by Zaires, Anna
Even talking about Ksenia and the way she fucked me over with Slava couldn’t cool the fire burning inside me.
“This has to be the most delicious thing I’ve ever had,” Chloe says after trying a forkful of the Napoleon dessert, and I murmur my agreement, though I can barely taste the multilayered puff-pastry cake. My mind is occupied by how she will taste and feel when I take her to bed.
I have a feeling my son’s new tutor will be the most delicious thing I’ve ever had.
“Don’t, Kolya,” Alina says quietly in Russian when Chloe turns to Slava and begins teaching him the English word for cake. “Please, I beg you, leave her be.”
I glance at my sister in irritation. “I’m not going to force her.” That’s not my MO, and besides, after watching the girl sneak glances at me for the past hour, I’m even more sure this attraction goes both ways.
She’ll be mine. It’s only a matter of time.
“I’m beginning to think you may be worse than he was,” Alina says in a low voice. “At least he tried to justify it with bullshit excuses. But you don’t even try, do you? You just do whatever the fuck you want, regardless of who gets hurt in the process.”
“That’s right.” I give her a hard smile. “And you’ll do well to remember that.”
If my sister thinks that comparing me to our father is going to change anything, she couldn’t be more wrong. I know I’m like him. I always have been—which is why I never intended to have children.
Our little exchange in Russian catches Chloe’s attention, and her eyes meet mine as she glances over at me. Immediately, she looks away, but not before I see her smooth throat move in a nervous swallow as her tongue flicks out to moisten her bottom lip.
Oh, yes, she’s attracted to me. Attracted and worried about that fact.
I push away my half-eaten dessert and pick up my cup of tea to take a long sip. Catching her gaze again, I set the cup down and give her a slow, deliberate smile. “So, what did you think of your first Russian meal, Chloe?”
“It was amazing.” Her voice is a touch breathless. “Pavel is a wonderful cook.”
I let my smile deepen. “He is, isn’t he?” He’s even more skilled at other things, like knifework, but I’m not about to tell her that. She’s already putting two and two together and coming up with four. I could see the way she reacted when I mentioned the guards. She suspects we’re not just a wealthy family, and that makes her almost as nervous as her attraction to me.
I wonder if it’s the natural wariness of a sheltered civilian, or if there’s something more to it… like whatever secrets she’s trying to hide.
The smart thing, the prudent thing, would’ve been to uncover those secrets before hiring her, but that would’ve taken time, and I didn’t want to chance her slipping away and disappearing. Besides, after observing her throughout the meal, I’m even more convinced she doesn’t pose a physical threat to my family. The way she snatched the knife from Slava betrayed not only her overprotectiveness of the boy but also her lack of skill with a blade. She held the knife like someone who’s never used it as a weapon, either of the offensive or defensive variety, and I doubt that was an act—not when her fear for Slava was entirely real.
She thinks my son, a Molotov, needs to be protected from something as innocuous as a sharp blade.
The inexplicable tightness in my chest returns, and it takes all my strength not to glance at the boy. If I do, it’ll only get worse. Instead, I keep my focus on Chloe and the way her lashes lower in response to my smile, her chest rising and falling in a faster rhythm. Her nipples are hard again, I note with savage satisfaction; whatever bra she’s wearing under her shirt, if any, is quite revealing.
I can’t wait to see her in a nice designer dress, her slender shoulders bared. Something slinky and cream-colored, to highlight the warm hue of her skin. She’ll put it on for me before dinner, and I’ll spend the entire meal fantasizing how I’ll rip it off her later that night—not that I need her dressed in any particular way for those fantasies to manifest in my mind.
The cheap T-shirt and jeans she’s wearing work for that purpose just fine.
“You should feel free to go to bed, Chloe,” Alina says when Pavel brings out a tray with digestifs, then helps Slava out of his chair and takes him upstairs to get him ready for bed. “Don’t feel compelled to stay here with us. I’m sure you’re tired after such a long day.”
“And I’m sure she can stay for a drink,” I say before Chloe can do more than give Alina a grateful smile. There’s no way I’m letting the girl escape so quickly. “In fact,” I continue, giving my sister a hard look, “weren’t you saying you’re tired? Maybe you should join Pavel in reading Slava a bedtime story and head to bed early yourself.”
Alina wants to argue with me, I can see it, but even she knows it’s not a good idea to push me further right now. She’s become bolder since we left Moscow, freer with her sharp tongue. She thinks that because I temporarily handed over the reins to our brothers, I’ve softened, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
The beast inside me is alive and well… and focused on a sweet new quarry.
“All right,” she says after a tense moment. “In that case, good night. Enjoy your drink.”
She gets up, and Chloe follows her example. “I think I will—”
“Sit,” I say with a commanding gesture, and the girl sinks back down, blinking like a startled fawn as Alina strolls away with one final glare in my direction.
I wait until she’s gone before gracing my quarry with a smile. “So tell me, Chloe…” I reach for the decanters on the tray. “Do you prefer cognac, brandy, or whiskey for your digestif?”
