were married, the clock started ticking, and if Joanna wasn’t with child within weeks, the powerful leader of Lincoln’s foremost crime syndicate would know something was wrong.
One way or another, he had to conceive a child with her, or all bets were off. He knew she would refuse him out of hand, not sharing the strong feeling of attraction he harbored for her. Nevertheless, he would have her, or else they would both be dead.
His hand stole down from her shoulder to her chest, and he briefly cupped her breast, full and firm, and weighed the tender flesh in the palm of his hand. She stirred under his touch, and he instantly retracted his hand, only to replace it moments later, gently touching it to her belly. He could just imagine her being with child—his child—and somehow the notion stirred something deep and primal within him. His cock responded by flushing with blood, and within moments he felt the rigidity set in as if on cue.
Yes, he would have her, one way or another.
Everything depended on it.
Joanna stirred awake when the engine was turned off, and the cool night air wafted through the open driver side door. She rubbed her eyes, surprised she’d fallen asleep in spite of the tension releasing spurts of adrenaline into her blood stream. She must have been exhausted.
For a moment, she didn’t know where she was or what was going on. Then she remembered, and the tension surged through her system with renewed force. She was going to meet Vitaly’s boss. Yury.
Taking Ram and holding the dog close, she stepped from the van when Vitaly opened the door and offered his arm. Leaning on the sturdy man, she followed him blindly as he escorted her to a large mansion. Outlined against the night sky, the house dwarfed her, a massive white-brick structure, three stories high, balconied windows looking down upon her, a stone staircase leading up to a heavy oaken door.
As Vitaly led her up the steps, he repeated in a whisper, “We are very much in love, remember? We only just met and we are getting married soon.” He eyed her wryly. “So whenever you feel the urge to kiss me, do not hold back.”
She merely shrugged at the impropriety, remembering the kiss he’d stolen from her before. As far as she was concerned, it was the last kiss he’d ever get.
The door swung open as if on cue, and a liveried manservant appeared, his eyes slightly drooped closed, an unhealthy pallor on his face indicating he, too, had been brusquely stirred in his sleep.
“Mr. Abraskamov is expecting you,” the man intoned curtly, and led them down an opulent hallway, complete with portrait paintings and a sumptuous carpet draped across the white marble floor. Chests lined the corridor, laden with trinkets and knickknacks that would have interested Joanna if her stomach hadn’t been turning somersaults at the prospect of meeting the lord of the mansion.
Vitaly’s grip on her arm tightened the moment they reached double ceiling high doors, intricately carved with gilded edges. The servant pushed down on the door handle and bade them entry, then discreetly withdrew, closing the doors behind them.
Stepping through, she found herself in a dark room, the only light coming from a green lamp set in the corner. A salon had been set up to the right, a brick fireplace alive with dancing flames, several chairs having been placed around it in a semi-circle. Only one of those chairs was occupied, by a gaunt man of pale aspect smoking a cigar, a thinning mane of wheat-colored hair barely covering his skull. His eyes darted up the moment they entered.
Rising swiftly, he crossed the floor with outstretched hand. “My dear Vitaly. Finally. I was starting to worry. What took you so long?”
As Vitaly murmured something in Russian, Joanna’s hand was gripped in a warm clasp, Yury’s hand surprisingly soft to the touch. The eyes scrutinizing her, on the other hand, were hard as nails, she noticed, his lips curled up into a smile that didn’t extend beyond.
“So this is the delectable Miss Royale—the future Mrs. Vitaly Loganov. I can see now why you made such a fuss over her, Vitaly. She really is a catch.”
Joanna stiffened, the impression of being ogled and appraised like an animal at an auction angering her to a degree. Vitaly gave her hand an imperceptible squeeze, and she managed to spirit a smile on her face. “Thank you, Yury. So nice to meet you at last. Vitaly has told me so much about you.”
Yury jerked up a pair of bushy eyebrows. “Oh? It speaks? Good for you, Vitaly. Good for you.”
Joanna’s smile instantly disappeared, and she felt a strong inclination to give this horrible man a piece of her mind. But then Vitaly lead her to one of the chairs and practically shoved her into it, effectively shutting her out of the conversation.
“Yury,” he urged, drawing the other man aside, “there is something we need to discuss.”
Instantly, the Russian’s smile faltered, and he grew serious. “What is it?”
As the men distanced themselves to the other side of the room into an area that had been set up as a small library, and talked in hushed tones, Joanna sighed with relief. She’d met the disgusting little man, and she’d survived the ordeal. She hoped, now that formalities had been exchanged, that everything would be smooth sailing from here on out.
More than that, she hoped Vitaly would be able to track down her errant ex-husband and come to some arrangement that would let her out of this sordid deal she’d agreed to. The sooner this was all behind her, the sooner she could finally start her new life, far away from the likes of Jonathan or Vitaly or this Yury creep.
For now, though, she would have to play the part of the loving fiancée. As she gazed into the fire, the flames lulling her into a mood of contemplation, she thought being Vitaly Loganov’s betrothed probably wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to her. At least it was better than the alternative, which was being cut to pieces by one of Yury’s freaky henchmen.
