Russian Enforcer's Reluctant Bride

by Nic Saint

  Joanna raked her hands through his long black hair, still damp from his shower, and pulled him down to her chest, willing his lips to plunder her breasts, and when he sucked in her nipple, it responded by drawing to a peak, the pale flesh puckering under the onslaught, and she gasped at the sensation of his hot mouth on her.

  Reaching down, she found he’d shrugged out of his jeans, and when her touch was met by the hardness rearing up from his loins, she thought she’d never felt a more enticing sensation. She slowly let her fingers explore the veiny shaft, ending in the velvety head, thick and hot, and then was gratified to discover a drop of slickness topping the majestic lance.

  Slowly directing him to her center, she sought his gaze, and when their eyes met, she melted into the look of heat and tenderness she found therein. She caressed her hand along his stubbled cheek, and then cried out when he moved inside, sliding between her folds with a soft shudder, the sensation of their cores finally touching sending shivers through the both of them. He arched up, supporting himself on his arms, and she trailed her fingers along the rippling muscles of his broad chest, along his corded arms and back, and then his mouth was on hers again, claiming what was already his—what she’d already offered.

  As Vitaly moved inside her, sliding deeply between Joanna’s slickness and melting in the heat that tugged at his core, he knew his life would never be the same again. After this moment, he could no longer pretend to return to his old life—dismiss the connection with this woman out of hand.

  They were one now—the silent scream ringing through his body and mind—united at the center of their being, and life would never return to the same old rut again.

  He moved inside her, supporting himself on his arms as his mouth continued to explore the delicacy of her softness—her neck—her throat—the smooth surface of her breasts… Cupping and sucking, drinking and tasting, he was voracious, and so was she. Over and over again, she sought his mouth, offered her tongue, and as her legs casually circled his waist, and she drew him in even deeper, he lost the last vestiges of restraint. She might be his now, but he was hers as well.

  “Oh, Vitaly,” she sighed, the telltale signs of an overwhelming climax rearing up from the depths of her center. “Oh, my Vitaly.”

  As the cadence of their union increased, his length sliding ever deeper and faster between the slick walls of her flesh, she cried out as her body trembled and shivered in the throes of her first peak, the fire burning in her belly leaping across her whole body and holding her in its ecstatic grip. And as he suddenly reared deeply inside her, breaking the rhythm for the first time, she knew he, too, was reaching the point of no return, and she welcomed it, still in the throes of her own climax, and laughed with the pleasure and the joy of it all.

  Unable to stop, she drew him near again, and when their tongues connected, bliss spread out inside her mind, soul and body, and all she knew was him—Vitaly.

  CHAPTER 15

  There wasn’t a thing to be done. He’d taken the woman and made her his. This was the situation, and now they had to deal with it.

  Yury watched as Vitaly and the woman emerged from the garden house, surreptitiously looked about them as if they had been trespassing on foreign ground, then grinning at each like a couple of silly teens, and traipsed off into the gardens, fingers entwined and bodies close.

  They had that glow, Yury decided. The postcoital glow. That was what gave them away. That and the sounds of their lovemaking, of course. One couldn’t miss them. The moment he’d passed by the small structure and heard them going at it, he’d been of a mind to simply throw wide the door and chase them both out of there.

  A fury had come over him at the thought of Vitaly lowering himself to such base conduct. And on his property as well. It was now clear to him that something must be done and right soon as well, or else he would lose his best enforcer the way he’d lost many others before.

  Women. They were the bane of his existence. First his daughter Yana, seducing Spartak, now this wench. What was wrong with the species? Couldn’t they leave well enough alone? Things had gone swimmingly without them, and now that they’d set foot into his world, ever so gradually, disaster had set in.

  He couldn’t lay a hand on Yana, but he could take care of a mere English teacher. He’d have her out of the way before nightfall. Arrangements had already been made.

  Staring out his office window, he decided not to spend one more minute of his time on Joanna Royale. Other things required his attention. Competitors were encroaching on his turf, and if he didn’t strike with the brutality and force people had come to expect of him, they wouldn’t stop.

  He picked up the phone from his desk and put in a call to Boris. The man was perhaps not as good as Vitaly, but that couldn’t be helped. Things had gone too far, and if he didn’t act now, all would be lost.

  “Get me Boris,” he grunted into the speaker.

  He returned his gaze to the couple frolicking in the garden and his stomach turned. Sickening. He shook his head, his lip curling up in abject distaste.

  “Boris,” he barked the moment the other spoke. “I’ve got a little job for you that requires… delicacy.”

  He smiled his cruel smile as he relayed the details of the assignment and was gratified to find Boris quite agreeable.

  “Just get it done,” he snarled when the man started gibbering about some trifle, then abruptly disconnected and replaced the receiver.

  He sighed and returned his gaze to the window. Running an empire such as the one he had erected in the fifteen years he’d been an American citizen wasn’t an easy task, but it had its little bonuses from time to time. Tonight was one of those nights all good things happened at once. First he would take care of the Royale bitch, and then remove Spartak from the equation and return his daughter into the fold, and finally he would teach that pesky Zharykhin a lesson the man would never forget. If he lived, that was, which was unlikely.

