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It’s twisted. It’s wrong. I know that, but I can’t help it.
My body and heart refuse to sync with my head.
He catches my gaze on him, and his tiger eyes grow hooded, filled with unmistakable dark heat. My pulse spikes further, my breath hitching as I look away. However much I want him, he wants me even more. And his desire is not of the soft and sweet variety. I felt the savage urgency in him today, the need to dominate and conquer. If not for my injuries, he would’ve taken me right then and there, on the leaf-strewn dirt. And he wouldn’t have been gentle, either.
When we have sex again, it will be devastating for me, both physically and mentally, and the only way to prevent it from happening is to stay out of his reach—an impossibility in my current situation. Even if I were willing to risk an encounter with a new set of Bransford’s goons, Nikolai won’t let me leave.
For the first time, I allow myself to think about the future and what it holds. Will Nikolai ever let me go? And if he does, will I ever be safe? If Tom Bransford does indeed want me dead, what’s to stop him from coming after me again and again? Judging by the polls, he’s most likely going to be his party’s nominee. If he then wins the general election, there will be almost no limits to his power—not that there are many limits now.
Raised voices pull me out of my dark ruminations. It’s Alina and Nikolai, having what sounds like an argument in Russian. I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t notice the strained atmosphere at the table, but there’s no missing it now.
Brother and sister are clearly at loggerheads, and Slava is watching them, his golden eyes wide with curiosity—and more than a hint of worry.
I tug on his sleeve. “Hey. What do we call this in English?” I point at the tomato on his plate.
He blinks up at me.
“We just learned it this morning, remember?” He still looks clueless, so I decide to give him a hint. “It’s a vegetable that we call the to—”
“Tomato!” he exclaims, beaming up at me.
“That’s right.” Grinning, I fluff his silky hair. My goal was to distract him from the adults’ argument, but it looks like my interference has ended the argument altogether, with Alina and Nikolai turning their attention to us instead.
“He’s learning so fast,” I say, and Slava proudly puffs out his chest as Alina gives him a warm smile and says something that sounds like praise in Russian.
“We should speak English to him.” Nikolai’s tone still holds a bite. “At least when Chloe is around. He’ll learn even faster that way.”
Alina’s lips tighten, but she nods. “As you wish. He’s your son.”
I’m beyond curious to know what their argument was about, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there. Instead, I ask Alina how she normally celebrates her birthday, and she entertains me with descriptions of trips to exotic locales and lavish parties in Moscow, the latter attended by all sorts of glitterati.
“Wait, back up,” I say when she casually mentions how one movie star passed out on her yacht during a birthday bash in Mykonos. “You know Hollywood celebs?”
She laughs. “Not all of them, obviously, but some. They’re people too, you know. Nothing special in the grand scheme of things.”
Not special to her, maybe, but I’m fascinated. I make her tell me all about her famous friends and acquaintances, and before I know it, we’re wrapping up the meal. Which is good—because even TMZ-worthy stories about misbehaving celebs haven’t lessened my awareness of Nikolai and his intent, unwavering focus on me.
Throughout the entire meal, he’s been watching me with the lethal patience of a predator, one who knows it’s only a matter of time before he consumes his prey.
Our eyes meet as we get up from the table, and I look away again, my skin tingling as my pulse jumps uncontrollably.
This is bad. I’ve been counting on at least a few more days of Nikolai restraining himself, but I don’t think I’ll get nearly that much time. Another day, maybe, if I’m lucky.
If not, I’ll end up in his bed tonight.
“Let’s go to your room,” I tell Slava, trying to ignore the flush heating my entire body. “We can play Batman and Robin—or Batman and Superman.”
The child eagerly grabs my hand, and we walk out of the dining room together as Nikolai and Alina start what sounds like another argument in Russian.
15
Nikolai
“I’m telling you, you cannot keep her in the dark,” Alina says again as Chloe and my son disappear from view. “It’s her father. She deserves to know what you’re planning.”
Fucking Pavel. He’s told Lyudmila about Bransford, and she, naturally, couldn’t resist spilling the beans to my sister—who’s again determined to have a say in a matter that doesn’t concern her.
