The Volkov Affair

by Taylor Lee

  Nicki gaped at him, stunned at his arrogance and crushed by her father’s duplicity.

  “I…can’t believe my father did that. That he betrayed me, to…to you.”

  Her voice trailed away as she struggled with the enormity of her father’s disloyalty.

  Rafe frowned. “Nicki, your father is frantic with worry about you. He called me not to betray you but to protect you.”

  Nicki exploded.

  “Damn you! Damn you both to hell! I don’t need you to protect me. Not him and especially not you! How many times do I have to tell you that I take care of myself?”

  Fighting a sob, her voice rose to a shriek, “Don’t you get it? Are you blind? Can’t you see how much I despise you? I…I hate you. And…I am leaving. Now!”

  She rushed toward him, her anger propelling her. She knocked him to the side and grabbed for the distributor cap.

  Rafe caught her as she flew by, trapping her in his strong arms. It was like wrestling a greased pig and an angry one at that. She was a flurry of arms and legs. She kicked, she bit and would have torn chunks out of his skin if hadn’t contained her hands in one of his. He managed to trap her legs between his. If she got loose, no telling where one of those expert kicks would land.

  It took everything he had to contain her writhing, twisting body without hurting her. She was wild with rage. With a fierce twist she broke his grip and shoved against his chest with surprising force.

  “Damn you! Goddamn you, Rafe! Let me go. Now!”

  He wrapped himself around her, trapping Nicki in the vise of his arms.

  “Not going to happen, Princess.”

  After a few minutes of shrieks and frantic attempts to free herself, she gave up her fierce struggle, and to his surprise she burst into tears.

  He held her tight, murmuring in her ear. “Nicki, Nicki, Nicki. Calm down, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

  She wailed, “No! I…I don’t want you to hold me, to touch me.”

  Even as she spoke she buried her head against his chest. Her wrenching sobs broke his heart and every bit of restraint he had.

  He ran his hands over her quivering body breathing in the intoxicating odor of lavender, spice and sweaty woman. He kissed the tears on her cheeks then nuzzled the soft skin below her ear, whispering comforting nonsense words. When she collapsed against him, clinging to him, he shuddered. Damn, he didn’t need his unruly cock rising to full staff to know that he was a goner. There was no way he could resist her. Damnable rogue that he was, he would take this lovely, vulnerable woman. This innocent woman who thought what she felt for him was love. He knew better. What she would know soon. No woman, especially this one, deserved a man like him. A man she’d be wiser to fear than to love.

  Chapter 19

  “Jesus, Nicki. Your smell. I can’t get enough of it.”

  He buried his nose in her hair, drinking up the scent of lavender and lemon. He’d always been sensitive to smells. The ones that made him the man he was. The smell of rot in the place where he was born. The smell of decay in his mother’s wasted body. The mix of alcohol and blood on his father’s lash. The smell of fear, first his own, and then in the men he killed.

  But there were also good smells. The pungent odors of roasting meats and spicy lentils served by immigrants from the African Maghreb, caring immigrants who took in the abandoned boy and accepted him as one of their own. Their smells were as varied as their languages. Moroccans, Algerians, Libyans, and Turks—no matter what language they spoke he learned it. Parlaying his polyglot talents and skill with weapons, he became the precocious leader of the most violent gang the Paris banlieues had seen.

  He’d smelled death from the moment he was born. But he’d never known how varied it could smell, until Yuri helped him lie his way into the Delta Force at the age of sixteen. Death from Rwandan genocide smelled different than mowed down rebels in Somalia. Rape victims in Bosnia didn’t smell like the corpses of stoned women in Afghanistan. And nothing, nothing smelled like bodies burned to death in a violent explosion.

  But from the time he first smelled her, he knew Nicki’s smell was the one he’d sought all his life. Warm, spicy sweet and musky, it took his breath away. It was intoxicating, consuming. He had to have more. He wanted to smell all of her, her hair, the soft skin of her plump breasts and the hidden places between her thighs that beckoned him.

  He forced himself to focus on her anguish, anything to tamp down his lust. Swiping at the tears trickling down her cheeks, he shook his head.

