Jealous Russian Stalker (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 92)

by Flora Ferrari

  “Taking part in whatever the next couple days has to offer,” I serve back over the net to her in this suddenly verbal game of tennis.

  “Oh.” She pauses sounding a bit surprised that I don’t seem too keen on feeding her easy lobs of information. “It seems dangerous to just come here all by yourself and with no plan…unless you have friends at the conference, as I know many guests wait eagerly all year for that one chance to see all their foreign mates.”

  Mates. She clearly knows I’m not British or Australian. Whatever she’s after she’s trying to play a bit dumb now not to appear to threatening or too knowledgeable. I’m clearly not buying it.

  “What do you mean?”

  I look back over just in time to catch the expression on her face which tells me she realizes she’s pounced a little too fast and a little too hard and now she’s trying to look relaxed as she feigns understanding of the meaning to her words…the meaning which she knowingly put there.

  “You’re right.” She smiles. “What kind of threat could a bunch of mostly guys hunched over computers in dark, cool rooms really pose.”

  I look back forward and take a sip of my drink, latching on to two words she said. “Mostly guys.”

  “Or maybe I’m being naive,” she continues unprovoked. “Maybe they’re more dangerous than we know these days. I mean there was the whole election meddling thing and I think that supposedly came from Russia, or was it Romania?”

  Her attempt to extract information has become desperate and downright sloppy at this point. She’s dropped the whole “mates” angle, geared towards the U.K. and its commonwealth countries, and just went straight for the jugular as if I’m American…or my woman is.

  “Yeah, I think that did originate in Russia,” I say.

  A moment passes before her hand on the far side of her body slowly slides into her pocket, trying to conceal her movements from me.

  Is this woman going for a gun?

  My back straightens and I change the stance of my feet, preparing to use my martial arts training to disarm her if her arm makes a sudden movement.

  “Look at that,” she says, as her phone beeps very loudly, obviously the result of her hitting a button herself. “That must be my husband messaging me to get home.” She turns to me. “Nice to meet you,” she says abruptly as she quickly turns and walks toward the doors of the hotel which will lead her out into the night.

  “There are better women in Russia, anyways,” the bartender says, finally deciding to actually initiate conversation.

  “What’s her name?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  “She doesn’t work here?”

  “No. I never see her before,” he says. “Maybe some married woman looking for new man.”

  She wasn’t married. There was no ring on either hand. Americans wear their wedding rings on their left hands and Russians, and Orthodox countries, on their right. She didn’t even have a pale ring where it might have been after years of not receiving sun, even at this latitude.

  “Why did you straighten up when you spoke to her?”

  “I thought she was U.S.A. embassy person here in Russia. I want to make good impression. My boss will be happy if we get business like this.”

  “You thought she was with the American embassy?”

  “She has that way about her, you know?”

  “I’ll be back in a second to settle my tab.”

  “I can charge to your room,” he says, but I’m already out of my seat, through the lobby and out the door.

  A solid thirty seconds or more must have passed and I expect her to be gone, but I see her there by the curb waiting. A Russian woman would not wait for her man at the curb. She’d wait for his call and then come out when he’d already arrived.

  I take a step towards her and suddenly a man in a suit steps in front of me. “Excuse me, can you tell me where the Aquarium Hotel is?”

  “Right in front of you, buddy,” I say. Wait. This guy’s American.

  I side step him but he steps back in front of me again.

  I grab his arm moving him away, but just as I do I feel the cold, steel, muzzle of a gun pointed into my side.

  “Maybe you can escort me. I don’t want to get lost along the way.” His tone sounds more direct, sinister, and although I’m not sure he actually has the balls to pull the trigger I’m also not willing to try and find out. It’s amazing how quickly things change when you’ve finally found the woman of your dreams. My risk tolerance has suddenly dropped precipitously.

  “Which way was it again?” he asks, taking my arm in his free arm like he’s my fucking prom date.

  I watch as a car suddenly does arrive and the woman steps inside…the back. She doesn’t get in the passenger side like she would if that was her supposed husband, but I already knew she didn’t have a husband coming to get her.

  “Oh, I think I see it now,” the man says as he looks up at the sign proclaiming the hotel’s name. “I can manage the rest of the way.”

  He gives me a shove and then turns and walks off in the opposite direction.

  There was no way he wanted to get any closer to the hotel, not with the security cameras lining the front.

  And there’s no way I’m letting these thugs get to my woman. I’m her protector and I will protect her at all costs, including with my life.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ivan

  I’m back in the hotel bar first thing in the morning, but this time with a black coffee, newspaper and sunglasses.

