Page 11 of Lethal Obsession

I open my eyes to find him staring at me, his lone eye glittering dangerously. Then his hand slips around to cradle my head, and before I genuinely believe it, his lips are on mine.

For the longest moment, his mouth barely touches my own, just brushing it in a featherlight caress that is both maddening and so sweet I never want it to end.

Then I lean forward, or he does, and suddenly the kiss explodes into bone-melting heat.

His hand twines in my hair, and my head falls backward into his palm. My mouth opens beneath his and he groans, a delicious vibration that fires my every cell like a tuning fork. The hand on the base of my spine presses me closer, arching my back. My hands curl around his neck, drawing him toward me. He slides my dress slowly up my thighs as he steps between them, his kiss deepening until I’m writhing beneath it.

It’s everything.

Everything I always knew it would be. Everything I’ve waited for, from the day Alexei put his hands on me in that cold Miami cell.

I’ve never wanted anything except this.

I’m crushed against him, his hand around my bare upper thigh so deliciously close to where I want it that I fold my legs behind him and pull him closer, every cell on fire for more.

Then suddenly his mouth is gone.

Through the liquid haze of desire, I become vaguely aware that voices are approaching. I open my eyes to find Alexei still as a statue, his head turned slightly to the side like a hunter testing the wind. He brings one finger to my lips, shaking his head warningly.

“I’m sure I saw her come this way,” I hear Darya say. There’s the brief sound of bushes rustling, then she and Abby erupt into giggles.

“That was totally your fault,” Abby says. “You pulled me into that bush.”

My stepmother gives an extremely unladylike snort. “Please, please tell me nobody is watching.”

“No, I think we’re safe,” Abby gasps between giggles. “But maybe we should give up the hunt. We’re hardly good models of parenthood at this stage. Anyway, if Ofelia is down here kissing some guy in the shrubbery, I’d say it’s about time, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe. Just don’t tell her father, for God’s sake, or whoever it is will be running for the hills with a dozen bullets after him.” There’s another clatter and an ensuing burst of muffled laughter. “I swear that having babies has completely destroyed my alcohol tolerance,” Darya says, still laughing.

“What tolerance?” Abby says dryly. “You were always a lightweight, Borovsky. Come on.” I hear them helping each other to their feet. “Let’s get back to our respective husbands, before they decide to come looking.” Slowly, the sound of their uneven footsteps fades.

I’m suddenly very aware that my dress is hitched up to my waist, my legs are still wrapped around Alexei’s hips, and that almost every part of our bodies are touching.

He steps out of my embrace, tugging down my gown as he backs away, his expression starkly distant. “Here.” Leaning down, he picks up my shoes from the ground and hands them to me. “You should leave first. If anyone asks, just tell them you were taking a moment.” He scans me with critical detachment. “Find a bathroom. You need to fix your lipstick. And your hair.”

I stare at him, utterly discomposed. “But—”

“This never should have happened,” he says harshly. “You wanted to be kissed. I kissed you. That’s it, Ofelia. That’s the end of this.”

“You don’t mean that.” I slide from the terrace wall and touch his arm.

He steps away from my touch, his face averted.

“Actually, I do.” His utter disinterest chills the night. “You were right, you know. When you said I get laid more than a porn star. I own half the girls in Miami, and those I don’t can always be bought.”

“And I know those girls don’t matter—”

“You’re right. They don’t.” His lips twist cruelly. “And neither do you. If I hadn’t been bored out of my mind, and drunk too much to get through tonight’s bullshit, this never would have happened.”

He thrusts his hands into his suit pockets, his face as cold and remote as the Russian steppe.

“I don’t care for you like that, Ofelia. You’re my sister’s stepdaughter. Roman’s daughter. That means I’m honor bound to protect you—something I definitely fucked up tonight. But it won’t happen again. Not ever. Christ.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “What the fuck was I thinking,” he says, more to himself than to me. “I need to get out of here.”

He glances at me. “Go,” he orders curtly. “For Chrissakes, Ofelia. Fucking leave.”

For a moment I want to argue.

To tell him about the million journal entries beginning with his name.