  “Damn, Nicki. Do you know I’ve never seen you cry? I’ve seen you happy, and sad, and furious, but I’ve never seen you cry. You’re breaking my heart, Princess.”

  Nicki gazed up at him, her tear streaked face was flushed, her voice pleading.

  “Please, Rafe, let me go. I have to leave. My father’s wrong. He’s always been overprotective. But I can’t stay here…with you. Not after what I did.”

  “Sorry, Princess. That’s not an option. And, Nicki, this is not about your father. It’s about you and me, and my rules.”

  He ignored her when she bristled.

  “You can’t do what you did today. Leave without telling anyone where you’re going. No one knew where you were. That’s not acceptable. As for what happened with Katya, Grayson told me that you saw Katya and me together and misunderstood.”

  She flushed a brighter pink and ducked her head trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

  Seeing her embarrassment he added with a grin, “Hey Princess. C’mon. What guy doesn’t like idea of a hot chick fighting over him? Hell, it’s flattering.”

  Pressing her hands against his chest, still trying to twist out of his arms, Nicki’s eyes narrowed.

  “You are the most arrogant man I’ve ever met. Let go of me. Now, Rafe!”

  He pulled her up close to him and nuzzled her cheek.

  “We’ve already established that I am an arrogant asshole, Princess. What we haven’t agreed to is that you understand that you aren’t going anywhere unless I say you are. Once we agree on that, I’ll consider letting you go.” He nipped lightly at her earlobe giving a low chuckle when she jumped.

  “On the other hand, now that I have you in my arms I’m thinking this is where I want you. And if that little gasp I heard is confirmation, this is where you want to be.”

  He drew a lazy pattern of circles on her throat with his tongue, licking the sensitive skin. She tasted as intoxicating as she smelled. He fought and lost the effort not to groan when she shivered in response to his tender assault.

  “Hell, Nicki. You taste as sweet as you smell. What am I going to do with you, Princess? You’re driving me crazy, baby.”

  And she was. He was seconds away from kissing her. Parting those puffy lips, swollen from her nervous bites. Then what? He’d stop? That would be enough? Or would he do what he’d done to her the other night? Live up to Grayson’s cutting description of a scoundrel? Drive them both to the edge of desire, then pull back? Remembering the devastation he’d caused, he knew he had to stop. At that moment she whimpered a soft yielding sound. Or not.

  Nicki was stunned. Oh God, this couldn’t be happening again. But it was. She was in Rafe’s arms and he was whispering soft crooning words. Words that sent shivers of desire from her breasts to her core and back to her hardening nipples. She fought to remember the pain she felt when he’d pushed her away. To hear his crushing words. You’re not the kind of woman I fuck, Nicki. But it was no use. Here, now with his wicked tongue wakening receptive nerve endings, she was helpless to resist him.

  All of her plans to leave, her anguish at hurting Katya, the angry conversation with her father—none of it mattered. At least for now. At this moment she could think of only one thing. If Rafe didn’t make love to her now, she might die of deprivation.

  He wove his tongue across her throat, licking, sucking the sensitive skin, then he nipped at the throbbing pulse sending a cascade of desire to her core.

  “Oh God, Rafe. Don’t
…don’t stop.”

  He groaned. “Damn, Nicki. I don’t think I can. I…I want you, Princess. So damn bad.”

  Any response she could have made was swallowed up when he captured her mouth with his lips. Unlike before he wasn’t gentle, delicately probing. No, this time he was fierce, powerful, demanding. He forced her lips open and drove his tongue deep in her mouth mimicking strokes her body ached for. She was as fierce as he was. All the pain and anguish she’d been feeling were blasted into her kiss. She tangled with his tongue, fought against his teeth. Winding her hands in his hair, she dug her fingernails in his scalp and pulled him closer.

  He moaned, a deep harsh sound.

  “Holy Christ, Nicki.”

  His face was flushed, his forest green eyes shot pangs of desire through her body.

  Rafe jerked at her tank top pulling the stretchy fabric down to her waist revealing her breasts imprisoned behind the straining curtain of her black lace bra. His eyes widened and he gave a low appreciative whistle. Leaning down he ran his tongue over one taut nipple tugging it to a hard peak through the lacy barrier. Replacing his tongue with his skillful fingertips, he turned to the other nipple sucking it hungrily though the silk. She cried out, unable to contain her raging response. With a soft moan he tugged the lacy straps over her shoulders and down her arms, then with his thumb and forefinger unsnapped the front closure freeing her breasts. He cradled the full mounds in his big hands and looked down at her, his eyes wide with wonder.

