by Kresley Cole
Turning to Sevastyan, I joked, "There must be a million dollars' worth of jewelry here."
When he held up his palms in a what're-you-gonna-do? gesture, I cried, "Oh, my God. There is!" I inhaled a shaky breath. This situation was too wild--and overwhelming. I now lived in a palace. I truly was not going back to school tomorrow; instead I'd be playing chess with my billionaire father.
This was my "new life" for the "foreseeable future."
I crossed to a set of balcony doors, opening them for fresh air. I drank in the sight as a mist began to fall over manicured gardens and landscaping lights came to life all across the property.
When Sevastyan joined me at the balcony rail, that feeling of connection swept me up again. But he was all coolness toward me.
"What's that building?" I asked him, indicating a two-story manor catty-corner to this wing. As with the lake folly, its colors and architecture complemented this palace. There was a sleek black Mercedes in the drive, much like the one he'd rented in Lincoln.
"My home," he said shortly.
"You live on the property?"
"Da. Though I have an apartment in Moscow," he said in a pointed tone, no doubt referring to my comment about searching his place--and doing other things. Such as watching him masturbate.
I swallowed, peering up at him, filled with questions about the man. What was he thinking at this moment? How'd he get that sexy scar down his lips? Who'd broken his nose?
Had anyone ever kissed that slightly askew bridge for him? "You must have missed this place while slumming in Lincoln."
Shrug. "I return downstairs now."
I followed him back inside. "What do you need to talk to Paxan about so urgently?"
Over his shoulder, he said, "I do have private concerns with him, Natalie."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're going to tell him about us, aren't you?"
He swung his head around at me. "There is no us," he said with such vehemence that I almost flinched.
"You know what I mean."
"I'm going to admit that I behaved inappropriately with you. I owe him that."
I had a great feeling about Kovalev, but the truth was that I didn't know him well. What type of punishment would an infraction like this bring? "How mad will he be?" I couldn't picture Kovalev losing his cool, but then I also couldn't picture him blackmailing politicians.
"At you? Not at all. As for me, he can't be more angry than I am at myself."
Sevastyan was starting to piss me off. I strode up to him. "Look, I just got here, and everything is wonderful with Paxan. Why rock the boat when you and I barely did anything? I held off on despoiling you. You were relatively safe from my clutches."
Stony gaze.
"Please, I'm asking you not to make a big deal out of something so trivial."
"Trivial?" He closed the slight distance between us until we stood toe-to-toe. "Maybe for two experienced adults. But you're hardly experienced, are you?" His breaths quickened along with mine. Tension sparked the air around us. Oh, God, his intoxicating scent hit me just as I recalled his fierce virgin-or-not promise and his admission: What was supposed to sate my appetite has only whetted it.
Chin raised, I bowed up to him until a sheet of paper wouldn't have fit between us. "Just because I haven't had sex doesn't mean I was a nun."
He cocked his head to the side, gaze flicking over my face, like he was trying to read me and coming up empty. I knew the feeling.
"And if my virginity is such a sticking point with you," I said, "that's an easy fix."
His fists clenched. "You mean with another man?"
That show of jealousy thrilled me, so I reminded him, "You could have done it." When I'd been wet and ready for him. Curiosity about how he would relieve me of my virginity seized me; I could only imagine what kinds of tricks this man had in his bag. A long exhalation escaped my lips, and I found myself saying, "You still could."
He took a step back, as if what I had might be catching. "Perhaps I want to tell Paxan so it doesn't happen again."
"You're that certain you don't want it to?"
"Yes," he said, but he'd started twirling that thumb ring. Maybe that tell also indicated when he was lying?
"Was I just a job to you, Sevastyan?"
He gazed to the right of me as he answered, "That's all you can be."
"Do you wish you'd never been sent to America for me?"
He faced me fully. "Every second of the day," he said, no longer touching his ring.
CHAPTER 14
Buzzzzzzzz.
My suite had a doorbell? As I hastened to the doors, which were a haul from my bedroom, I wondered if Sevastyan had come to get me. Though I'd been hurt at first by his parting words, I'd assured myself that he was trying to be a good enforcer, walking away from the taboo woman.
