I snaked one hand down her body and between her thighs, groaning as my fingertips pressed against her warmth. I started to stroke her there and, immediately, she clenched her thighs tight around my hand, her dancer’s muscles pinning me tight for a second. Jesus, she’s going to be an incredible fuck. I moved my hand more firmly, overpowering her, and she groaned in surprise and pleasure as I worked at her softness through the thin fabric. A minute of gasping, panting friction and she was wilting against me, thighs clenching around my hand in time with my movements. Two minutes, and I could feel her slickness wetting the fabric.
I almost hurled her onto the bed. She landed on her back, dress rucked up around her hips, and stared up at me with a look that drove me wild. It was only there for a second, but it was like looking down through layers of ice to white-hot magma. Underneath all that cold, there was a raw, powerful lust that matched my own. The idea of that, in a woman as gorgeous as her, blew my mind.
I tore off my coat and climbed onto the bed, one knee between her legs. Her dress had slid down a little and I started to push it up again, wanting to grab hold of her panties and pull them off. I wanted to see her, there, just gaze at her for a while, then I was going to spread those thighs and lick her until she screamed—
My elbow hit the little table next to her bed. A framed picture fell over and toppled over the edge. I grabbed for it and caught it before it hit the floor, then lifted it to put it back in its place—
I froze.
That’s—
No, of course it fucking isn’t.
I lay there willing the picture to change, but it stubbornly refused to. Yes, it fucking is.
The picture had been taken in a forest. There was Irina, just as gorgeous as she was in the flesh. One arm was wrapped around a kid who might be a younger sister. And her other arm….
Her other arm was wrapped around the waist of a silver-haired man in his sixties. A man I knew very well.
“Irina,” I asked, fighting to keep my voice level. “What’s your last name?”
She stared up at me in confusion. “Malakov.” She glanced at the photo and then my horrified expression. Her voice went tight and cold. “Vasiliy is my uncle.”
The picture slid from my fingers. I heard the glass break as it hit the floor.
I got up off the bed, stumbling a little. It felt as if the whole room was spinning.
Irina’s eyes narrowed in anger. “What?” she snapped. She tugged her dress down over her thighs. “So what?”
Seeing her mad made me chest ache. Ruining everything we’d been building towards cut me deep...but I couldn’t speak, couldn’t even reassure her that it was okay—my mind was whirling too fast.
And telling her it was okay would have been a lie anyway, because it most certainly was not fucking okay.
She was Vasiliy Malakov’s niece.
My body seemed to move by itself. I saw myself grab my coat and head down the stairs to the front door and then I was away, off into the night.
8
Angelo
I had no idea where I was. I had no idea where I was going. I just walked.
It wasn’t the best neighborhood, but I’d been in worse. Plus, if anyone got any ideas about messing with the guy in the nice suit, they’d change their minds when they got a look at my expression.
Vasiliy Malakov. I’d been about to fuck the niece of my sworn enemy. One of the most dangerous men in Russia and, since he partnered with Mikhail, one of the biggest crime bosses in New York.
I’d known he had at least one kid—Luka, who’d pretty much taken over from his dad back in Moscow. I’d had no idea he had a niece, or that she was right here in New York.
My mind darted through images of Irina: on stage at the ballet, frozen in midair with those long legs akimbo; glaring at me in Central Park, eyes full of suspicion; standing outside the restaurant watching me through the glass, her blonde hair gleaming in the streetlights…. And finally, in my arms, looking up at me and begging me to kiss her. I wanted her. I needed her.
You must never, ever see her again. The leaden truth of it slammed into me so hard that I stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Don’t see her. Don’t call her. Just pretend it never happened. She clearly had no idea I was Cosa Nostra—we’d both been as clueless as each other. As long as I disappeared into the night and never saw her again, she never needed to find out. She’d write me off as just some asshole who’d walked out on her.
That thought stabbed deep into my chest.
But the consequences, if it had gone any further, would have been unthinkable. When Vasiliy found out, it would have tipped our two sides into full-on gang war...hell, he’d probably have put a hit out on me. My own people would have lost all faith in me. How can you trust your leader when he’s literally in bed with the enemy? And my bosses—the aging pack of old-school Cosa Nostra who oversaw New York—they would have gone fucking apeshit. They hated the Russians even more than me. I would have been busted down to errand boy or just shot in the head.
I took a deep breath. I felt as if I’d stepped on a fucking land mine and heard the sickening click. Now I had to back away, very carefully, and pray it didn’t go off. Being a leader is about making sacrifices. I couldn’t risk everything I’d built. Not even for her.
* * *
By the time I got to my apartment, it was the early hours. I tried to sleep, but I just lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to get Irina out of my head. I could see her lying there on her bed, looking up at me with raw lust in her eyes. God, I wanted her so much. I finally gave up on sleep, got up and drove to work.
I run most of the business from the backroom of a big, sprawling bar called Underground, right in the heart of my territory. A hundred years ago, when immigrants—a lot of them Italian—dug out the first subway, it was where they used to go after their shift to shake the rock dust out of their hair and sink a cold one. It’s a busy place: even when it’s too early for customers, some of my guys are there. There’s always coffee in the pot and music playing. Being there always makes me feel better.
