by Marian Tee
“Misha---”
“Papa’s in love with her.”
Sergei frowned. “Aren’t you jumping into conclusions?”
“I know what you saw.”
Sergei wasn’t able to immediately answer, distracted once again by the woman beside the professor, whose attempts at flirting continued to be remarkably childish. This time, she had thrown her head back – so hard it was a wonder she didn’t end up breaking her neck as she did – with a laugh that sounded more like a neighing horse in the throes of death.
“Sergei?”
Misha’s impatient voice forced him to look away from the woman still flirting unsuccessfully with the professor. “Papa is old enough to make decisions on his own,” Sergei said finally.
“It still doesn’t feel right. She seems to be hiding something.”
Knowing that his brother’s instincts were rarely wrong, Sergei came to a decision, murmuring, “I’ll have security look her up. Let’s talk about it when I get home. But for now – don’t let Papa see you have any doubts about her.”
“Da.” It was testament of Misha’s infinite trust in his older brother that he didn’t even think to question Sergei’s decision.
When the call ended, Sergei remained where he stood, Misha’s revelations putting him in a brooding mood. A night spent fucking Madeline Carter had completely lost its appeal, but Sergei knew canceling would slight the model’s vanity, which would then likely lead to a scene he didn’t look forward to getting involved in.
A familiar sound distracted him from his thoughts – it was that wince-inducing, braying laugh from the woman again, and Sergei looked up just in time to see the woman flip her hair over her shoulder---
Sergei had seen countless women do the same thing to attract a man’s attention, and his lips tightened in a strange sense of disappointment at the sight. She might not be different from other women, after all.
But then something odd happened.
The woman succeeded in catching the professor’s eye with her hair flip, but she did so literally, the tips of her fiery locks stinging the professor’s eyes and nearly making him blind instead.
Sergei’s own eyes widened in fascination as the professor grunted in pain.
I take it back, Sergei thought. This woman was different from the rest, after all. In his endless history of dating, Sergei had never once met a woman who could be such a danger to herself or other people while flirting.
Amazing.
“I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” The woman’s shrill voice drew gazes from other patrons, and realizing she had only made more people stare at her, she crossed and uncrossed her legs, visibly nervous and self-conscious. When she did it for the third time, it was either haste or her anxiety getting the better of her, and the woman started to fall off her stool.
* * *
Professor Julian Alexeyev blinked in surprise when another pair of arms reached for Fredericka Spears at the same time he did. Although he didn’t feel particularly possessive towards his friend, he didn’t let go either, unwilling to relinquish his hold on Fredericka to a stranger.
When Fredericka was back on her stool, only then did Julian let go and turn to the good Samaritan who had appeared out of nowhere---
His gaze met the stranger’s over the top of Fredericka’s head, and Julian blinked, realizing it was not a stranger after all.
It was none other than Sergei Grachyov, a former student of his, and mild curiosity made the professor’s hidden ennui fade just a bit.
How unlike Sergei to get involved, the professor mused.
“I’m so sorry.” Fredericka’s embarrassed mumble drew the professor’s attention back to her.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently.
“Y-yes.” She deliberately turned her back to Sergei as she spoke, making it very clear that she only had eyes for the professor, and Julian’s lips nearly twitched when he saw Sergei scowl at the snub.
He wondered idly if the younger Grachyov was aware of how blatantly he was staring at Fredericka. Then again, Sergei’s interest was understandable. It took a special kind of man to appreciate Fredericka’s finer qualities. While she was not beautiful in the conventional sense of the word, Fredericka was still immensely striking, with her long fiery hair, smoky gray eyes, lush lips, and ivory skin. And while her clothes weren’t ever stylish, the coltish built of her figure made everything she wore appear effortlessly elegant---
Fire encased in ice, the professor thought. Only one with a practiced eye would be able to see Fredericka’s hidden fire, but it was clear to see that Sergei Grachyov had recognized the same thing he did.
When Fredericka finished with her barely coherent explanation about why she had fallen off her stool, the professor merely nodded, asking, “You’re certain you’re fine?” He spoke without guilt, not at all bothered by the fact that he was making it seem he had understood her when in fact he didn’t.
Fredericka Spears was a nice gal, and the professor had liked her just enough to be the woman’s friend.
But if Sergei Grachyov was interested in her, then Fredericka Spears was better off with the Russian billionaire.
* * *
Sergei’s lip curled as he heard the professor say in a soft, concerned voice, “I’m worried about you nonetheless. It seems you’ve drunk too much.”
At the professor’s last words, Sergei slowly turned to look at the woman’s glass on the table.
It was half-empty…of orange juice.
When he turned to the woman, he saw that she was staring at her glass as well. She was chewing on her lower lip, visibly torn between saying the truth and staying silent on the off chance that the professor would offer to drive her home.
How ridiculously juvenile, the billionaire thought, but a part of him was aware that his derision was rooted in something he had never experienced---
Sergei mentally shook his head.
Impossible.
He couldn’t be feeling jealous over this idiot.
“Perhaps I should drive you,” the professor murmured.
