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Damn him. The flush spreads down to my neck and chest, and my breasts suddenly feel constricted, overly confined by the bra I’m wearing. The lacy fabric rubs against my peaked nipples, irritating them, and my thong feels uncomfortably damp. Unable to bear his dark, mocking stare, I return my gaze to my plate and focus on devouring the caviar sandwich, even though food is the last thing I want.
“You asked your professors for an extension on your final papers and exams,” he says, his tone turning grim. Startled, I look up at him as he continues. “It was the worst migraine attack you’d had in years, so bad you didn’t come out of your apartment for a week after the premiere. You barely got your schoolwork done in time for your graduation.”
I nod slowly. I should be surprised or outraged that he knows, but I’m too used to his stalking. “So that’s why you stayed away for the next two years?”
He regards me over the rim of his glass. “It triggered you, our little encounter that night. Undid a lot of the progress you’d made. That’s how I knew you weren’t ready.”
“How considerate of you.”
My words drip with bitterness, but he just takes a sip of his champagne and sets down the glass, his expression unchanged. “I knew there would come a day when things would be different,” he says as the yacht pitches sideways from a particularly strong wave. Casually steadying the glass before it tips over, he continues. “I knew you would recover, and once you did, I’d be there, waiting. Not that it was easy to be patient.”
“Oh, really? You want a cookie? Should I pat you on the head for your restraint?”
A wicked smile stretches his lips. “You can pat me anywhere you want, Alinyonok. All of my heads are quite eager for your touch.”
The flush assaults my face again, and my inner muscles clench on a sweet, sharp ache. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him. It’s his fault I’m so fucking inexperienced that his innuendos make me blush. His fault I’ve never even truly flirted with a guy, instead putting up a cool, untouchable façade at all the parties and social events.Ice Princess, they’ve started calling me in recent years, and I wish I could be that. I wish I could turn off the sexual part of me, the part onlyhehas ever been able to ignite.
“Fuck you,” is the bright response I manage, and he lets out a low, rough laugh.
“Soon,” he promises, reaching for a caviar sandwich of his own. “Right after this meal, in fact. It’s time we finished what we started last winter… long past time, don’t you think?”
Chapter20
9 Months Earlier, Moscow
Ihate December in Russia. I used to love it, with all the New Year’s decorations on the streets and the festive atmosphere in all the shops and restaurants, but ever since the winter my parents died, I’ve despised this month. Normally, I go away somewhere, like Greece or Turkey or the Cayman Islands, but for some reason, Nikolai demanded that our entire family gather today at his loft, forcing me to cut my Switzerland ski trip short.
I especially don’t want to be in Moscow because I knowhewill be here.
Alexei.
I haven’t seen him in person since Risha’s New York premiere, but I know he tracks my every move. His men are always there in the background, watching, waiting. For what, I don’t know, but I’ve grown so used to their silent, hidden presence that it’s as if they were my own bodyguards. What amazes me is that my bodyguards don’t seem to be aware of them. Well, for the most part. A couple of times, Vankov did raise an alarm after spotting someone following me, but he’s never been able to catch anyone.
Alexei’s men are good.
After my last encounter with him, I was so sure he was going to push for more that I decided to finally talk to my brothers and seek their help. I kept procrastinating on it, though, and as weeks stretched into months, I realized that my fears were groundless. Alexei isn’t done playing this strange, remote cat-and-mouse game with me. He hasn’t left me alone—if anything, I’ve been spotting more of his men around me—but he has stayed away, letting me go about my life without interference.
It’s helped that I’ve done my best to avoid being where he is. After getting blindsided by his appearance in New York, I’ve been discreetly keeping tabs on his movements. While my brothers inherited the bulk of our parents’ wealth, I have plenty of my own money, and I used a portion of it to hire a PI firm that my brothers know nothing about. The firm’s job is to keep me informed about all things Alexei Leonov, which is how I know that for the past year and a half, he’s been traveling all over Central Asia and the Middle East, building out the Leonov empire. And this is also how I know that last week, he returned from Tajikistan to attend the funeral of his younger sister, Ksenia, who was killed in a car crash, leaving behind a young son.
It’s an awful tragedy for the Leonov family, and as much as I despise Alexei, I can’t help but sympathize with the pain he must be feeling. I can’t imagine losing any of my brothers. All week long, I’ve been battling a bizarre urge to reach out to him and… do something. Express my condolences, maybe? Say I’m sorry for his loss?
No, that can’t be right. I know better than anyone how pointless such platitudes are, how more often than not, they add salt to a raw, gaping wound. So I don’t know what it is that I want to do, but the urge is like an itch under my skin, invading my thoughts at random moments during the day and keeping me awake at night. The last thing I need is to be in the same city with Alexei, lest I give in to this urge in a moment of weakness.
Fortunately, I’m not in danger of doing anything stupid tonight because I have to hurry to Nikolai’s place. Whatever he wants must be serious because while my middle brother has taken on the role of the de facto head of the family, he’s never mandated a family meeting before.
Everybody is already gathered in the living room by the time I walk into Nikolai’s luxurious, modern loft. I like it more than the penthouse I’ve inherited from our parents, but I’d never tell Nikolai that. For the past few years, he’s been pressuring me to move in with him or one of my other brothers, but I refuse to live my life under their watchful eyes. It’s bad enough that Pavel and Lyudmila, who still reside with me, report to my brothers on everything I feel and do. Living with Nikolai would be an especially bad idea, as we haven’t gotten along since that night.
I can’t forget what I saw him do, and he knows that.
He knows what I see when I look at him, and he hates it.
“Cognac?” Valery offers after the obligatory greetings, and I nod, sitting down on a loveseat across from my brothers. It’s extra cold outside tonight, and I could use a drink to warm my insides.
“So,” Nikolai says after we’re all seated with drinks in hand. He looks oddly tense, even though his voice is level. “As you might’ve heard, Ksenia Leonova died last week.”
I freeze with the glass halfway to my mouth, even as my pulse jumps through the roof. Is this about Alexei? Is he about to tell me that the betrothal—
“None of us knew her,” Nikolai continues evenly. “She didn’t appear in society much—or so we thought. Turns out, she’d attended at least one event where our paths crossed.” He fixes his gaze on Valery. “Your twenty-second birthday celebration, about five years ago.”