Not today, though. I was in a lousy mood. What the fuck was wrong with me? It had been months since I’d been with a woman—I just hadn’t had time. Now I’d met one and lost her. So what? Back to the status quo. Two days ago, I hadn’t even known Irina existed.
So why was it bothering me so much?
More people arrived and the business of the day started rolling in: decisions to be made, problems to be solved. I sat back in my big leather chair and called people in one by one. A nightclub owner needed an extension on his loan after a fire: I gave it to him. Two of my guys were short on their collection runs: I leaned forward, voice low, and put the fear of God into them, telling them to hit their totals tomorrow or else. Some morons from a local motorcycle club had started dealing meth on our turf: I sent a car full of guys to remind them where the boundaries were. Just a typical morning, but I was grouchy and irritable, yelling more than I should have done. I knew better. Ruling isn’t about screaming at people: calm and determined gets you a hell of a lot further. What’s wrong with me?
Then Rico arrived with more bad news. Some guys from Mikhail and Vasiliy’s gang had visited an Italian-owned bar. They’d smashed the windows and scared off the customers.
It had happened only a few hours after Rico and I had stood up to the Russians. They were sending a message: go quietly or we’ll destroy you.
I’d been nursing a cup of coffee in the hope it’d make me feel better. I suddenly snapped and hurled it across the room to smash against the wall. “Goddammit!” I yelled.
Rico blinked at me. “Easy,” he said gently. “We’ve had it worse. We’ll figure it out.”
I stared at him. Rico’s always so dependable. I love the guy. For a second, I even considered telling him about Irina. I knew he’d back me up in my decision, tell me that staying away from her was the only sensible thing to do.
Thing is, I didn’t know if I wanted to be ba
cked up. And just that tiny admission released the brakes on something that had been building all day. All the longing, all my lust for her, started to coalesce, shrinking but concentrating, going from a hot, painful cloud that filled me to a tiny, hard point of light that sat right at my core. A seed.
No. No, don’t even think about it.
A seed that I could feel starting to grow.
“Give me some space,” I growled. “I gotta make a phone call.”
Rico nodded and left, closing the door behind him. I grabbed my phone.
Don’t do it, Angelo. Don’t you fucking do it!
I’d gotten her number from her during dinner. I told myself I was just going to end things like a gentleman, to make some excuse so she didn’t think it was her fault. But I could feel that seed throbbing and burning inside me, growing steadily bigger and bigger.
I drew in a long breath...and called her.
9
Irina
I was up on the flat roof of Fenbrook Academy, lying on my back in the snow. It’s not as crazy as it sounds: my coat was thick enough to insulate me from the cold and long enough to cover me down to my thighs, so my ass didn’t get wet. And there wasn’t much wind. Just big, soft flakes of snow fluttering straight down, invisible against the white sky until they were almost touching my face. Gazing straight up, nothing but the sky was visible. I could have been anywhere in the world. I could have been in Moscow.
For the first time since I arrived in New York, I really wanted to go home.
When Angelo had walked out, it had felt like a slap in the face. It was a million times worse because of everything I thought I’d seen in his eyes that evening: not just raw, hot lust but a hint of a deeper need.
But all of that had become irrelevant as soon as he’d found out who I was.
Bastard!
I knew it was unfair. Everyone was scared of Vasiliy. Angelo was some sort of banker and what banker in their right mind would want to get mixed up with the Malakov family? There’s a reason that all the suitors I’d met were criminals themselves. Who else would want me?
And anyway, this was for the best. It was my own fault. I should never have gone to dinner with him. I’d known it couldn’t go anywhere.
If he hadn’t seen the photo, we would have slept together. Maybe we would have managed a few more dates but, sooner or later, he would have found out about Vasiliy or Vasiliy would have found out about him and we would have been torn apart. This way, at least we hadn’t had time to get to know each other.
So why did it hurt so much?
My phone rang. I very nearly didn’t answer. Whatever excuses he made would only make it worse. And yet…
And yet, when I closed my eyes and felt the snowflakes landing on my cheeks, all I could think about were those brown eyes burning into me, the feel of his lips on mine….
Without opening my eyes, I answered and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
Silence for several seconds. I could hear the tension in his breathing, imagined his big hands clenching and unclenching. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.
Hearing him say it should have helped, but somehow it made the pain real. “It’s okay,” I lied.
And then I could hear it coming: an intake of breath as he braced himself for what had to be said. I screwed my eyes closed. I didn’t want to hear the words. I didn’t want to hear: I think it’s best if we don’t see each other again. I didn’t want to be reminded that, however far I ran from Moscow, I could never, ever escape who I was.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
I was braced so hard that it took a few seconds to sink in. My eyes slowly opened. “What?”
He sounded as surprised as I was. But he repeated it and his voice grew more determined with every word. “I want to see you again, Irina. I need to see you again.”