11
Chloe
I stare at Nikolai, my heart thudding heavily. Am I misreading the situation, or did he engineer it so we’d end up alone at the table?
“I… don’t really drink,” I say, my throat dry. The look in his richly colored eyes again makes me feel like a mouse trapped by a very large cat—except no mouse would feel such a pull toward a predatory feline.
I want to touch him almost as much as I want to run away.
He arches his dark eyebrows. “No alcohol ever? I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just, you know, usually beer or wine at a party…” My voice trails off as he lifts one of the crystal decanters and pours two fingers’ worth of amber-colored liquid into a whiskey glass, then slides it toward me.
“Try this. It’s one of the finest cognacs in the world.”
I hesitantly lift the glass and sniff its contents. I’ve never actually had cognac. Vodka shots a bunch of times, yes. Tequila on a few memorable occasions, for sure. But not cognac—and judging by the strong liquor fumes hitting my nostrils, it’s not something I should drink around Nikolai tonight or on any other night.
Not when I’m so confused about what’s happening between us.
He pours himself a glass as well. “To our new partnership.” He lifts the drink in a toast, and I have no choice but to clink my glass against his. Bringing it to my lips, I take a sip—and break into a coughing fit, my eyes watering as my throat and chest ignite with fire.
Damn, this stuff is strong.
Nikolai watches me, dark amusement glimmering in his gaze. “You really aren’t much of a drinker,” he says when I’ve finally caught my breath. “Try it again, but slower this time. Let it sit in your mouth for a few seconds before you swallow it. Absorb the taste, the texture… the burn.”
This is a bad idea, I know, but I follow his instructions, taking another sip and holding it for a bit before letting it go down my throat. It still scorches my esophagus, but not as much as the first time, and in the wake of the fiery sensation, a pleasant warmth spreads through my limbs.
“Better?” he inquires softly, and I nod, unable to tear my gaze away from his hypnotic stare. Maybe it’s the alcohol already messing with my inhibitions, or the fact that we’re all alone, but this feels oddly like
a date… like there’s a sense of intimacy building between us. I want to reach across the table and trace the sensual curve of his lips, to lay my hand on top of his broad palm and feel its strength and warmth.
I want him to kiss me, and if I’m not misjudging the simmering heat in his eyes, that may be what he wants as well.
“Why did you ask me to stay for a drink?”
I want to take the words back as soon as they leave my mouth, but it’s too late. A sardonic smile appears on his face, and he tips his head to one side, indolently swirling the cognac inside his glass. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t…” I wet my lips. “I don’t know.”
“But if you had to venture a guess?”
My heartbeat kicks up higher. There’s no way I can say what I’m thinking. If I’m wrong, this will go very poorly for me. In fact, I don’t see how this could go well for me. If I’m right and he’s attracted to me, that opens an enormous can of worms. And if I imagined it—
“Don’t overthink it, zaychik.” His voice is deceptively gentle. “This isn’t one of your school exams.”
Right. And I’d much rather it were—because then the only thing I’d have to worry about is a failing grade. The stakes are infinitely higher here. If I get this wrong, if I upset him, I could lose the job, and with it, any hope of safety.
Out there, beyond the confines of this estate, are monsters hunting me, and in here is a man who may be just as dangerous… and not just because he seems to enjoy playing this sadistic little game with me.
“What does that mean?” I ask cautiously. “Zay-something?”
“Zaychik?” Darkness glimmers in his smile. “It means little hare. A Russian endearment of sorts.”
My face heats, my pulse taking on an uneven rhythm. The odds that I’m wrong are decreasing by the moment, and that makes me even more nervous. I’m no virgin, but I’ve never dated anyone remotely like this man. My boyfriends in college were precisely that—boys who started off as my friends—and I have no idea how to handle this dangerously magnetic stranger who’s also my boss.
And who may be in the mafia.
It’s the last thought that brings much needed clarity to the contradictory tangle of emotions in my head.
Steadying my jangling nerves, I rise to my feet. “Thank you for the dinner and the drink. If you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed now. Alina’s right—it’s been a long day.”
For two long heartbeats, he doesn’t say anything, just watches me with that mocking smile, and my anxiety spikes, my stomach tying itself into knots. But then he sets down his glass and says softly, “Sleep well, Chloe. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
And just like that, I’m free—and equal parts relieved and disappointed.
12
Nikolai
I toss and turn for two hours, trying to fall asleep, but nothing happens. Finally, I give up and just lie there, staring at the dark ceiling, my muscles tight and my cock hard and aching despite the relief I gave it with my fist.
What is it about this girl that’s getting to me? Her looks? The mystery she represents? It was all I could do to let her go this evening, to back off and allow her to go to bed instead of reaching across the table to pull her to me.
What would she have done if I’d acted on that impulse?
Would she have stiffened, screamed… or would she have melted against me, her brown eyes turning soft and hazy, her lips parting for my kiss?
Swearing under my breath, I get up, throw on a robe, and walk over to my computer. It’s late morning in Moscow, so I might as well catch up with my brothers on some business.
Anything is better than dwelling on Chloe and the frustrating ache in my balls.