  He gazed up at the portrait of his mother. He had one in every room of the house. “Mama,” he said wistfully, placing his hands on the desk, “why did you have to leave me so soon?”

  The matronly woman gazing back at him didn’t speak, but still Yury felt her presence as real as if she’d actually been in the room with him.

  From beyond the veil, she seemed to reach out, and when a flutter stirred his core, he placed his hand on his heart and sighed. “Thank you, Mama. It’s so good of you to join us at this hour. I know that it is too much to ask, but can you give me your blessing one last time before I go to war?”

  A breeze seemed to stir the papers on his desk, and Yury gasped in astonishment. “No way,” he muttered, then looked up at his mater, and bowed his head in beatific gratitude. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Your will be done.”

  Then he rose from behind his desk and walked over to the hidden panel connecting his office to a secret room he’d had installed when he first moved into the chateau. Placing his hand on a small scanning terminal discreetly placed next to the panel, the door clicked open, and when he entered, the lights automatically flashed on. He walked a few paces, then turned his cold gray eyes on the man placed on an operating table in the center of the room.

  Surgical tools were placed on a side table, and a bright light burned over the table, illuminating the man who’d been tied down there.

  The man, his arms and legs zip-tied to the table, stirred as Yury walked up to him. Spartak, for it was he, cried out, “Yury—don’t do this to me, my friend! Your daughter—it was an accident. I swear!”

  Yury shook his head as he tsk-tsked, then picked up a pair of surgical gloves from the side table and slowly started putting them on. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose, Spartak. If you had, you would be six feet under already. A painless death would have been your punishment. But as you are the man she’s been making love to, you deserve a little more attention, don’t you think?”

  The man blanched, and he stammered, “What are you going to do to me?”

>   “Just meting out a little token of my disapproval.” He picked up a scalpel and approached the man slowly. “You should have known better than to get involved with Yana, my friend. Didn’t I tell you this when you first came to work for me?”

  “It—it just happened, Yury. We—we fell in love!”

  At the mention of the word, Yury’s face hardened, and when he lashed out, the cry of terror from his victim was like balm to his own wound.

  “You’ll regret ever to have laid a finger on my daughter,” he growled, the thin veneer of civility quickly giving way to the butcher he essentially was. Then, with a quick plunge of the blade, he severed the man’s aorta and watched the blood spurt out with fascination. Within seconds, Spartak’s struggles had ceased, and within a minute, the man who’d dishonored Yana was dead.

  Pity, thought Yury as he put down the surgeon’s knife. He would have preferred to prolong the treatment—torture the man a little more, but then anger had made him commit this rash act. Oh, well. Impulse control had never been his strong suit. He removed the gloves and strode from the room, safe in the knowledge that other people would clean up the mess.

  CHAPTER 16

  “I don’t think this will work. It’s just… too big!”

  Ruslan watched the girl with fascination. The way her mind worked never ceased to amaze him. And then, of course, there was her body, which was simply out of this world.

  “Tatyana, size doesn’t matter.”

  The moment he said it, he regretted the inanity. Tatyana’s eyes widened, then she swung a hand before her mouth and burst out into peals of laughter.

  “I mean, it’s not as important as quality,” he backpedaled.

  Too late, of course. She’d taken his statement and turned it into a meme that would carry on throughout their relationship. She’d simply never let him live it down.

  “Just look at the poor darling,” she cooed, and picked up the Saint-Bernard her father had gifted her. “He’s all shook up.”

  She teetered on the landing, trying to balance the gigantic ball of fur in her slender arms, and if he hadn’t intervened and quickly steadied her, she would have probably toppled over the balustrade.

  “Give me that,” he said a little breathlessly, for in relieving her of the dog, he’d inadvertently touched her arm, and the tiny hairs had felt ever so soft. Licking his lips, he took in her tan skin, then his eyes flitted to the halter top she always insisted on wearing whenever he was on duty, and he couldn’t help but feel dizzy as he took in the swell of her nubile breasts protruding from the lacy green bra peeking out over the fluorescent pink top.

  He swallowed a little convulsively, and blinked when she suddenly took his arm and leaned in for a whisper.

  “You know why I like you so much, Ruslan?”

  “Um, no?”

  She took his arm and pressed her breasts against it. He flinched. Then she flashed those huge, innocent eyes of hers and gave him a dazzling smile. “Because you’re the only handsome man in the house.”

  For a moment, he was held spellbound by that smile, then he stirred back to life when he heard a door open on the next floor. Correctly surmising that Yury wouldn’t appreciate him chatting up his daughter, he quickly started to return the Saint-Bernard to her room before the boss was upon them.

  Tatyana gave him a pout as she sashayed into the room after him.

  Nervously, he quickly extricated himself, and closed the door on her look of disappointment. She was one hot little number, and he would do her in a heartbeat, if only Yury wasn’t so particular about who his daughters dated. None of his staff, that was for sure, and most definitely not a lowly serf like Ruslan.

  And he’d just started walking away from Tatyana’s room when he heard a delicate cough behind him. Instantly knowing it was Yury, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He might have worked for the man for going on three years now, but Yury still scared the living daylights out of him.

