by Warren, Rie
She wrinkled her nose at Kirill, who wore deliciously faded jeans and that T-shirt perfectly fitted to his perfect musculature. “And what’s with you? Where’s the suit and tie? Who decided it was casual Friday without texting me?”
By then I thought she was done.
She wasn’t.
Her icy blue gaze raked over me. “And why would you do that to a girl? You’ve made her a walking eyesore, Kirill.”
Maksim pulled Sasha away by her wrist. “Enough.”
“My mother is right. You not only dress like streetwalker, you’re beginning to sound like one too.” Yury scowled heavily at his daughter from under bushy eyebrows.
I thought I might have to intervene on Sasha’s behalf. The spunky twenty-something woman only wore what was fashionable in this day and age. There was no need to be mean, especially not coming from her father.
I’d lived through enough of that kind of treatment—and worse—myself.
One quelling glance from Kirill told me to drop it.
I needn’t have worried because Babushka leaned up in Yury’s face, rattling off something in Russian, which made him blanch like he was a little boy instead of a Bratva bigwig.
Even though she was the first one to accuse Sasha of resembling a hooker?
Svetlana continued to berate her son while he followed her across the kitchen, dutifully carrying her shopping bags with a cigar clamped between his teeth.
“Families, right?” I tried for some levity and was granted small smirks in return.
Another day of surviving in the lion’s den.
“What are your plans for Joanna for today?” Sasha said sweetly to Kirill after wrestling her arm free from Maksim’s grip.
“You are not taking her on a shopping spree.”
“You are seriously harshing my fun.” Sasha sighed dramatically.
I couldn’t agree more.
“I have other plans for Jo.” Leaning against the table in such a way to highlight his rather impressive package, my captor sent me a hooded, bone-melting gaze.
Damn. When his obsidian eyes sparkled like that, I wanted to do naughty things to his body.
I wanted to let him do filthy things to me.
“What plans?” I tried not to stammer.
He probably wants to spank me again.
Maybe I wanted him to.
“Since we need to blow off steam and we’re obviously not fucking—”
I gaped at him, my eyes shooting wide.
His smooth smile almost made me gush again. “I thought you could choose something recreational.”
It didn’t escape my attention that Maksim, Arkady, and Sasha all nosily hung on every word said between the two of us.
Recreational but not fucking.
I wondered if he was a fan of other contact sports.
“I propose shooting some hoops,” I exclaimed.
Kirill’s lips quirked. “Not what I expected.”
“Me either.” Sasha sighed . . . again. “Utterly hopeless.”
“Come on. I know you’ve got a makeshift basketball court out there. I’ve driven across it every week.”
“If you’re thinking you can escape from there, no chance.” Silvery specks lit Kirill’s dark irises.
Sauntering to him, I draped a hand on his chest. “Are you scared I’ll win?”
“Challenge on, malyshka.”
I still didn’t know what that meant, but I had a feeling it wasn’t an endearment at all.
Especially when Sasha bit her lips together.
“We could have a foursome.” I spun to Maksim and Sasha.
He looked thoroughly offended. “I do not share my sex partners.”
Those were the most words I’d ever heard him speak.
She sniffed. “We are not fucking. Ever.” For good measure, she slashed her hand through the air. “Nyet.”
Okay, so clearly those two weren’t screwing one another either.
“I meant at basketball, two against two? Not the other thing.”
Sasha gave me a shrinking glance. “I am not now nor am I ever shooting hoops. Guns yes—”
Maksim grunted in agreement about that.
“Basketball no.”
Thank god Kirill intervened. “Did you bring what I asked?”
“Against my will.” Sasha grabbed a bag from the table and handed it to him.
Kirill went down on one knee like he was gonna present me with a diamond ring.
Lord, I hoped not.
He withdrew a . . . Nike box?
Flipping the lid open, he showed me a pair of killer kicks and sports socks, all in my size.
My hand flew to my mouth before I quickly wriggled my feet out of my worn boots and Kirill’s ludicrous socks.
I didn’t want to be charmed or touched or even thankful—the man had kidnapped me for goodness sake—but the sneakers were king.
He’d probably use the laces to tie me up later.
I tied them quickly then admired the view.
I glanced up to see Kirill’s smile . . . then Yury, observing all.
Several more packages scattered across the table, and I wondered if those were for me too.
I didn’t get a chance to find out because, after following my gaze to a formidable Yury, Kirill hauled me from the kitchen.
He didn’t stop steamrolling me until we’d wound through The Cat and the Sickle—in between workmen and soldiers—and out to the loading bay.
How could it have just been yesterday?
I’d wanted to gut him.
He’d threatened me with death, held a knife to my throat, thrown me over his lap.
And now a friendly game of b-ball?
After disappearing for half a minute, Kirill reappeared with a basketball he tossed to me.
I hopped down from the high concrete platform, and he vaulted after me.
No sign of my truck, but I knew Kirill had it stored in one of the bays.
And he still had my phone.