  Last night was rough, and not because of the alcohol.

  I was glued to the phone, waiting on her to move. Hell, even just going to get ice for her room would have been a victory.

  Then it occurred to me she might have set an alarm for the morning, and I realized she had, which allowed me to lie down and go to sleep…if you call tossing and turning all night sleeping.

  I’ve been here in the bar a full hour, choosing a table where the sunrise comes directly behind me so that if anyone looks my way they’ll be blinded by the sun and just make out the shape of a big guy in black, not an uncommon occurrence at all in this country. I slouch in my chair so I’m less gigantic than normal and wait…stalk…prepare for her arrival.

  And after an hour of fantasizing about her, imaging what it would be like to wake up next to her every morning for the rest of our lives…imaging her lathering up the soap in her hands and running it along her perfect body…imaging her sliding into her lacy panties in that fresh, straight from the shower look, showcasing her natural beauty…she arrives.

  I lower the paper more than I should and lower my head, giving me the perfect angle to take in the sight of her.

  Damn how I wish I wasn’t wearing these sunglasses, but they’re necessary.

  I check my cloned phone and make sure I have the microphone enabled. Check.

  “Good morning,” she says to the hotel receptionist, the tiny earbud in my ear picking up the sound, my cock twitching at the sound of her voice. It’s been too damn long since I heard the angelic notes of her words. “Could you please tell me the quickest way to get to the Crocus Expo?”

  “Sure,” the young man says, smiling at her. Damn, I want to rip his throat out for the way he’s looking at her. He thinks he’s got a chance? No fucking way.

  I try and take some deep breaths to calm down, but it’s not working. Watching this boy as he basically flirts with her is pissing me the fuck off.

  But she doesn’t respond.

  That’s right buddy. She’s mine and she knows it.

  He draws her a little map, and I’m damn near at the edge of my patience, ready to go over there and spell it out to him. She’s M-I-N-E.

  “Will you be joining us for breakfast?” the man asks.

  “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “Okay, let me cross you off the list then. What room are you in?”

  “Two twenty-three,” she says.

  Jackpot.

  “Great. Have a nice ti
me at the expo,” he says as he makes a mark on a piece of paper on his clipboard. Finally she’s free of him and she makes her way through the lobby and to the door, my eyes tracking her like a heat-seeking missile.

  Heat is exactly what she makes me feel. I stick my first finger inside my shirt collar and try to create some space. Damn I’m hot as hell right now.

  I pretend to stretch my back, grabbing the table and turning away from her and holding it briefly, and then turn in the other direction, and stay locked in place as if this side of my back is tighter.

  Truth be told, I’ve never felt better. That only increases as she steps out into the morning and the wind catches the bottom of her white lacy dress and sends it blowing in such a feminine way. Then I watch as her black hair glides off her shoulders, exposing her swan-like neck and her delicate frame. She may be delicate, but she’s no pushover. She walks with a sense of purpose and the fact that she has a full sleeve on her left arm shows me that she can tolerate pain. That’s a lot of ink, and I wonder if she has more.

  The sun hits her dress just right and makes it slightly transparent, allowing me to see her full outline, including that juicy ass as her hips sway from side to side.

  I grit my teeth and my grip on the table tightens. Damn she looks so good. I want to taste her, be inside her, own her. And I will.

  But if I can see what I’m seeing then other men can as well, and that pisses me the fuck off.

  Luckily it’s still early and she’s making the twelve-minute walk by herself. At her pace she’ll probably make it in eight.

  But why is she alone? She’s not afraid after what happened yesterday?

  I want to escort her, be with her, and inside her, always, but not yet. The time isn’t right.

  As she turns the corner and goes out of sight I straighten my body and go back to reading my paper.

  Fifteen minutes later I settle my bill and head to the receptionist desk, asking the same question she asked. The boy treats me much differently, which only confirms he was hitting on her, which confirms the thoughts I had of ripping him in two, but I stick to the plan.

  He gives me the directions and just as he finishes I thank him and take a fake call from my phone, which I make sure he sees.

  I walk outside the hotel and down the street.

  It’s been thirty minutes, which has given my voice imprint software enough time to clone her voice from this morning when she spoke to the receptionist.

  I pull out another phone and dial the hotel.

  A woman picks up. Fuck! I hang up immediately and call back a minute later.

  It’s the boy. The same boy.