  He turned to face his employer, his face impassive and eyes revealing nothing.

  “What were you doing in Tatyana’s room?” Yury asked softly, the menace shimmering right beneath the surface.

  “She was having trouble with your gift, Yury. Said the dog was too big to handle.” He brought a hand to his face and coughed in his fist, then folded his hands in front of him, taking a wide stance, just the way Vitaly had taught him.

  Yury merely gave him a curt nod, indicating he’d been dismissed. As he started walking away, Yury said, “Oh, and Ruslan? I made a bit of a mess in the office. Could you take care of it?”

  “Of course, sir,” he said, his heart racing. The word ‘mess’ was code for a dead body. He wondered who it would be this time. He just hoped Yury hadn’t made things too messy. Once the whole room had been splattered with blood. It had taken a crew of three an hour to clean it all up.

  “Ask Vitaly to help you. He’ll show you where to dump the body.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” he said without looking up.

  As he sped away, he wondered why Yury would involve Vitaly in such a menial task. As the head of security and Yury’s right-hand man Vitaly was above such lowly assignments.

  Knowing better than to question the boss, he went in search of Vitaly, and found him in his office, which was located on the ground floor. Applying his knuckles to the jamb, he intoned, “Vitaly? Yury said to help me clean up a dead body in his office. Said you’d know where to dump the poor sucker?”

  “Doesn’t he know I’ve got better things to do than to clean up after him?” Vitaly growled, cracking his neck. “Who is it this time? Anyone we know?”

  As the big guy rose to his feet and joined him, Ruslan shrugged. “No idea. Probably some lowlife who got in too deep.” As they lightly moved up the stairs, he lowered his voice and said, “How’s Yana? Any news?”

  “She’ll be fine,” returned Vitaly. “The arrow managed to dodge all the vital organs. She’s making quite a miraculous recovery.”

  “Where are they keeping her? Saint-John’s?”

  Vitaly nodded absently. The fact that everybody knew what had happened disturbed him. If word reached Yury’s ear about what exactly had transpired yesterday, he would be furious. Furious with his daughter, but even more with Spartak. He’d reported the news about the accident personally. Said a stray arrow had hit the girl. When Yury had inquired after the shooter, he’d said it had originated from another hunting party.

  But of course Spartak had blabbed about the incident to Boris, and now everybody knew what had actually happened. If word got out he’d lied to Yury, he would face the big man’s ire personally. Not that that worried him too much. After all, what could Yury do? Fire him? Kill him? Not likely.

  Arriving at the man’s office, he put his palm on the scanner and the door to the hidden room swished open. The moment he set foot inside, his stomach lurched. Beside him, Ruslan was violently sick and hurled the contents of his stomach on the floor in a single retching gulp.

  CHAPTER 17

  Joanna was walking on air. As she strode through the gardens, Ramir gamboling around her feet, she thought she could have burst out into song. A glow suffused her cheeks. It wasn’t hard to see why. She’d just had the best sex she’d had in ages, and it showed. Vitaly was gone, but the memory lingered. She was surprised at how strongly she’d responded to him, her body apparently having acquired a will all of its own. How strongly she’d misjudged the man. It was clear to her now that beneath that hard veneer there lay a tender heart.

  He’d shown her pleasures she’d long forgotten. Granted, Jonathan and she had had sex during the five years their relationship had lasted, but it had never felt this wonderful—this earth-shattering—this… blissful.

  She couldn’t help but smile at the recollection of her recent union with the man who was starting to dominate not merely her body but also her heart. Had their meeting in the forest been preordained? Had fate finally smiled upon her and decided to bring the blossom of hope to a
dorn the tree of her future?

  How odd, that Jonathan’s gambling debts would have brought Vitaly Loganov into her life. How… auspicious.

  And she was just giving her mind free rein to outline a future that prominently featured Vitaly, when a voice spoke in her rear. Her mood of careless happiness was suddenly ruthlessly crushed like the fragile blossom it was.

  “I see you’re enjoying the fruits of my labor, Miss Royale?”

  Without turning, she stiffened, and replied, “A very fine garden, Yury. You must be so proud.”

  “Oh, but I am. As I am proud of all the things that belong to me.”

  She did turn now, the inflection in his voice giving her pause. She wondered if he had been standing there long, but then figured it didn’t matter. Her happiness was not something she should feel ashamed about.

  “Have you lived here long?” she said in an attempt at making polite conversation.

  Ignoring her question, he said, “You will find that I feel very strongly about the distinction between mine and thine, Joanna. It’s one of the reasons I love this country so much that I’ve made it my home. When I was in Russia, everything belonged to the state. And I do mean everything. No private property.” He extended his arm to gesture at his garden. “All this could have never belonged to me if I’d stayed where I was born. But now that it does, I like to protect it with my life.”

  She looked up at the fierceness with which he’d spoken these words. She now saw he was staring at her with a look of indignation mingled with unmitigated hatred, and she frowned, not comprehending. “If this is about Jonathan, I assure you I had nothing to do with what he did. He never even confided in me about his plans for the hotel.”