As well as my blade.
I ran with the ball, doing a few warmup dribbles.
When I turned to glide backward, Kirill was right there.
His smile broke free like the sun in the unclouded sky above us.
I smiled in return. I couldn’t help it.
Then I rushed past him, ducking beneath his raised arm.
Someone had even painted regulation lines on the pavement, and I belted right down the lane.
With Kirill hot on my heels, I sunk a perfect shot.
Pouncing back in a crouch, I watched as he caught the ball.
It didn’t take two seconds before he swooshed his own shot.
His grin shined even brighter than the sun’s rays.
Who would’ve thought?
Shooting hoops with my avowed enemy. In a heavily guarded, barbed wire and fenced in area behind the Bratva nightclub.
Spinning the basketball on one finger and definitely showing off, I took in the actual guard towers at the entrance of the compound.
It was manned.
Possibly with a fifty caliber.
“Gosh, you really don’t trust me, do you?” Dribbling the ball between my feet, I set my sights on the hoop.
“Nyet.” Kirill made a swipe at me. “And I trust your family even less.”
With Kirill jockeying back and forth—his long legs and long arms eating up the court between me and the basket—I toed up to the three-point line.
He stopped hopping around to shout, “You can’t make that.”
“Watch me.”
With a swish, the ball streamlined through the air and slung right through the basket.
“This is war.” Taking off his shirt, he tucked it along with his gun into the back of his jeans.
Good god.
Golden flesh poured over flexing muscles and tattoos from here to Kingdom Come.
I tried not to salivate.
I really did.
I pretended I was just wiping sweat from my upper lip.
Like the sweat dripping down his powerful chest covered in tensed sinews.
A dark line of hair bisected Kirill’s abs, a treasure trail that disappeared below his jeans.
To the promised land.
“What did you think of Svetlana?” He grabbed my attention back from my appraisal of his mouthwatering body.
Even the grim ink that marked him for a grim reaper type of killer didn’t put me off.
Just the opposite.
He palmed the ball, slamming it to the tarmac, capturing it again.
Just like he’d captured me.
My interest.
My lust.
I shook my head to get free of such sexy insidious thoughts. “Well, there’s nothing svelte about Baba.”
Chuckles began from deep in his chest before booming louder.
Damn him.
His boisterous laughter was becoming more addictive to cajole from him.
“You never told me what she said about me. I hope it wasn’t terrible.”
Kirill dribbled behind me then held the ball high above my head. He yanked me back into his body, my breath halted then staggered.
I felt him all over me, one hand at my waist and his hard form overshadowing mine.
“She said you have beautiful red hair like a queen.” His hand moved slowly, lingeringly, up my side and to my neck he clasped lightly in the sexiest hold.
He held my ear against his mouth. “I’d call you a goddess.”
While I stood stunned, he lunged from behind me.
Kirill executed a perfect jump shot.
While I melted into a puddle.
Those slight touches of his weakened me from the inside out.
He could’ve actually raped me.
He had that kind of reputation.
Yet he hadn’t taken advantage of me.
The opposite in fact.
Now, his jeans rode lower and lower along his lean hips, giving me an A plus view of the deep grooves leading to his . . . his cock.
Sweat glistened on his brawny pecs and sculpted abs.
“I’m not about to get distracted.” I one-handed the basketball after he passed it to me.
Right.
“Okay.” Kirill ran a hand through his hair as he gleamed like a sex god in the sun.
Over the next fifteen minutes, we sparred.
We went head to head.
We butted heads and traded taunts.
I had one last chance to kick his ass.
His very fine ass.
Stepping up to the line, I sank another three-pointer while he watched in awe as the basketball dipped then dove through the hoop.
“You got lucky, malyshka.”
“And you haven’t told me what that means either.” I lifted my tank top, mopping my face.
When I looked up again, Kirill stared at my belly and the undersides of my breasts.
It wasn’t just the sun’s hot rays burning into me then. It was him, this man in this moment, sparking lust and igniting desire.
He was right though. The only reason I’d beaten him was because of the three-pointers. Otherwise I’d have been doomed due to his athletic prowess and bigger build.
Not to mention the distraction of his sweaty naked chest.
He leaped up onto the concrete platform then held his hand down for me.
I took his palm, and he fluidly swung me up beside him.
After tossing me a bottle of water, he opened one of his own.
I forgot all about drinking when he proceeded to dribble the cool liquid all down his torso.
Clear rivers streamed over his chest and down to the chiseled muscles of his abs. The water glinted in diamond droplets along the thin line of dark hair there.
He dribbled more water, and I probably dribbled in my shorts.
Glancing over, he saw where my stare landed.
A wolfish grin eased across his lips, short black whiskers highlighting his raffish looks.
“Now we shoot pool.” Straightening, he rubbed a hand all over his glistening torso. “My choice.”
“Okay.” My voice came out several octaves higher.
Inside the club, he left me for less than a couple minutes before returning to tug a fresh shirt over his head.