  “God, baby. Look at you. Jesus, Nicki. My hands fit around your waist. How can you have breasts like these, so soft, so full? And Princess, your nipples. Lush, pink. And look what they do when I suckle you. Look how hard they are. So responsive.”

  Her words caught in her throat. She’d never felt like this. Wanton, open, drunk with lust. She wanted him to suck on her breasts, run his tongue around the sensitive nubs. And then…Oh God, she cried out when he sucked one nipple deep in his mouth and bit down hard.

  He grunted when she grabbed at his t-shirt yanking at the hem. She wanted to feel his bare skin against hers, taste him, suck on him the way he was sucking on her. Reaching for the bottom of his shirt he yanked it over his head and tossed it to the floor Baring his strong muscular chest, his taut abs and arms rippling with muscle, he grinned at her.

  “Is that what you want, baby? To feel me the way I’m feeling you.”

  She gave an incoherent moan then stroked the taut muscles, tugging at the tufts of hair dusting his chest. Reaching for his nipple, she ran her tongue over the tight nub then drew it in her mouth. At his groan, she sucked on the rigid peak then bit down the way he bit her. He gasped then uttered a deep male sound of approval. Surprising herself at her brazenness she suckled him deep into her mouth then caught his other nipple between her fingers and thumb, twisting it, pinching it.

  His ragged moans drove her lust higher. She was stunned at her response. The other night she had been tentative, afraid. Now she was bold, audacious. She couldn’t get enough of him. Of his taste, the sexy smell of his sweaty body. His musky male odor. She wanted more. His hard arousal bruising her hip thrilled her. Gratified that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. His haunting words flashed through her lust-addled brain. But she shoved them down. Maybe she wasn’t the kind of woman he fucked—but dammit tonight she was. She’d waited her whole life for this. And if one night was all she got from him she would take it, every bit of it, and live her life thankful, without regrets.

  Kisses weren’t enough. She wanted to touch him, press against him. She wanted it all and she wanted it now. Her fingers caught in the wiry curls at the top of his pants. Feeling wanton, brazen, Nicki tugged at the button on his pants, needing to see and feel that throbbing member pressing insistently between her legs.

  Rafe choked at her touch. Any thought he’d had of holding back, testing her resolve was lost at her erotic touch. With a harsh groan, he scooped her up in his arms and strode toward the sofa. Growling in her ear all the outrageous things he wanted to do to her body, he’d barely laid her down on the soft cushions before they were tearing at each other’s clothes. He ripped open the buttons on her pants, then stripped them down to her ankles and jerked them off. She was panting, whimpering in frustration as she tugged at the tight snap at his waistband.

  He grasped her hands and shook his head, “No, No. Wait, Princess. Let me look at you first. Jesus, baby. I want to touch you and taste you. Do what I’ve been dreaming about since the first day I saw you. Yes, Nicki? Yes?”

  At her sob of consent, he grasped her legs and positioned her bottom on the edge of the sofa. Dropping to his knees in front of her, he bent her legs, opening her to his gaze. She cried out and thrust her hips toward him, a blatant invitation.

  Groaning in anticipation, Rafe gazed at the triangle of lace-edged satin covering her mound. He reveled in her sexy underwear. It screamed sensuality. Pulling her closer, he spread her legs and wedged his broad shoulders between her thighs, breathing in her heady odors. He grinned at the audacious jewel buried in her belly button then grasped the top of her thong and ripped it off.

  His grin froze. His gasp lodged in his throat. Not sure he would ever again take a full breath, he gazed at the sight below. Instead of the tangle of red-gold curls he’d expected, she was bare except for the brightly-colored sinuous Boomslang snake, its protruding tongue audaciously pointing to the treasures below.