The woman’s face lit up, and Sergei had an unreasonable urge to shake some sense into her. How the hell could she be so damn obvious? Did this woman not have any pride at all?
“That w-would be nice,” the woman said finally.
Sergei’s teeth gnashed.
“I’m glad you think so.” The professor paused. “Unfortunately, I have a rather urgent need to go back to the university.”
Sergei’s gaze snapped back to the professor. What the hell? After making it seem he was about to offer the woman a ride, the older man was backing out just like that?
“The defense group I am advising has run into a bit of a problem,” the professor explained, “and I need to meet with them.”
It was perfectly plausible, and the professor’s tone was perfectly smooth, but Sergei wasn’t buying it at all. What was Julian Alexeyev playing at?
And almost as if the professor heard his question, the other man looked straight at Sergei, asking, “Would you mind taking my friend home?”
The woman squeaked. “Actually---”
But another voice cut her off. “What’s this all about, darling?” Madeline sauntered to his side, placing a possessive hand on Sergei’s arm. Her glance at Fredericka was cursory and dismissive, but her lips curved in a seductive smile at the professor, the model unable to keep herself from flirting with such a beautiful-looking man.
But both men ignored her.
Fredericka was sputtering in protest, but both Russians chose to ignore this as well.
“It would be my pleasure,” Sergei murmured to the professor.
“I appreciate it.” The professor shook hands with his student before turning to Fredericka. “Freddie, it’s my pleasure to introduce to you Sergei Grachyov.”
At the introduction, the woman had no choice but to face Sergei, and yet she still refused to meet his gaze. “Hello,” the woman mumbled to his tie.
The
billionaire thought, I want to fuck her and shout at her for being an idiot.
How was this possible?
“Sergei, this is my friend, Fredericka Spears. She’s also a member of Tropinka.”
“I see.” Sergei was privately surprised. Tropinka, which translated to Pathway in English, was a non-profit exclusive club. Its membership was significantly small, being based on merit rather than one’s financial capacity.
“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Fredericka.” He gazed at her broodingly as he shook her hand, thinking that it was almost too good to be true. So not only was this woman the rare kind to stir his loins in such a powerful way, but now she also happened to be Russian and self-accomplished?
The professor cleared his throat, saying under his breath, “You are staring too hard at my friend, Sergei.”
The billionaire flushed at his words, realizing that it was true and he had been acting like an infatuated adolescent on his first date.
D’err mo. His cheeks flushed. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Fredericka.” He reached for her hand, causing her gaze to jerk up to his, just in time for her to see him bringing her hand to his lips.
As Fredericka yanked her hand away with a gasp, Madeline let out an outraged screech. “Are you flirting with this nobody in front of me?”
Sergei stilled, and when his chilled gaze went to her, Madeline realized too late that she shouldn’t have lost her temper so easily.
The billionaire turned to the professor and Fredericka, murmuring politely, “If you would excuse us for a moment?”
“Of course,” the professor said smoothly.
Sergei cupped Madeline’s elbow and forced her to walk away with him.
She started to stammer. “Sergei, I d-didn’t---”
The billionaire bent his head, whispering to her ear, “Get the hell out of my sight.”
Madeline stiffened.
“If you leave within this minute, I might be persuaded into overlooking your lack of manners tonight.”
Her lips tightened.
“It’s your choice.” The billionaire released his hold on her, and their gazes met.
A moment later, and the model wordlessly stalked out of the restaurant.
When Sergei walked back to the redheaded woman that had caught his interest, he saw that the professor had already left.
“He was in a hurry,” the woman – Fredericka – mumbled unnecessarily.
Sergei only nodded. He didn’t give a damn about the professor. What he cared about was the fact that he had this woman for the night. “Shall we go?”
She cleared her throat, unease written all over her face at the thought of having to hitch a ride with him. “I was thinking---”
Sergei cut her off, saying softly, “Let me take you home.”
The way Fredericka Spears’ eyes widened told him she wasn’t as dense as she seemed to be.
Good.
Fredericka knew that what he really was saying was, Let me fuck you.
Chapter Two
Fredericka
Invite me in.
Sergei Grachyov’s words played endlessly in my mind as I unlocked the door. “Well, here we are.” My voice was a tremulous croak, and panicky questions raced past my mind as he walked past me. What was I doing? Why was I letting him in?
I had no idea how to answer that. One minute he was helping me out of his Rolls Royce coupé, and I was thinking with more than a little relief that I could finally start forgetting this man ever existed. But then he had looked down at me with his I’m-going-to-fuck-you-eyes---
Invite me in.
Three simple words, and yet there was something about the way Sergei Grachyov spoke that made my insides clench.
And those eyes---
God, those dark, dark eyes that made me think of fuck, fuck, fuck---
I quickly slapped my cheeks, privately appalled at the direction of my thoughts.
“Anything wrong?”
Ignoring the gleam of knowing amusement in his eyes, I put my hands down right away, mumbling, “N-nothing.” He was totally laughing at me, the jerk. Frustration had me falling back on an old habit, and I kicked the door shut behind me unthinkingly.