Spirits buoyed, I'd investigated my suite, getting ready for tonight. After taking a bath in a tub larger than most family pools, I'd gamely explored all the clothes, shoes, handbags, and cosmetics.
Though the lingerie on the plane hadn't been over-the-top sexy, the selection in my new wardrobe ran the gamut. I'd gone for daring--thigh-highs, a black silk thong, and matching demi-cup bra--just in case Sevastyan apologized for being a dick and admitted taboo was just his speed (a girl can dream!).
For the banquet, I'd decided to err on the side of dressy, selecting a formfitting wrap dress in royal-blue silk. The color made my eyes look more aqua than green.
I'd pulled my hair up, the better to show off my pounded-gold choker and chandelier earrings. Though I wasn't a makeup buff, I'd even opted for mascara and lip gloss.
At the door, I smoothed my dress, then opened up. "Filip?"
"I thought I'd escort you to the feast." He was dressed in the latest style, drainpipe pants and a slim-fit jacket. With his tie a little loose, his look said: Ivy Leaguer who started the party early. "You look ravishing, Cuz." He took my hand and kissed it.
If Sevastyan had done the same, I would've jumped like the man had live wires attached to his skin. But with Filip there was none of that spark. "Thanks, Filip."
Out in the hall, he offered his arm. "Were you disappointed to see me at the door?"
"What? No," I lied.
"I'm afraid our grim friend Sevastyan declined to come get you."
"Did he, then?" Burn.
It made sense, though. The man wished he'd never met me; why wouldn't he avoid me? How quick he'd been to tell me, "There is no us."
Filip frowned down at me. "I've never seen him so put off by a pretty girl before. But all things considered, I suppose we shouldn't blame him."
"All things considered? What do you mean?" My black heels sank into the plush rug as we made our way down the hallway to the staircase.
"He was the boss's main heir before you came along."
I shrugged noncommittally, though I knew this wasn't the cause of Sevastyan's chilliness. Manalyzing again, Nat?
The truth was that I didn't know anything about him.
Filip continued, "Now Kovalev has taken such a shine to you, he called for his lawyers today to change his will. As of an hour ago, you're officially a billion-heiress."
"How do you know that?" We reached the stairs, descending.
He grinned. "I have ways, Cuz."
Why the rush to change his will? "I never asked for that. I don't want any of Kovalev's money." Just thinking about having to deal with that kind of wealth, and the accompanying responsibility, made my necklace feel tight around my throat.
I liked the simple life; people with that kind of money didn't lead simple lives. "And I have no intention of horning in on Sevastyan's inheritance."
"Natalie, I never meant to imply that." He looked mortified, like I'd pantsed him. "I'm so sorry if I offended."
"Oh, Filip, I'm just being overly sensitive." I confided to him, "The money actually freaks me out."
"That's a good problem to have, no? Don't fret, you'll get everything worked out with Kovalev. He's a consider
ate man. He'll do whatever it takes to make you comfortable here."
"I'm sure you're right." Wanting to change the subject, I said, "You and Sevastyan don't seem to get along."
Filip gave me a you-have-no-idea expression. "He's like a vicious guard dog around Kovalev, not surprising since the man plucked Sevastyan off the streets."
That was where Kovalev had found him? The idea of Sevastyan living on the streets as a boy broke my heart. No wonder I couldn't get a sense of him. Sevastyan was a blend of street and privilege.
"He doesn't like anyone near Kovalev but himself." With a charming quirk of his brow, Filip said, "I'd probably admire the trait more if he didn't use it against me." When we reached the main floor, Filip steered me down an airy foyer.
"And why doesn't Sevastyan like you?"
"He resents my education. He never had formal schooling, you know. He hates any reminder of that. Chip on his shoulder the size of Siberia."
What must Sevastyan think about my advanced degree? Had he felt even a twinge of guilt when he'd unenrolled me?
"Just be careful around him, Cuz."
The same advice Sevastyan had given me about Filip. "Why?"
He gazed away. "The man's got some . . . serious issues."
"Tell me."