  Too stunned to do more than stare, he barely heard the sound of Grayson’s voice through the din of air rushing through his ears. Only the sound of a key turning in the lock and Nicki’s horrified cry, wrenched him back to the present. Grabbing for her pants that he’d tossed to the floor, he covered Nicki’s body with his bare torso, shielding her body from view the best he could.

  Grayson stood in the doorway his mouth open, his eyes wide.

  “Goddamn, Rafe. Nicki. Christ. I’m sorry as hell. If I’d known you were here, Nicki…”

  Rafe’s voice was hoarse, ragged.

  “Jesus, Grayson! It damn well better be important.”

  Grayson held up his hands in front of him warding off Rafe’s furious glare.

  “Hell, man, in a million years I wouldn’t want to interrupt this scene. But you gotta come. Both of you. Bernie’s on the line. He’s been trying to reach you. He’s heard from the kidnappers. They’re tired of waiting. The stakes just went up. Exponentially!”

  Chapter 20

  “You got any blow, bro?”

  Not hiding his revulsion, Boris glared at the ebony-skinned man they called Jamal. The smartass tipped the bottle of Boris’s best vodka to his lips and chugged the equivalent of four shots. He was decked out in what appeared to be the gang’s regulation uniform. A doo rag tied back his shoulder length dreads. Gang tats covered most of his available skin. A Miami Heat sleeveless bro-tank with armholes ripped to his waist made certain that the tats covering his abs were also visible. His baggy pants hung down past his ass, showing crack high boxers, his only nod to modesty. A pair of LeBron James Hyperdunk sneakers that Jamal proudly claimed set him back a cool $350 completed the disgusting picture.

  “First of all, you piece of shit, I’m not your bro. And second, no, I do not have any “blow” and if I did, the last person I would give it to is you. Third, not that you would understand, but civilized people do not guzzle Stoli Elit Vodka out of the bottle.”

  The big man was 6’4” and clocked in easily at 280. His scowl should have frightened Boris into silence but at that moment the Russian had bigger worries than the scum sitting around the table stuffing their faces and downing his premium vodka. Each of them was playing with a weapon of some kind: knives, police issue Glocks, custom made Sig Saurs, at least four AK47u’s, plus a goddamned machete decorated the table. After ten days of dealing with the riffraff, Boris barely noticed their deadly paraphernalia.

  Exiting down the hallway, Boris hunted for Aiden. Without knocking he barged into the large room that Aiden had claimed as his office. The floor
to ceiling windows overlooked the Brooklyn Bridge Park. Boris’ “partner” was lounging behind a huge desk that he’d had delivered several days earlier, along with a trendy suite of matching office furniture. An overstuffed wraparound Italian sofa and matching armchairs encircled a 60-inch television. The whole package cost nearly fifty thousand dollars. Naturally Aiden had the invoice sent to Boris.

  Aiden threw him an insolent frown.

  “Wassup, Boss Man Boris? Immigration on your ass, comrade?”

  Boris choked back his anger, refusing to telegraph that the acid burning his gullet threatened to spill over any minute. Swallowing the bitter bile, he focused on his despicable nemesis. He lowered his bulk into one of the black leather chairs in front of the desk. It’d cost him $2,500.

  Looking at the cocky young man grinning at him, Boris was glad that at least Aiden dressed like an entrepreneur and not a reject from the mean streets of Harlem. He should look good. According to the invoice from Barneys, his GQ wardrobe ran Boris close to $5,000 for this outfit alone. When he’d objected, Aiden had flipped him off saying that being the partner of such an important man as the famous import/export financier Boris Lubvick required classy rags.

  “Aiden, this is serious. If you’re going to be a 50/50 partner you need to step in and control those animals out there. I swear to God if one of those Neanderthals so much as touches any of the girls, we’re done. Finished.”

  “Easy, Boris, my man. What makes you think my boys are shaggin’ the merchandise? While they don’t give a shit what you have to say, they do listen to me. And at least for the time being, those high-priced pussycats are off limits.”

  Aiden pulled a 10-inch blade out of his lizard skin boot holster and started to carve what looked like a gang symbol in the $10,000 desk.

  Grinning at Boris’s gasp, he quipped. “Just makin’ sure you know who this belongs to. To clarify, Boris. While the pussies are off limits to the animals, as you delicately refer to my men, the rules don’t apply to me.”