by Kresley Cole
Note to self: Tease Sevastyan at earliest opportunity, investigate “consequences.”
In that closet, still warmed—and wet—from his attentions, I decided two things:
Aleksandr Sevastyan had to be my first lover.
And I’d let him think he made the rules.
Chapter 16
“You’re Sevastyan, right?” I said with full-on sarcasm when I ran into him downstairs a week later. “Didn’t I see you in the closet the other day?”
Since then, I’d made zero progress with my Sevastyan-pops-cherry plan, a plan that had since been retired. Which was only to be expected since he refused to talk to me, aside from superficial greetings.
He raised a brow at my comment, falling into step beside me as I made my way to Paxán’s study.
I frowned at him. For the last seven days, we’d never been alone. He’d always been close by—yet achingly distant.
The morning after the maid’s closet, I’d awakened smiling again, looking forward just to seeing him. I’d called Jess and told her all about him, about everything. She’d focused on one detail: “Nat, you’ve still got your skin tag?” I’d assured her not for long, my friend.
There’d been a bounce in my step as I arrived for breakfast.
Only to find Sevastyan was back to his aloof self, barely acknowledging me. While my body had still been feeling the aftereffects of what we’d done, his mind had checked out.
I supposed if he’d thought what we’d done on the plane was bad, then shoving me into a closet to have his way with me must have been awful in his mind. I’d tried to get him alone, endeavored to get him to talk to me. Nothing.
Disappointment had settled over me. During this lull, my disappointment had begun to feel a lot like anger.
I’d lived without Sevastyan for seven nights. I’d conceded defeat. My infatuation had faded.
It had! “Do you need something?” I asked him in a cool voice. Now he was going to pay attention to me?
Though he was dressed like a dream—dark gray slacks and a formfitting black cashmere sweater—he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “You and Kovalev are getting along well,” he remarked in a neutral tone.
“He’s easy to get along with.” Paxán and I had been like two peas in a pod, appreciating the same jokes, enjoying the same books and food.
Growing closer every day.
Sometimes we spoke English, sometimes Russian. In both languages, he was sly and witty, and we often laughed to tears. Being with him was almost opposite to how it’d been with my dad. Though I’d never doubted he loved me and Mom, Bill Porter had been a quiet man. He and I used to work on his tractors, passing the time in companionable silence.
It was just as comfortable with Kovalev, only different.
Every morning, we played chess in an open-sided pavilion down by the Moskva River. Sevastyan remained in the background, usually on the phone conducting business, body tense, gaze alert for danger.
The security threat—which no one would talk to me about—obviously hadn’t lessened.
Now Sevastyan told me, “You’re easy to get along with as well.”
Was he for real? “And how would you know?”
He hiked his shoulders. “I see you with him.”
Sometimes when Paxán and I would laugh at something, I’d notice Sevastyan regarding us. At first, he’d appeared surprised. Now he would gaze at us with a satisfied look on his face.
Yet at other times I’d catch him surveying me with an expression that was far from satisfied—and it intensified more each day. I felt as if he was awaiting something. From me.
Like a hunter preparing to strike.
Even Filip had commented on it. “When you’re not looking, he watches you like a stalker.”
I’d scoffed, “A stalker would actually give me the time of day if I asked for it.”
Yet something was building in Sevastyan, like a bomb clock ticking a countdown. But a countdown to what?
“Are you settling in?” he asked.
Was he going to query me about the weather next? I stayed him with a hand on his arm. “What’s up with the small talk, Siberian?” I almost got the impression that he was trying—in his taciturn, enforcer-type way—to chat me up. When he peered down at my hand, I released him.
“Do you like it here?” he asked, his voice dropping a notch. “Enough to stay?”
We’d stopped in front of a rain-slicked window. Outside, fall rains drizzled. There hadn’t been a break in the weather since I’d gotten to Berezka. Shadows from the drops coursed over Sevastyan’s face, filling me with the mad urge to kiss each one.