  “Hi, I’m in room 223. I just spoke to you about…fifteen minutes ago about directions to the expo center,” I speak into the phone, my voice being sent into the software and her voice being kicked out. There’s just a slight delay, but the technology is amazing. I can hear myself of course, but I also hear her voice coming out. It’s the weirdest thing because when I hear her voice I can’t concentrate, it has a pull on me. Plus it’s coming a couple seconds after I speak it so it’s like I’m repeating myself…in a woman’s voice. It’s why people on the radio always remind callers to turn down their radios at home when they call in and are on the air.

  “Right. Did you find it okay or do you need me to come escort you?” he jokes. Yeah, the joke is gonna be on him real soon.

  “Could you please make a spare copy of my key for my colleague? I forgot some things and he needs to grab them, and will bring them back later, but before I get back.”

  “Your colleague?”

  “Yeah, he’ll be a tall handsome guy named Ivan Volkov,” I add just for a nice punch in the gut to this kid.

  “Oh,” he says. “Yes, I can.”

  “Thank you,” I say and hang up.

  Dickhead.

  Five minutes later and I’m back in the hotel with a key to her room, which I easily picked up from the front desk.

  The conference is about to start so most of the guys who are attending are scrambling to exit their rooms and get over to the event, which just causes more confusion in the hallways.

  I slide the keycard into room two twenty-three and the green light lights up.

  And…I’m in.

  CHAPTER 7

  Willow

  I look back over my shoulder one more time before I walk into the expo center.

  I could have sworn I saw him sitting in the hotel lobby this morning reading a newspaper.

  Just the sight of him had me trembling, had my mind moving in every direction but the right way as I was practically paralyzed until finally I was able to walk out of the hotel.

  My plan had been to catch a cab or Uber, but after the receptionist told me how close the Crocus Expo was I thought it would be a good idea to get some exercise and some fresh morning air.

  Then I saw him, my dark protector.

  I thought if I walked maybe I’d catch him following me, watching over me. I looked over my shoulder more than a few times but I never caught a glimpse of him.

  I didn’t need to see him to know he was there. I could feel him. Perception is reality, right? Even if he wasn’t there…even if that wasn’t him in the lobby, my mind says it was and I felt safer and more terrified at the same time as I made the walk.

  I enter the expo center and the first thing I see is a guy wearing an “itsbeta” shirt. I get the tech joke, a reference to a beta version of a product launch or release where the product is launched outside the organization that created it for the very first time. After beta, and all the problems are worked out, the product can be released to the public in its final form.

  And therein lies my problem. So many of the guys in my generation are “in beta” their entire lives, never seeming to take the steps necessary to work out the steps required to leave adolescence and finally become a real man.

  Especially guys in tech. Sitting at computers all day gives them sallow complexion, hunched backs, and feminine voices from all the sugary, and soy products they consume. There’s even science that’s finally starting to back this up, and a big part of me wants to “back up” into a time when men were real men, not like how things are today.

  But him. This man I keep having these “accidental” run-ins, and sightings of…it can’t be accidental anymore, can it?

  I mean, sure, maybe he’s in town for this same event and maybe he just happened to be on a flight that landed around when mine did, or maybe he was even on my exact flight. I guess that would make sense. I approached him first regarding the pen. The only time he really entered my universe was when he helped me, but the way with which he delivered such swift violence was shocking and the more I think about it…arousing.

  Oh my gosh. I shake my head and try and focus on the event. I’m looking forward to all the challenges. Hacking is a good thing, just as much as the media makes it sound bad. Bad sells newspapers, good doesn’t. It all depends on the person and what they’re doing with the knowledge they’ve obtained.

  I love programming, solving problems, which probably stems from my early years when I was addicted to language learning and solving puzzles. Code is really just a language, and when you get it right it plays like a beautiful song, especially to the one who wrote it.

  The next time I see that guy, if I do again and this isn’t just my mind playing tricks on me, I’m going to write down something I never have for a boy before.

  My phone number.

  And this will be the first time I’ve ever been the pursuer because he’s not a boy, he’s a man…a real man.

  They say women love a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to get it or be apologetic in his pursuit.

  For the first time in my life it really makes sense, because this is the first time I’ve ever experienced what it feels like to be in the presence of a real man.

  And I have to know more about him, and I’m even willing to hack my way towards finding out…if he doesn’t just magically appear yet agai
n.

  Is it fate? I don’t know, but something’s definitely going on, and speaking of going on I’m going to have to go back to my room and change my panties at the intermission if I can’t get him out of my mind.

  I need all of my brain’s “computing power” today. I can’t be distracted by Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome.

  If only I knew where he was or how to find him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Ivan