Konstantin doesn’t pick up my video call, so I try Valery. My younger brother answers right away, his face as smooth and expressionless as always. Despite the four-year difference between us, we look enough alike to be mistaken for twins—and often are, along with our older brother, Konstantin, and our cousin, Roman.
Molotov genes are a potent, toxic thing.
“Missing us already?” Valery’s tone betrays nothing of his emotions—if he has any, that is. It’s possible my brother feels as little as he shows. I’ve never seen him lose his temper, even as a child, and I’ve certainly never seen him cry. Then again, I was away at boarding school throughout most of his childhood, so I can’t claim to be a Valery expert.
We’re not close, my brothers and I; our father had ensured that.
“Did you get the sign-off on the manufacturing plant?” I ask in lieu of a reply. “Or is that still pending?”
Valery regards me with an unblinking stare. “It’s on the President’s desk as we speak. He promised to get it back to me by tomorrow.”
“Good.” It’s a deal I worked on for several months before leaving Moscow, and I want to make sure it goes through. “What about the tax credit bill?”
“Progressing as hoped.” My brother tilts his head. “Why the late-night call? All this could’ve waited until tomorrow.”
I shrug. “Just having some trouble sleeping.”
Valery’s gaze sharpens. “Something to do with Slava?”
“No.” At least not in the way he thinks. “Where’s Konstantin?” I want his team to do a deeper dive on Chloe Emmons, with a specific focus on the past month.
I need to know what she did and where she went while she was off the grid.
“Berlin,” Valery answers. “Acquiring more servers.”
“Again?”
It’s his turn to shrug. In my absence, my brothers have divided up the responsibilities according to their interests and strengths, with technology falling squarely into Konstantin’s domain. Not that it had ever been otherwise; even when we were in elementary school, our older brother could run circles around the nation’s top programmers. The main difference now is Valery stays out of Konstantin’s business, letting him do as he will, whereas when I headed up the family organization, I oversaw everything, Konstantin’s dark web ventures included.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll get in touch with him there. Now fill me in on the rest of it.”
And Valery does. By the time we end the call, I feel like I’m back in the loop—or at least as much in the loop as I can be while being half a world away. So much of our business takes place in person, at the galas and opera houses and high-end restaurants frequented by the power brokers of Eastern Europe. You can’t subtly bribe a politician over email, can’t intimidate a supplier into giving you a discount over Skype. It’s all about rubbing elbows with the right people, being in the right place at the right time—and not leaving traces, digital or otherwise, if you have to cross a line to get things done.
Shutting down my laptop, I throw off the robe and stride over to the window, where a half-moon caught partially behind a cloud provides just enough illumination to make out the tops of the trees on the mountainside. I’m still tense, every muscle in my body coiled tight. The call distracted me, as hoped, but now that it’s over, I’m thinking about Chloe again. Wanting her again.
Fuck.
Maybe I shouldn’t have let her leave the table. I enjoyed her nervousness, the wariness in her pretty brown eyes. She reminded me of a wild hare, ready to flee at the first sign of danger, and I wanted to chase her if she did.
But I didn’t. I let her go. She looked tired, and not the kind of tired one gets from undersleeping for a night or two. It was exhaustion, deep-seated and total. Her clothes were loose on her, as if she’s recently lost weight, and her delicate features were sharper than in the pictures, her eyes ringed by deep shadows. Whatever happened to her has brought her to the brink of a collapse, and at that moment, when she stood up from her seat, so fragile and brave, I felt a strange urge to comfort her… to protect her from whatever demons had etched those signs of strain into her face.
No, that’s idiotic. I hardly know the girl. I didn’t want to push her to the breaking point, that’s all.
Walking
over to my closet, I pull on a pair of running shorts and sneakers and head out of the room. Maybe it’s just as well that I let her be tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll get in touch with Konstantin and begin the process of uncovering her secrets. In the meantime, it doesn’t hurt to let her rest, get her bearings… acclimate to the idea that I want her.
No matter what my cock thinks, there’s no rush.
After all, she’s here now, and she’s not going anywhere.
13
Chloe
“No!”
I land on all fours, panting, my entire body trembling and covered in sweat. It’s dark and I’m naked, and I have no idea where I am or what’s happening. Then I register the feel of the hardwood floor under my palms and the faint moonlight pouring in through the wall-sized window, and it all clicks into place.
I’m in my room at the Molotov estate, and none of what I saw is real.
It was another nightmare.
Wincing, I push up to my knees—which immediately scream in protest. I must’ve bruised them when I threw myself off the bed.
Slender brown arm in a pool of blood… Gun in a black-gloved hand… Huge pickup truck barreling toward me…
A fresh surge of adrenaline propels me to my feet despite the pain. Sucking in air, I fumble in the darkness for a lamp switch. My hand lands on the bed, and I feel my way over to the nightstand.
The bedside lamp comes on at my touch, illuminating the room with a soft golden glow. My knees buckle with relief, and I sink onto the mattress, letting the light push away the lingering bits and pieces of the nightmare.