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He was intimidating at nineteen. Now, at thirty, he’s a force to be reckoned with.
“Where are we?” I ask as evenly as I can. I don’t want to delve deeper into the “my cabin” bit, don’t want to think about what he means by that. I have a feeling I’ll find out soon enough, but in the meantime, I need to get my bearings.
“We’re on a boat,” he answers, his eyes gleaming sardonically. “My boat.”
I clench my jaw. “And where is the fucking boat?”
He tsk-tsks. “Such language.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh, absolutely.” He grins, flashing sharp teeth that appear extra white against the deep tan of his olive-hued skin. The Leonovs have some Sicilian blood in them, and it shows. His eyes rake over me, lingering on the spot where my hands are clutching the towel in a death grip. “Very soon.”
My body goes simultaneously hot and cold, and I take an involuntary step back.
It’s a mistake. Like a predator reacting to fleeing prey, he comes after me, advancing with lethally soft strides until he’s right in front of me, so close I can smell his richly masculine cologne, with its signature notes of pine and leather. And ocean surf. The fresh, salty tang emanating from his skin is new, and it reminds me of where we are and how inescapable my new prison is.
Swallowing hard, I stare up into his hard-featured face as he lifts his hand and brushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. His touch burns like fire, adding to the turmoil inside me.
“My sweet beauty,” he says softly. “Still think you can delay this, do you?”
I dampen my dry lips. I’m shaking deep inside, and I don’t know if it’s from trepidation or from the infernal heat consuming me. “I need more time. Please.”
His eyes are almost pure black. “I’ve given you a decade.”
Yes, he has. But it’s not enough. A hundred years wouldn’t be enough, and he knows it. What he wants is everything I fear and dread.
“Please,” I try again, and whether it’s the word itself or the tremor in my voice, his answering headshake is almost regretful. Almost sympathetic—even as his words slay me with all the mercilessness with which he murdered my brother’s guards.
“No more waiting, Alinyonok.” Covering my clenched hands with his big palms, he gently pries my fingers open, one by one, until the towel covering my body is held up only by the corner I tucked into the material over my breasts. I can feel it slowly slipping out, unraveling on its own, but he doesn’t wait. Capturing both of my hands in one of his, he tugs on the towel, helping it along until it drops on the floor, leaving me standing naked in front of him.
The cool air flows over my freshly washed skin, adding to the sensation of icy-hot needles piercing my flesh and, perversely, the liquid heat gathering between my thighs. My nipples contract into stiff, aching points, and I have to fight not to sway helplessly toward him as he bends his head and imprints the words onto my ear with his warm breath. “It’s time you held up your end of our bargain.”
Chapter6
10 Years and 1 Month Earlier, Moscow
Two weeks at home. That’s all I have to tolerate this summer, thank fuck. Now that I’ve turned fifteen, Mama lets me travel with my friends—and our bodyguards, of course—and I spent all of June, July, and half of August exploring Italy, Greece, Spain, and France. I would’ve gladly continued on to Iceland with Natasha, but for some reason, my parents insisted that I return to Moscow—probably so I could witness more of their epic fights.
I try not to dwell on that, on the animosity between them that seems to grow every day, but it’s impossible to ignore. I’ve been home less than a week, and I’ve already caught Mama crying twice. Papa isn’t much better. He’s drinking. And not the kind of drinking he’s always done, where it’s a glass or two of cognac after dinner or a few shots of vodka at a party. No, every day this summer, Papa has been drunk from noon onward—and I can’t help but wonder if it’s my fault.
Yesterday, through the vents in my bedroom, I heard Mama screaming at him, and I caught my name being mentioned. Why, I don’t know, but I suspect it has something to do with what happened to Dan over the winter holidays. I didn’t tell anyone in my family about receiving Dan’s ring, but somehow, my father and my brothers found out. Most likely, Lyudmila, Natasha’s housekeeper, said something to my guards. Or to Pavel.
Apparently, he’s been seeing her for the past year. Mama told me so yesterday.
I don’t want to think about Pavel with Lyudmila, or about anything to do with that winter break. It’s been less than a month since I’ve stopped waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare where Dan’s corpse emerges from the Moscow River and waddles toward me, hands waving—minus the finger with the ring. Not that I have any reason to think he’s in the river. His body hasn’t been found, though I don’t know if anyone has really looked.
After my father confronted me about the ring and the note, I had no choice but to tell him the full story, including the part about Dan’s advances. Papa was beyond furious. A vase might’ve gone flying at one point. Unfortunately, most of his fury was directed not at me, but at my mom, for hiring Dan and making me take lessons with him. No matter how much I protested thatIwas the one at fault for not speaking up, Papa wouldn’t listen.
Their fight that day was so awful I’ve blocked it out of my mind. Unfortunately, I can’t block out the soul-crushing knowledge that a man I knew is dead because of me.
Alexei Leonov killed him.
I still don’t understand his motivation. Not for that note, not for any of it. Nor do I understand Papa’s reaction to Alexei’s involvement. All three of my brothers were enraged to learn that Alexei took this upon himself instead of letting our family handle it, but Papa was strangely calm about it. “I’ll talk to him,” was all he said, and that was the last I heard of it.
I wish I could be that chill, but I’m not. Knowing that it was Alexei who made my tutor disappear torments me nearly as much as my guilt over Dan’s death. Yes, Dan was a creep, but he didn’t deserve whatever befell him at Alexei’s hands. And itwasAlexei’s hands—that note made it crystal clear.
Why did he send it along with the ring? Even if he thought Dan deserved to be killed for touching me, why did he do it himself instead of simply saying something to my family?