In a lower voice, Filip said, "He's been to prison and seems proud of it. He's got these two dome tattoos on his arm, which is mafiya code for doing two stints. One of those times was in a bloody Siberian prison camp. It does things to a man."
I was speechless. I'd seen those markings on his arm and had had no idea what they signified.
Yet knowing more about Sevastyan's checkered past didn't diminish my attraction for him. In fact, Filip's revelation had just given Sevastyan layers, making me want to peel them away one by one. Once I returned to my suite tonight, I'd fire up that Mac and learn more about the tattoos. Hell, about this entire new world.
"And don't even get me started on his bizarre relationship with alcohol."
"What do you mean?" I asked, though I'd already seen evidence of this. Last night, Sevastyan had consumed a drink, but only after abstaining from it again and again.
"Just watch him tonight. You'll see. But enough about him. Look, if you need anything, you come to me." Filip patted my hand on his arm. "You're Kovalev's daughter, and I owe that man my life."
"You do?"
He nodded. "I was in a bad place six months ago when my dad died suddenly. Kovalev gave me a lifeline."
"I'm sorry for your loss, and I really appreciate your offer."
I heard laughter and voices drifting from the room at the end of the foyer. I was eager to join the others, but just outside the doors, Filip stopped me.
"I'm so glad you're here, Natalie. It's nice to have someone else around who's Westernized. And who doesn't hold it against me that I've never been to prison!" He laid his hands on my shoulders and smiled down at me, a move that would make most women proffer their panties. "Kovalev has to go into the city tomorrow afternoon. Let me show you around the place--"
Before I could pull away, the doors opened, revealing the Siberian on the other side. My heart leapt--had he been coming for me?
He stopped in his tracks, expression growing lethal. What'd I do now? Then I realized it looked like Filip and I had been about to . . . kiss. I swung my head around to take in the immense dining room and the other guests already inside. About thirty brigadiers.
And all their eyes were on Filip and me, every conversation stalled.
I guessed it was pretty bad when dozens of Russian gangsters got scandalized by one's behavior. But I hadn't done anything.
At least, not with Filip.
When Sevastyan's fists balled, I marched away from both men. Squaring my shoulders, chin lifted, I made my way to Kovalev, my heels sounding abnormally loud in the silent hall.
He was standing at the head of a lengthy table that was covered with dazzling candles, china, and silver. He glanced uncertainly from me to Filip, so I gave him a ready smile. "This is incredible, Paxan. Thank you." My guiltless demeanor seemed to defuse the situation; conversations resumed.
When Kovalev pulled out the chair to his right for me, he said under his breath, "Anything amiss?"
I murmured back, "Not at all."
Filip followed, taking a seat beside me. With a laugh, he muttered, "That was awkward, huh?"
When Sevastyan returned to the table and took the seat opposite me, his face was his usual unreadable mask, but that muscle in his jaw was twitching.
Kovalev introduced me to the rest of our dinner companions, more than two dozen men in their twenties and thirties--Yuri, Boris, Kirill, Gleb, then I started losing track. They were a rough-looking lot, but they all appeared to hero-worship Kovalev. Only two other women were seated, Olga and Inya, long-term girlfriends of a couple of the brigadiers.
After introductions, what seemed like an army of servers began conveying platters, while others poured vodka into glittering crystal shot glasses. Though I wasn't used to being on this end of service, I forced myself to relax.
"A toast," Kovalev called, drink in hand. "To my lovely daughter. Who found me against all odds, who toiled and fought to get what she wanted."
Filip called, "The apple didn't fall far from the tree."
When the dinner guests raised their glasses, I did the same, then brought it to my lips to sip--
Everyone shot theirs, then turned to me. I recalled it was considered rude to put a glass with alcohol back on the table. With a shrug, I downed mine too, and cheers broke out. I couldn't help but grin, glancing at Sevastyan, who simply stared at me.
I could've sworn he'd been jealous of Filip earlier, but if he gave a damn, then why hadn't he bothered to come get me from my room in the first place?
In any case, I refused to let him ruin this for me. Here I was at an authentic Russian banquet, drinking vodka with my father's extended . . . clan. I was in the land of my birth, ensconced in a former tsar's home.