Sergei’s eyes gleamed brighter.
Shit. My cheeks heated up as I realized I had practically thrown a tantrum in front of him.
“You’re sure everything’s fine?” His voice was oh-so-polite, but the way he was looking at me told me he was laughing at me.
I lifted my chin. “Totally fine.”
And it was.
I didn’t care what he thought of me anyway.
I didn’t!
As I tried to convince myself of this, I managed to smile brightly at Sergei, asking, “So…do you want, uh, anything to drink?”
“Coffee would be nice.”
I nearly gawked at him while blurting out, Really? I was a caffeine junkie myself, and depending on my mood, I’d have either tea or coffee even at night. That I actually had something like that in common with Sergei Grachyov made me feel so, so---
Giddy.
The realization made me blink.
Giddy?
I wanted to kill myself over it. I was 29 years old, for heaven’s sake. I had no right to be giddy like a high school girl. Clearing my throat, I muttered warningly, “I only have instant.”
“That’s more than fine with me.”
“Oh. Okay.” Shit. I had hoped he’d prove himself a snob and turn my offer down.
I took a step forward, but he remained where he was, blocking my path. “Umm…excuse me?” When he still didn’t move, I looked up---
SHIT.
That look was back in his eyes again.
That I-want-to-fuck-you look.
“I’m sure we can fit,” he murmured lazily.
Yes, we would…but only if I allowed our bodies to touch.
And he knew that.
“Why don’t you just move?” I demanded.
“Why don’t you just walk?” he countered easily.
Because!
Instead of answering him, I just glued my back to the wall and ignoring his raised eyebrow, I slowly walked sideways to inch past him, even holding my breath to make sure not a single part of our bodies would come into contact.
Sergei Grachyov burst into laughter.
Even as my cheeks reddened, I continued inching past him, telling myself I didn’t care that he was laughing at me.
If anything, the sound of his laughter, which was as sinful as it was mellifluous, was even more proof that I was right to play it safe. I was way, way, way over my head with this man, and the sooner I got rid of him, the better.
Dashing to my tiny box of a kitchen, I tried to ignore the way his near-black eyes followed my every move, tried to stop my heart from racing so fast, like speed was a matter of life and death.
You’re a sensible, reasonably intelligent 29-year-old lawyer, Fredericka Spears, I groaned silently to myself as I opened the cupboard and reached for the coffee and sugar canister. Just because Sergei Grachyov’s hot doesn’t give you an excuse to act like an idiot around him.
As I bent down to take out a carton of milk from the fridge, I heard him murmur, “Just one teaspoon of sugar for me, please.”
Straightening, I nodded without looking at him, muttering, “Gotcha.” But all the while I was thinking, Sergei Grachyov had a sweet tooth. It was yet another new discovery, and I was attacked by another silly bout of giddiness.
I bit my lip hard to keep myself from smiling like a fool at this unexpectedly cute side of the billionaire.
Stop obsessing over the guy, Fredericka Spears!
Preparing our coffee was done under a minute, and I turned around to face him, two mugs of steaming hot coffee in hand---
Oh.
Sergei stood in the center of my living room, his profile painting an elegant picture in his three-piece suit. He seemed to be studying the framed artworks on my walls, and with his broad back turned towards me, I couldn
’t resist the opportunity to stare at him.
His intimidating height made every square foot of my already-cramped home feel even more suffocating than usual, and with him topping six feet by several inches, I couldn’t help feeling like my apartment’s low ceiling could cave down on us any moment.
I stared at him hard, searching vainly for any sign of imperfection, but there was none. This man was…perfect. So why was he here?
As if sensing my silent scrutiny, he turned towards me, and my fingers tightened involuntarily around the mugs as I was treated to the full display of the billionaire’s powerfully muscular form. Despite the formality of his clothes, the air about him somehow felt both savage and worldly---
What was this type of man doing in my apartment again, I asked myself with a gulp.
In the silent ride home, I had secretly looked Sergei Grachyov up on my phone, thinking that his name was familiar because I might have come across it in my line of work. I was thinking Russian Mafia connections or maybe someone involved in a major Ponzi scam, but instead he turned out to be something more intimidating and completely foreign.
First of all, he was a billionaire – a legitimate billionaire, and not the kind that I dealt with and worked hard to put behind bars.
He was a billionaire who could have any woman he wanted, and yet---
What was this guy doing in my apartment again?
I stared at him, unsophisticatedly frustrated.
He stared back at me, elegantly amused.
“Fredericka.”
I nearly jumped, his gentle tone taking me by surprise. “Y-yes?” I tried not to let my mind dwell on the way his strong Russian accent wrapped so sexily around every syllable of my name.
“May I have my coffee while you stare at me?”
Oh.
Shit.
“I wasn’t staring at you,” I lied – I mean, muttered.
Chuckling, he came forward, and I hastened to place his mug and mine on opposite sides of the table before taking the seat next to the fridge. It was the plastic foldable type, something I had gotten for free from Craigslist, the only kind that could fit in the open layout of my apartment.