I just breathed for a while, processing it. Then, “Why? So you can do this in person?” My voice went cold. “So you can let me down gently?!”
“No!” I heard him rub his face with his hand. “I want to see you. I want to keep seeing you. I’m sorry I...left. I was just...you caught me off-guard.”
“And now you’re okay with it?” I didn’t allow my voice to warm up. “You’re okay with me being a Malakov?”
Another long silence, as if a battle was going on inside him. “Yes.”
A tiny flame flared into life inside me, barely enough to push back the cold. Hope. I wanted it to be true. But I couldn’t let that hope build until tonight or tomorrow, only to have it snuffed out again. I had to know. I had to see him in person, now.
There was a metallic creak as the door to the stairwell opened. I sat up and saw Rachel standing there. “Irina!” she called. “Move your ass! Break was over five minutes ago. Miss Kay’s about to go freaking nuclear!”
Our ballet teacher’s rants are legendary. “I can meet you in front of Fenbrook in a half hour, when this class ends,” I told Angelo.
“I’ll be there,” he said immediately. And the tiny flame flared a little brighter.
I ended the call and ran for the stairs. Rachel held the door for me and gave a long-suffering sigh, ruffling my hair affectionately as I passed. As we raced down the stairs to class, all I could think about was Angelo. In a half hour, I’d find out if this thing was real or not.
I wanted it to be real so bad it scared me.
10
Angelo
I grabbed my coat and pulled it on. My mind was whirling: I had no idea what I was going to do about her being Vasiliy’s flesh and blood and every logical part of my brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. But that wasn’t enough to stop me. I had to see her, and fuck the consequences.
Jesus, what’s this woman done to me?
Rico was waiting outside when I opened the door. “I’m going out,” I told him before he could speak.
“Now? What about the Russians?”
Just the mention of Vasiliy and his crew made my stomach knot. “They’ll still be there when I get back,” I said.
“But we need to hit back! Show them we’re not going to be—”
I rounded on him. “Goddammit, Rico! Later!”
He backed off, shocked more than scared. “Okay, sure,” he said, a trace of hurt in his voice.
I took a long, deep breath. What the hell’s the matter with me? Rico was like a brother. I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d argued. I laid a hand on his shoulder. “There’s just something I need to take care of. Okay?”
He nodded, but I could see the confusion in his eyes. Normally, nothing came before business, especially when it concerned the Russians. “You want some backup?” he asked.
I fucking loved this guy. Always there for me, even when I was behaving like an asshole. Again, I considered telling him about Irina...but I couldn’t. Knowing Rico, he’d talk sense into me. I squeezed his shoulder. “Not this time,” I told him. I turned away quickly, shoved open the door to the parking lot and stalked outside—
And stopped. I stood there blinking in amazement as the door swung shut behind me.
It had been snowing. It must have started right after I arrived at the bar that morning because everything was covered with a thick white carpet, untouched and perfect. After the dim interior of the bar, the sunlight on all that bright white was blinding.
The whole world looked different. New. And...I’d never seen snow as anything other than a pain in the ass, before, something that slowed traffic and had to be shoveled out of the way but now…..
Maybe it was because snow made me think of Russia and Irina but it looked goddamn beautiful.
I glanced back at the bar. Inside, the other guys didn’t even know it had been snowing out here. I wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t called Irina. I’d still be in there, worrying about the ugly, brutal reality of the job.
I looked ahead of me, at the unbroken snow. And took a big, deliberate step.
I blasted across town and pulled up outside Fenbrook Academy in p
lenty of time. I sat there outside the red-brick building, watching the students milling around on the steps: musicians with instrument cases on their backs, dancers with their hair up in buns and a few cocky guys I guessed were actors, hitting on all the girls. All of them just sitting there, happily chattering away in their nice, safe world where crime was something you heard about on the news.
I frowned. I’d almost forgotten that world existed.
Then Irina hurried down the steps wrapped up in a long black overcoat, so beautiful it made my chest hurt. Her hair was still up in a dancer’s bun from class. I pushed open the car door so she could get in, but she shook her head.
“I need to keep moving,” she told me. “I have another class in ten minutes and if I sit still, my legs will stiffen up.”
The air coming in through the open car door was so cold it took my breath away. “Are you serious?”
She nodded. “Walk, or don’t talk.”
I didn’t even have to think about it. I grabbed my coat and jumped out. She’d already taken a few paces along the street by the time I caught her, her long legs eating up the distance. She hadn’t been kidding about keeping moving.
Or…. I glanced over my shoulder at the students on the steps. Or she didn’t want to have this conversation in my car, right in front of them.
She was afraid I was going to end this and reduce her to tears in front of her friends. Jesus. Just the idea of it made me feel ill. Even though ending it was the only smart thing to do.
I grabbed her hand, but she didn’t stop walking. Wouldn’t even look at me. “Irina,” I said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ran out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She kept walking but she slowed just a little. Maybe something in my voice told her I meant it. “It’s...understandable,” she said at last. “Everyone’s scared of Vasiliy.”
Kissing The Enemy Page 6