Inner shake. “Why do you and Paxán and Filip get to leave, but I don’t?”
He scrubbed his hand over his chin. “Because if anything happened to you . . . We simply can’t take chances. You’re so eager to leave?”
“Well, I have to admit I was getting stir-crazy whenever Paxán had to work—I’m not used to all this free time.” Or this much energy. I’d been in desperate need of an outlet when Filip had suggested laps in the Olympic-size indoor pool. Every day, we went together. “But Filip has been doing his best to keep me occupied.”
Those muscles on the sides of Sevastyan’s jaw bulged. He took a step closer. As ever, tension brewed between us. I peered up at his eyes, only to find his gaze on my lips.
“I told you to be wary of him.”
“But not why.” Once I’d shut down my manalyzing, I’d grown comfortable with Filip. Unfortunately, I felt nothing more for him than friendship.
Why couldn’t I fall for a guy like him? He said whatever was on his mind, was easygoing, and acted like I hung the moon.
The opposite of Sevastyan.
If I were with Filip, I wouldn’t have felt the just-in-case need to brush up on the finer points of BDSM, studying everything from corporal punishment to orgasm denial to dom/sub rituals.
Sevastyan had talked about obedience and discipline; was he interested in the lifestyle, the equipment, the paraphernalia?
Punishment bars and floggers, handcuffs and canes, nipple clamps and ball gags.
Recalling the way Sevastyan had slapped my ass, I’d watched online videos featuring grown women stretched over men’s laps, spanked like they were wayward creatures in need of correction.
I’d been indignant and outraged!
I’d pictured Sevastyan forcing me across his lap for a similar chastisement; he’d once threatened to do exactly that. And as soon as I’d finished masturbating, I’d been indignant and outraged all over again!
Until I’d masturbated a second time. But that had been before I’d conceded defeat.
“What are you thinking of?” he asked me, his gaze riveted to my face.
I realized my breaths had shallowed, my cheeks heating.
He put his hand on my wrist, touching me with that live-wire grip. His brows drew together, until I could almost imagine he was about to kiss me.
Despite everything, I wanted him to—
Yuri exited Paxán’s office.
I abruptly stepped back, tucking my hair behind my ears, resisting the urge to whistle. As the man passed, I tried not to notice the AK-47 strapped to his back. Even after a week here, I was still uneasy seeing machine guns everywhere. When the brigadiers took tea breaks, they would casually lay their weapons down beside their cups.
I kept telling myself, Roll with it, roll with it.
Sevastyan gave Yuri a chin jerk in greeting. Carry on. While the brigadiers revered Paxán, they seemed to uniformly fear Sevastyan. I’d overheard them talking about “the Siberian” in hushed tones.
Once Sevastyan and I were alone again, sanity resumed. I didn’t need to be kissing a man who’d ruthlessly cut me out of his life. Didn’t need to reward his shitty treatment of me.
Jess had an m.o. for dealing with badly behaving males—she called it ABC: Always Be Crazier. I was thinking my m.o. might be kill ’em with kindness.
When Sevastyan open
ed his mouth to speak, I gave his arm a brisk pat. “Good talk, buddy! We should do this in another week or so.” I strode off, leaving him looking confounded.
Fifteen minutes later, Paxán and I were sitting in the pavilion at a table topped with tea, delicacies, and our chessboard. A fire in the pavilion hearth crackled nearby. As usual, Sevastyan worked some distance away, fielding phone calls, his watchful eyes scanning for a threat.
The two of us sipped and snacked, wading deeper into our game. “Do you know who is a master player?” Paxán eyed our pieces. “Aleksei.”
“Is he?” I made my tone as uninterested as possible, even as my gaze flicked over to Sevastyan.
He was embroiled in a heated conversation, had begun striding outside into the drizzle. He made his way down to the nearby boathouse—which really should be called a “yacht house” considering the sixty-foot beauty housed inside.
I knew sub-nothing about boats, but I was pretty sure this one had been the villain’s yacht in Casino Royale. Paxán had promised to take me out once the weather—and danger—broke, said we could motor all the way to the Gulf of Finland.