I gazed up, marveling at the frescoes above us. This absolutely looked like the dining room of a tsar. I realized I'd never felt history like this. Which took some of the sting out of my involuntary withdrawal from school.
Tonight, my good mood was bulletproof.
Another toast followed: "Za vas, Natalya Kovaleva!" To you. This time I got my shot down in time with the table. I savored the burn, pleasantly warmed.
When a zakuska--a spread of miscellaneous appetizers--was served, Filip leaned over. "This is called a za-kus-ka."
Sevastyan said, "Natalie studied Russian--I'm sure she knows what it is."
I cast him a quick look of appreciation. Having every dish explained to me would've gotten old.
Filip's affable mien never faded, even as he said, "It's merely etiquette, Sevastyan. To be welcoming to a guest--escorting her from her room and such."
Thanks for reminding me.
The two men stared each other down. The tense moment was broken by another serving: oysters topped with plentiful caviar from the Volga Delta. Then a fish course followed.
I took a bite of heavenly baked sole, making a sound of delight; Sevastyan's eyes were on me.
I shot another vodka; his eyes were on me.
I listened to a story Filip seemed determine to whisper to me; Sevastyan clenched a fist beside his plate. He could assure me that there was no us all he wanted to, but . . .
Actions speak louder than words, Siberian. And his focus on me was warming me as much as the vodka.
When servers brought yet another dish, Kovalev announced, "In honor of Natalie's home of Nebraska."
It was corn souffle! I grinned at him. "I love it." I was beginning to sound crazy tipsy.
Then I felt Sevastyan's dark gaze on me yet again. Was he remembering the cornfield? Pinning me in the dirt? Meeting his eyes, I downed another shot.
Kovalev turned to Sevastyan. "You're not eating, Aleksandr?"
He straightened. "Perhaps I'm feeling the trip."
&
nbsp; Filip quipped, "Or your age."
With his quiet intensity, Sevastyan said, "I hold my own."
In a merry tone, Kovalev said, "There now, lads." He turned to me. "I think our clever Filip sometimes forgets the Siberian was a bare-knuckle prizefighter for many years."
I raised my brows. When I'd first seen Sevastyan, I'd guessed he was a fighter. That would explain the scars on his fingers, his broken nose. I recalled the many times I'd seen Sevastyan ball his fists. For a fighter, that must be the default factory setting.
When I thought of all the men who'd struck that noble face of his, I wanted to touch him, to smooth my fingers over his skin. I was trying to imagine him in the ring, dealing pain, when another course appeared.
Dessert. There were baked apples, fruit pastels--a kind of Russian Turkish delight--and sirniki, a cheese pancake with a side of honey for dipping. As soon as my first pastel touched my tongue, I rolled my eyes with bliss.
After dessert, drinks reigned and laughter grew boisterous. It was bad etiquette not to finish an opened bottle of vodka, so everyone politely pounded shot after shot--well, everyone except for Sevastyan. After the toasts, his glass went untouched.
Paxan recounted hilarious tales of his attempts at leisure. Sailing? The boat was now an artificial reef. Breeding horses? He'd find that wily escaped stallion one of these days.
I laughed until my eyes watered, admitting that I'd thought he would have white tigers and a bear--and a diamond-encrusted toilet, which made Kovalev double over.
The guy named Gleb taught me a Russian tongue twister. Everyone laughed at my buzzed rendition, but I was a good goddamned sport, so I feigned a quick curtsy. I saw that even Sevastyan's customary scowl had changed to a look of something like fascination, as if I were a creature he'd never seen in the wild before.
Every time I grew convinced I couldn't break through his icy reserve again, he'd show hints of the man beneath the enforcer facade. . . .
I wished I could freeze time--couldn't remember when I'd last had such a fun night--but before I knew it, a grandfather clock struck midnight.
Paxan stood. "Well, my friends and family"--he smiled at me and Sevastyan--"you'll have to excuse me."
A chorus of "One more drink!" rang out.
He shook his head. "Take pity on an old man! And continue--that's an order." Sevastyan and I rose at the same time, both intending to walk Paxan out.
