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A chill breeze blew over the terrace, reminding her that it was October. The lake was beautiful, but it made for a frigid wind in winter, even with the sun, which was probably why several patio heaters dotted the terrace. She would order some blankets as well, thick wool ones they could keep handy for colder weather. That way she could take her coffee on the patio year round.
She rubbed her arms and hurried back into the house. She followed the sound of running water to the kitchen, where she found Zoya making her a cup of coffee.
“Quite a view, isn’t it?” Zoya asked, pushing the cup across the granite countertop.
Kira took it and sipped, sighing with pleasure. Was there anything better than good black coffee?
“It’s amazing,” Kira admitted, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know how he did it.”
“How who did what?” Zoya asked, wiping down the counter.
“Lyonya.” She looked around at the gourmet kitchen: two sinks, custom cabinets and commercial grade appliances, designer light fixtures, and always, the wall of glass that made her feel like she was perched on top of the world. “This place must have cost a fortune.”
“Psh,” Zoya said. “You ask this when you know your father’s business?”
Kira shrugged. “My father is — was — pakhan. Lyon was a brigadier, and that was before he was assigned to Yakov’s detail.”
Brigadiers could make a lot of money running crews of their own. They were assigned holdings by the boss — clubs and restaurants that were really money-laundering operations, bookmaking operations, construction jobs that were heavily padded to allow for the payoff to the bratva, oil and gas schemes that skimmed money to the brigadier, who kicked a portion up to the pakhan and organization at large.
But not this kind money.
Plus, many of Lyonya’s holdings had been transferred when he’d been assigned to Yakov’s security detail. He’d been compensated for some of it in the form of a “salary,” but not enough to explain the penthouse that occupied two floors in the luxury Old Town Park building.
“Best not to ask these questions.” Zoya studied her. “Until you become close to your new husband anyway.”
Kira sighed and set down the coffee cup. “We’re not going to become close, Zoya. It’s not that kind of marriage remember? We’re business partners.”
“All the more reason to become close,” Zoya said.
“No thanks.” She didn’t want to be close to Lyonya.
The thought of him stirred something in her core and she pushed it aside. That kind of close didn’t count. That was biology. Pure animalistic urge. It wasn’t a foundation of trust and respect. Those things felt out of reach forever with the man she’d married.
Zoya scowled her disapproval. “What is it they say here? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“And what if I don’t want a fly?” Kira asked.
Zoya opened her mouth to speak, then closed it as footsteps sounded in the living room. A moment later, Lyonya appeared in the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he said to Kira before turning his gaze on Zoya. “Good morning, Zoya.”
“Good morning,” Zoya said.
The sight of him shook Kira’s earlier resolve. It wasn’t yet eleven in the morning, but he’d obviously been out, his dark hair tousled by the wind, his cheeks slightly flushed. The jacket of his suit pulled at the seams when he reached into one of the cupboards for a mug, and she had to look away when it revealed a tight, muscled ass under the tailored trousers.
Dammit it all. Why did he have to be so attractive?
She suddenly wished she’d had one last sexual hurrah before her marriage. Maybe that would have assuaged the desire assaulting her body
Zoya smirked, as if she knew exactly where Kira’s mind had been. “I have some arrangements to make for the delivery of your things.”
Traitor, Kira thought as Zoya left them alone.
Lyonya started the espresso maker, then turned to look at her. “Has everything met to your liking?”
“Everything is fine,” Kira said, careful to keep her voice even.
“Good.” He waited for the espresso machine to stop sputtering and removed the cup. He lifted it to his lips, and she remembered the feel of them on her cheek the night before, how warm they’d been, how she’d imagined his mouth between her thighs.