“You should play Aleksei sometime.”
I gave a shrug. Pass. I was trying to get over my fascination with him, not fuel it.
Yet when Sevastyan’s words floated up, dimly echoing from the boathouse, I frowned. “Is he speaking . . . Italian?”
“Ah, yes,” Paxán said proudly. “He speaks four languages fluently. He’s a—what do you call it?—a self-learner?”
I nodded. The bruiser boxer, the feared enforcer, the professional hit man, was an autodidact. Fascination fueled once more. Damn it.
“If only I could interest him in the workings of clocks.” Paxán had begun teaching me, and I’d geeked out, finding it addictive. “So have you given some thought to making this your full-time home?” He’d yet to exert any pressure on me, although I could tell how much he longed for me to stay.
In a dry tone, I said, “Gee. Maybe if you’d give me some gifts, you know, spoil me a little.” I’d received countless pieces of priceless jewelry, another closetful of clothes, a red Aston Martin Vanquish that Filip had salivated over, and even my own thoroughbred, an exquisite dapple-gray mare named Alizay. I only awaited a sunny day to take her out.
In a matching tone, he said, “Next you’ll be saying the Fabergé egg was too much.”
With a laugh, I held up my thumb against my forefinger. “Just a touch.”
He chuckled with me. “I can’t help it. I have all this money and years to make up for. The birthday presents alone . . .” He tilted his head. “Sometimes I wish you were more interested in being rich.”
The present that I’d adored above all the rest had been the least expensive: a framed portrait of my mother, Elena. How I wished I’d been able to know her!
She’d had strawberry blond hair, sparkling green eyes, and a coy smile. I might resemble my grandmother, but I saw similarities to Elena as well.
When I’d gushed over the thoughtfulness of the gift, Paxán had informed me that the idea had been Sevastyan’s, which had surprised me.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything, but at heart, I’m a farm girl. I like the simple life. Besides, you are the draw here—not the gifts.” I hadn’t gotten around to telling him that I wanted him to change his will back. The topic was morbid, and I got the sense that it would crush his feelings.
“But Berezka is pleasant, no?”
I gazed out over the surreal landscape. A green lawn sprawled to the edge of the river. Light drops of rain splashed the surface with notes like music. Otters frolicked in the current. Each day, Paxán would point out local species of animals. “Look! It’s a stoat,” he’d say. Or a shrew, or a raccoon dog, or a great crested grebe.
I admitted, “It’s magical here.”
“What can I do to convince you to stay?”
As little as I saw Mom, I could visit her twice a year at her new place. She was currently on a cruise around the world that she’d “won.” Just a precaution, courtesy of the Kovaleva syndicate.
When I’d called to check in, I hadn’t told her anything, figuring a reveal this major should be done in person.
Eventually Mom would be fine wherever I lived, but how could I leave Jess . . . and school? “Living here would be challenging, with school and all.” I could let my master’s stand as my ending degree; I didn’t have to pursue the PhD. Yet somehow that felt like quitting.
“We are within driving distance of several renowned universities.”
God, the hopefulness in his voice was killing me. I knew he was accustomed to having his way, just as Sevastyan clearly was, but Paxán was making the effort to coax me to remain—which made me respect him all the more.
“Starting at a new university is something to investigate, at least,” I said, committing to nothing.
I was beginning to suspect that I was a commitment-phobe. Though I’d always considered myself decisive, I could see now that my decision trees were usually limbless.
If one completed a master’s degree and didn’t want to make a decision about one’s future . . . well, get a PhD! Stay in the same chute. Start classes a week after the last ones ended.
Maybe that was why the money bothered me so much; in a way, it represented infinite choices.
Hell, I hadn’t even chosen to come to Russia.
“It’s your move, dorogaya moya.” My dear.
I made a halfhearted play. “What about the danger, Paxán? What’s happening with that other organization?”