Soon, the murmur of the conversation and the warmth of the fire had her closing her eyes, and before she noticed, she’d drifted off into sleep, and when Vitaly’s strong arms lifted her up and carried her away, she didn’t even stir.
CHAPTER 10
There was nothing he could do to stop his hand from grazing her chest as he laid her down on the bed. Jerking back as if electricity had touched him, he quickly removed her shoes, then tucked her under the covers before switching off the light.
Walking to the other side, he lowered his large frame and sat there for a spell, contemplating the state of his affairs in the silence of the bedroom. Yury had bought his story about their flash engagement hook, line, and sinker. He could have sworn the man was more sentimental than he’d given him credit for.
He’d wished the happy couple all the best and had profusely extended his blessings to his lieutenant on this occasion. A twinge of awkwardness had descended upon the conversation when the mobster had inquired if this would cause any changes in their working relationship. Vitaly had assured him it would not, and Yury, satisfied, had told him he was looking forward to the wedding, then had added with a wink that he was certain a baptism wouldn’t be long in waiting either.
Vitaly had told him with a wide grin that if all things went according to plan, a new Loganov would soon be welcomed into this world, and then wondered what would happen if it didn’t.
Business matters had pushed all thought of Joanna and his future aside, however, and for the remainder of the meeting, he’d given his boss an extensive update on the Zharykhin matter.
Timur Zharykhin had recently joined the Russian community in Lincoln and had already caused more trouble than anyone else ever had. The man was disrespectful of Yury’s hegemony in the area and had launched his operation soon after his arrival. Twice, already, Vitaly had been forced to pay the heavyset Russian a visit, and twice the man had practically laughed in his face, ignoring to heed his warning that if he didn’t respect the local pecking order, he might soon be forced to eat crow—or his pecker.
Tonight, Yury had issued an ultimatum. If Zharykhin didn’t cease his attempts to encroach on his territory, he would be dealt with in a manner befitting an unwelcome guest: ruthlessly.
The one meting out the punishment would be Viktor, of course. The vicious killer was probably sharpening the blades as they spoke.
As he sat on the bed, gazing down at the sleeping form of the woman he’d only met today, he wondered what would happen if he told Yury that he quit. First the incident with Yana, and now Joanna entering his life… They were signs. Propitiousness. He was a religious man, and when the universe sent him such clear signs, he was humble enough to recognize them for what they were.
He would never be able to leave Yury’s employ and walk away with his life, he knew. When he’d become the mobster’s right-hand man all those years ago, it had been in the understanding that this was a position for life. A highly rewarding position, of course, but one fraught with danger and the possibility of termination once he’d outgrown his usefulness.
He hadn’t minded at the time. Being abandoned by his family—his father a raging drunk, his mother a lunatic—he’d had no one else to turn to but Yury, at that time a rising star in the Russian community. The man had taken him under his wing and had taught him everything he knew. He couldn’t back out now, not even if he wanted to.
And yet…
Without removing his clothes, he rolled his weary body next to Joanna’s, and as his head hit the pillow, he found himself gazing wistfully at her lovely face, so close to his he could have kissed her by only reaching out.
Instead, he closed his eyes, his body aching for sleep, and before his mind could churn up more things to worry about, he’d drifted off into a deep slumber, his dreams featuring buxom maidens with flaming hair and bewitching emerald eyes.
Yury stared thoughtfully at the fire flickering at his feet. He’d inched his couch closer, had poured himself a vodka and was now sipping at the liquor, enjoying
the burning sensation in his throat and gullet.
His thoughts kept returning to Vitaly, his trusty lieutenant, and that wench he’d brought into his home. Instinctively, he knew she was trouble from the moment Vitaly had mentioned her to him on the phone. When he laid eyes on her, he saw all his fears coming true.
She had to go, he decided. No matter how Vitaly felt about her, he couldn’t allow her to remain here. He needed the man, and this Joanna person could only cause him to slip up, make mistakes, divert his attention from the tasks before him. Women, he knew, were every good man’s downfall. A quick lay, granted, everybody needed that. But a marriage? A relationship? No, in their line of business it would only cause trouble and disturb allegiances.
He reached for his phone and pressed redial. The moment the other man picked up, he merely explained the state of affairs, no introductions or other inanities necessary.
Stressing that it was imperative this look like an accident, he disconnected before he changed his mind. This would sting a little, he knew. Vitaly wouldn’t like it, having become attached to the female. But after a brief period of mourning, things would fall into the old groove again and return to normal.
He sat back with a contented smile and steepled his fingers. Yes, normalcy was what every business venture needed, and once the enemy of the status quo had been taken out of the equation, Vitaly would be able to return his full attention to his extensive tasks, and business would continue as usual.
He gazed up at the painting hung above the fireplace. It depicted a matronly woman of plump aspect, staring at the viewer with a steely glint in her gimlet eyes. Yury’s mother had been the only woman in his life, and she had died years ago, leaving a void that no other could ever hope to fill. And if he could live the life of a single man, so could his trusty second-in-command.
