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One
NAT
“No.” The word leaves my lips with finality as I cross my arms over my ample chest, an eyebrow arched in defiance at my older brother.
He scowls right back, his face turning thunderous. In his impeccably tailored suit and with his brooding intensity, he looks every inch the formidable Bratva boss. But I couldn’t care less. Growing up in this family, I’ve long since become immune. I’m just as much of a lunatic as he is, and the fool damn well knows it.
“The fuck you mean, no?” Mitya bites out, his baritone roughened with frustration.
I roll my eyes, completely unfazed. “No, my dearest brother,” I enunciate slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dense idiot. “I do not need a babysitter.”
A muscle ticks in Mitya’s jaw as he visibly struggles to rein in histemper. He pinches the bridge of his nose. The familiar gesture almost has me cracking a smile. My brother, the drama queen.
But then Mitya does something that takes me by complete surprise. He steps closer and grips my upper arms in his large hands. His touch is firm but gentle.
When my brother speaks again, the gruffness in his voice has gentled into something rawer. “It’s not safe, Nat. We have enemies out there. They’re after us. All of us.” His warm brown eyes, so much like my own, drill into mine, willing me to understand. “We can’t take any chances.”
I swallow hard, my throat growing tight. Mitya has always been the quintessential overprotective big brother, but this feels different. The concern on his face, the almost desperate edge in his words… it unsettles me.
“But, Mitya, I’m not involved in the business,” I try to reason, though I can feel my resolve wavering. “And you know I’m always careful. I practice self-defense with your guys. I’m always carrying…”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” He releases a heavy sigh, his broad shoulders slumping. “But I need to know that you’re also covered. You don’t want to live here. You don’t want our men tagging you. Fine. But do this for me. For our peace of mind.” His gaze turns beseeching, his grip on my arms tightening. “This guy is the best in the business. Please, Nat.”
The plea in his tone, the worry swimming in his eyes… it melts my heart. How can I refuse him?
My mind flashes to the portrait of Dmitry’s mother hanging in the hall. Katerina Maksimov, our father’s first wife… brutallymurdered by a Maksimov enemy. The idea of putting my father and brothers through that kind of pain again, the knowledge that they’d never recover if something happened to me… it guts me.
Schooling my features into a look of mild exasperation to mask the sudden sting of tears, I heave a fake sigh. “Fine.” I throw my hands up in defeat. “I’ll take the glorified stalker. But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
The corners of Mitya’s mouth kick up in a tiny, knowing smirk. He sees right through my act, the bastard. But the relief that flashes across his face warms my heart.
Pulling out his phone, he fires off a quick text. A few minutes later, a sharp knock sounds at the heavy mahogany door of Mitya’s opulent office.
The door swing open, and I swear to God, time stops.
The man who strides in is the most darkly beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. Tall and powerfully built, he moves with the lethal grace of a predator, all strength and controlled danger.
He wears a black leather jacket like a second skin, stretched over broad shoulders and thick biceps. His dark hair is cropped short, the severe style emphasizing the hard planes and angles of his ruggedly handsome face. A hint of scruff shadows his square jaw, making my fingers itch to feel the rasp against my palm.
But it’s his gaze that pulls me in, even hidden behind his sunglasses. I can feel the intensity of his eyes, like a physical touch, raking over my body with heat. It sends an electric shiver down my spine.
“Natasha, this is Frost,” Mitya introduces, but his words sounddistant, muffled under the sudden roaring in my ears.
“What?” I mumble incoherently, my brain struggling to process the overwhelming maleness of the man facing us.
Frost. Of course, that would be his name. It suits him. His aura is as icy as a Siberian winter.
“Nickname,” he clarifies, and sweet baby Jesus, even his voice is pure sex. Low and gravelly, with a raspy undertone that makes me think of cigar smoke and rumpled satin sheets. There is an accent there too, faint but noticeable. Something European, if I have to guess.
He utters that lone word with cool indifference, but I could have sworn I detect a flicker of amusement in the quirk of his sensual mouth. The arrogant curl of it should piss me off. Would have, if I hadn’t been so thoroughly distracted by the sudden urge to taste it.
Swallowing hard against the dryness in my throat, I run my gaze over the chiseled lines of his face, the carved beauty of it igniting an almost physical ache in my chest. Every inch of him screams danger, from the readiness of his massive frame to the predatory stillness in his stance. And yet I’ve never been so thoroughly attracted to anyone in my life.
A shiver runs through me, goosebumps rising on my skin despite the warmth of the room. Is it fear or anticipation? I can’t tell. All I know is that this man, this veritable mountain masquerading as a human being, is going to irrevocably change my world.
And heaven help me, but a part of me longs for it.
Mitya clears his throat pointedly, jolting me from my dazedstupor. Cheeks heating, I snap my gaze back to my brother. He is watching me with raised eyebrows, his expression confused.