The loud racket from the construction crew continued throughout the building, but somehow Sasha figured out we’d finished our basketball game.
She came swishing out of the kitchen with Maksim skulking behind her like a big Slavic giant. “Did someone say pool? We’ll join. For that foursome.”
Her eyes twinkled.
Maksim grumbled under his breath.
Kirill headed over to the most untouched part of the nightclub and began racking up the balls.
“First though, we need refreshments,” Sasha announced.
“It’s only midday.” Kirill aimed a look at her.
“Perfect time to start if you ask me.” Sauntering off to the bar, which had been mostly repaired and restocked already, she helped herself to the alcohol.
I guessed it helped when your father owned the business.
She glided back, balancing a silver tray that held a crystal pitcher of beer and four glasses. “I’m not much for beer usually, but it seems to fit the occasion. Maksim, would you pour?”
He simply gave her a look.
She rolled her eyes and did the honors herself.
With the drinks settled, Kirill chose a pool stick. “Men against the girls.”
“I think you mean men against the women.” I rubbed chalk on the end of my cue.
Sasha hip-checked me.
And Kirill watched me with penetrating eyes over the beer he quaffed.
I was simply surprised the pool table wasn’t kitted out with gold plating considering how flashy The Cat and the Sickle was. Well, when it wasn’t undergoing mass restoration because of my family, at least.
They didn’t even have normal plastic pitchers for the beer.
And the beer definitely wasn’t Pabst.
“I’ll break,” Sasha volunteered, and when she got into place at the end of the table, she shot a glance back at Maksim. “Are you going to lurk behind me all day like my overbearing bodyguard or pretend you know how to have some fun?”
When she said behind Maksim’s gaze swerved to her ass.
Interesting.
She bent over.
He grunted darkly.
And she huffed out, “If you have something to say please try enunciating for a change.”
“You should not bend over like that, Sashenka,” he bit out.
“Perhot-podzalupnaya, how else will I get maximum velocity? This isn’t the Forties, and I’ll do whatever I damn well please.” She shimmied even farther down, and Maksim’s lips parted.
The curse she’d used though!
My eyes flew to Kirill.
He bit down on a smile.
I flapped my hand at him.
“Da. Okay. It’s a valid insult, but it was still funny when you said it.”
11
Kirill
JOANNA MADE ME LAUGH against my will.
I had an ulterior motive or two for trying to get to know her better instead of acting like her heavy-handed jailer.
I wanted to get a grip on her motivations, what made her tick.
I needed to figure out how loyal she was to her family and, more specifically, her brothers.
I also wanted to get under her skin and have her willingly in my bed.
She didn’t need to trust me, that would just be the icing on the cake.
Yet, those heated moments on the basketball court didn’t have a damn thing to do with any endgame. Genuine, almost uncontrollable attraction pulsed between us.
Her wit, her personality, her clearly hot and unpremeditated reaction to me got to me.
After Sasha broke, pocketing a solid, she missed her next shot.
Maksim stepped up next, and he cleared three striped balls, even dropping two with just one loud crack
of his cue.
Too bad he didn’t keep the winning streak going, banking the next ball just before it made it to the corner pocket.
“You’re not supposed to win.” Sasha pouted.
“Don’t hate the player.”
“Ooh, nice, you’re finally picking up some Americanisms. Maybe you’re still trainable.”
I didn’t know how Maksim put up with her.
She needed a long hard spanking just like I’d given to Joanna last night.
And then the Russian printsessa needed to be gagged and fucked into submission.
One of these days, I had a feeling Maksim was going to reach the end of his rope. He’d have it out with Sasha. He’d break her the way she so desperately needed.
Jo curled over her pool stick and leaned up on one foot. She straddled a corner of the table, and I didn’t miss the fact the tank top she wore began dipping low over her breasts.
Instead of watching her shot, I focused on the teasing glimpse of her tits.
I heard the knock of the white ball into another, then she jumped up with the cue raised. Her breasts wobbled around inside the top.
“Red ball, middle pocket,” she called out before extending once again across the table.
I made a noise in my throat when her ass shoved out in full display toward me.
The way her hips swelled and her rear end rose up gave me ideas about the warning I’d issued that morning—bending her over my bed and nailing her hard.
I only knew she’d missed when she loudly cursed.
In English.
My turn.
The redheaded wench didn’t make the task easy for me.
Everywhere I aimed or angled, she appeared across from me.
She curved out a hip.
She sipped her beer with her fascinating hazel eyes fastened on me.
She stroked her pool stick in a highly suggestive manner.
Sweat popped out on my brow, but despite her sensual diversion, I managed to get one ball in.
Throughout the match, she upped the ante with the sexual teasing.
I paid zero attention to Maksim or Sasha and very little to the game.
I probably deserved Jo’s sexual retaliation for the basketball game.
She shoved her ass out toward me.
She ran one finger around the neckline of the top, pulling the material out to fan herself.
She stayed focused on my every move with smoky eyes and pouting lips.