“These are difficult times we live in. There used to be, well, honor among thieves. Now the areas I control are getting flooded with an element that frightens my people.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll give you a mild example. My rival, Ivan Travkin, set up a parking lot in the middle of my territory. No one used it—there was no need to—so Travkin’s men began smashing the windshields of any cars outside the lot, forcing people to pay for parking every day. They came to me to get this stopped, so I sent Sevastyan, who shut that operation down. Forcefully.”
I could only imagine what the legendary Siberian had done.
“For years, Travkin has searched for small inroads like this, planning the death of my syndicate by a thousand cuts. But when he learned of your existence and sent two of his deadliest enforcers to America”—my twinkling-eyed Santa of a father grew steely-eyed and cold—“it was a declaration of war.”
War. Was it any wonder that I worried about Paxán constantly? And about Sevastyan, his frontline general?
“Once we prevail, things will be different for you. We can move freely.” Paxán’s expression softened again. “I will show you the country of your birth, your mother’s hometown. We can find any cousins of yours!”
“I would love that. Other than this trip, I’ve never traveled.”
He gave me an odd look, a guilty one, as if that was a failing on his part. “A fact that must be remedied as soon as possible. But in the meantime, it’s not so bad at Berezka?”
As if magnetized, my gaze sought out Sevastyan. Though no longer on the phone, he remained on the dock, scanning the perimeter. I lifted my teacup for a sip, and a moment to gather my thoughts.
“So the interest runs both ways?” Paxán said slyly.
I nearly choked on tea.
“Aleksei told me about the two of you.”
I set down my cup, because it shook. “What did he say?”
“After you two arrived, he came to me, confessing that things with you had passed beyond what was . . . expected.”
Had I gotten Sevastyan in trouble? “This is all my fault,” I quickly said. “Before I knew who he was, I tried to pick him up in a bar—something I had never done before. And then later, I pushed him. He said no, that I was your daughter, but I pushed.”
“I’m not angry, dear! I love Aleksei as my son and want only what’s best for him. He’s thirty-one, and I’d despaired
of him ever settling down. He’s never even dated the same woman twice.”
“S-settling down? Um, why are you speaking about that?” Had Sevastyan mentioned wanting to? With me? I couldn’t tell if I was perversely thrilled—or about to bolt from the pavilion. “What did he say?”
Kovalev steepled his fingers. “When we first began to suspect that you might truly be my daughter, Aleksei grew excited at the prospect of having a sister. But then . . .” He trailed off with a perplexed expression.
“But then?”
“He saw you in person. He hadn’t been in America for more than a week when I received a call from him. In his reserved way, he asked me to send a replacement, because his notice of you wasn’t what it should be.”
“What does that mean?” I asked as calmly as possible—even as my heart tripped over a beat. Along with my surprise at this development, a weird sense of power surged inside me. Sevastyan could barely control himself with me! He’d wanted to relinquish his job, knowing he’d disappoint the man he obviously idolized.
“Aleksei confessed his interest in you was . . . tiomniy.”
“Dark?” Sevastyan had watched me and wanted me—darkly.
Paxán frowned. “And, well, glubokiy.”
That one was even more surprising. Deep?
Dark and deep sounded . . . stalker-y. Probably because Sevastyan had been stalking me at the time (though he’d been ordered to). Still, it gave me pause. “So he’s not in trouble?”
“Honestly, this situation isn’t ideal. If you and Aleksei walked hand in hand into my office, wanting to get married, I’d throw you a wedding like Russia has never seen. But if it was known that my most trusted enforcer had—what’s the word?—trifled with you, that would not be good.”
I swallowed nervously, having no doubt he’d consider what Sevastyan and I had done trifling. “You’d be angry?”
“Only that you would be put at risk. If this continued, others would find out. I would lose respect for not keeping my men in order, and Aleksei would lose respect for disloyalty to me. Unfortunately, our business—and our safety—depends on respect. With Travkin aggressing, we are already vulnerable. He would use this to undermine my authority with this organization.”
