Page 18 of Lord of Passion

"Explosions usually are," I agree.

We finish our cones in companionable silence.

***

Two days later…

It's Friday, and in a couple of hours, I'm going to board a luxe Morozov jet bound for Moscow. I'm up early, so excited, having already left approximately three thousand and twenty-seven notes for my support staff. Of which, I suspect, only a tenth of them will be read, but I have a great team. I'm leaving the hotel in good hands.

"This is going to be an amazing trip!" I chant my positive affirmation mantra as I get dressed in a black pants suit and my favorite Louboutin’s. I look professional, but comfortable.

"This is going to be the best trip ever!" I say as one of the Morozov Range Rovers swings by to pick me up. As we turn into the private airfield, there she is: a big-ass Gulfstream jet. Gleaming white with the distinctive Morozov Global icon on the side.

"There are going to be so many snacks!" I say joyfully. "Yes, this is definitely going to be the best trip ever."

And then, one of the guards opens my door. There is a very tall man in a beautiful suit standing by the jet stairs. It is not Alexsey.

It's fucking Nikandr because the Universe hates me and it has decided I can never get a break.

Chapter Eight

In which there is Forearm Porn.

Caroline…

It's nearly silent on the jet for nine hours.

The four guards accompanying us quietly play round after round of cards. After we took off, Nikandr's grin stretched wide when one of them pulled out a deck, shuffling expertly. "Would you like to play?" he asked me, which seemed remarkably snide. "I'm sure the men would be happy to have you join them."

The guards didn't look happy at all about his suggestion, and I shook my head with a smile. "Thank you, gentlemen, but I only take money from entitled rich boys. Youearnyour pay."

Every gaze turned to Nikandr and it was like the entire jet held its breath. He merely chuckled and pulled out his laptop and a pile of papers from his briefcase. The only useful information he'd been willing to offer was that Alexsey and his Second, Vasilisa are already, "Attending to business," in Moscow.

The trip is quiet then, just the low hum of the engine and the flight attendant hovering with snacks and drinks. I don't want to tell the flight staff how to do their job, but the snacks are substandard. The charcuterie board is nice but I'm not in the mood to chase olives down the aisle. How about a tower of little pieces of chocolate? Like a chocolate Jenga game to keepeveryone occupied. The flight attendant is more interested in eye-fucking Nikandr until he irritably tells her to go away.

Who can blame the woman? He's taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. I've heard the term forearm porn, but never had a chance to apply it until now. He has thick, muscled forearms, veins snaking down and over his enormous hands, with his obscenely expensive watch gleaming on his wrist.

I resent his forearms. I resent them for being so sexy and making my insides curl in a way they should not be curling for this dismissive pretty boy.

The rolled sleeves also show off the tattoos flowing up his arms. A whole series of skulls. Grey and terrifying, stark white and stylized. Skulls with snakes twining in and out of their eyes, some with flowers, black and drooping. I've noticed that no hint of ink shows past his cuffs and collar. The perfect, buttoned-up businessman until the tie comes off. His shirt gapes as he moves his arm and I can see the snarling muzzle of the Morozov wolf tattoo on his chest. Is it hairy? Does he have a hairy chest, or does he wax it? He seems like the kind of guy to wax his chest.

For fuck's sake, woman! Pull it together!

I spend the time going over the new amenities list for The Lyric and trying to figure out a way I can create a VIP access option for a series of events around the city. I do have the benefit of knowing about rare and unusual legitimate andnotso legitimate activities, so I may as well use it.

My fingers are flying over my keyboard, and I raise my eyes from my monitor once to see Nikandr staring at me. I feel a prickle of goosebumps. How long has he been doingthat?I arch a haughty brow and he chuckles. "We're going to land in half an hour."

"How do you know?" I know he hasn't moved from his seat for the last hour or so. Just then the co-pilot steps into the cabin, announcing quietly, "We will be landing in thirty minutes."

Nikandr is staring at me smugly as if he possesses all the secrets of the Universe and my shoulders do this weird shrugging thing, like I'm a high school girl ready to say, "Whatever."

I force myself to come up with a more adult response.

"Well, thank you both," I say dryly, returning my attention to my laptop. My fingers twitch and- well, goddamnit now I can't work. He's got me distractedagain. I shut my laptop and listen to the occasional quiet murmur of his deep voice as he speaks with one of the guards.

When we land, I shake hands with the flight attendant because I don't hold it against her that she spent the entire flight trying to get Nikandr's pants off instead of feeding the rest of us. Because of course, she would try to fuck Nikandr. His face card islethal.I also shake hands with Pilot Volkov. "Thank you for keeping us alive," I say pleasantly.

He chuckles. "I'll do my best to keep you alive on the flight back home as well, ma'am." His smile fades as he looks over my shoulder at Nikandr, who's probably being stiff andSovietnik-ish.