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Noise was sucked out of the room, so strikingly that it chilled even Kostya. He watched as Maya’s expression grew more hateful and realized what he’d said a moment too late.
“You arenotlike your father,” he said in an attempt to correct himself. “You could never be. But when you are angry, and you let that anger get the best of you—”
“No.” Maya’s voice was dark and dangerous, and for the first time, Kostya really did see her Popov lineage manifested. “You do not get to say that to me. You do not get to make comparisons like those. Iwalked awayfrom my family, my father. I put an ocean between us and even that didn’t seem far enough. The things he did and condoned—” Maya paused taking a gasping breath, her face flushed. “You are not allowed to come into my home and tell me that I am like my father. I amnot. I willneverbe like him.”
“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”
“No, it was.” Maya’s fists tightened, and Kostya braced himself for an attack. “This is just like what you told me to do with the council. You’re going to keep twisting the knife until you get your way, aren’t you? You’re going to play games with my head, make me believe things that aren’t true, and draw everything I hold dear into question so that you can get your way. Isn’t that right, Kostya?”
“No.” Kostya stood firmly before her, noticing the way she trembled, and aware of the unbridled passion in her voice. The words assaulted his eardrums, but he resisted lashing back. The muscles of his back tightened, and he rolled his shoulders back to dispel some of the discomfort his sudden tension had brought on. He inched toward her, his step strengthening the severity of his tone.
“The Mad Dog of the Sokolov family isn’t only teeth, like your family would have the rest of the world believe, is he?” she asked. Maya stood chest to chest with him now, her rage ever-present. Kostya held himself tight, his body wound for escalating confrontation. He would not fight her, but he wouldn’t let her hurt herself or him, either. “He understands how to twist a man’s mind—how to make him doubt himself, and how to make him yield so that the Sokolovs can get what they want.”
“No.” Kostya thinned his lips. His pulse raced. He was good at what he did, but manipulation wasn’t his area of expertise. And yet, if that was the case, why did it hurt him that she was calling him out for it? Why did it make him feel like a horrible person? He’d never been uncertain of himself before, not even when he’d taken lives. But now, faced down by a beautiful woman with fire in her eyes, he doubted himself.
Suddenly, he felt sick over the choices he had made.
He’dhurther, even if it had been inadvertently. He hadn’t raised a hand against her, but he’d managed to damage her regardless.
What kind of a protector was he?
“Never compare me to a Popov again,” Maya uttered. Her voice rose barely above a whisper, but he heard every syllable crisply. “Never tell me that I’m like my father. I won’t tolerate that. Iwon’t.I’m not a part of your world, and I’llneverbe. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Kostya didn’t break eye contact with her, even though his heart battered his rib cage and his blood rushed through his ears. “You have my apologies, Maya. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Maya looked no less angry than she had before, and the firm tone of her voice led him to believe that she hadn’t accepted his apology. She took a small step back, but the tiny space between them felt like a mile.
Kostya couldn’t let her go.
Not like this.
He stepped forward to close the space between them, cupped her cheek in his hand, and guided her chin upward so that she was forced to look directly into his eyes. Anger still burned in them, but he would extinguish it. He would prove to her that he was sorry.
Without a word, he crushed their lips together and stole her kiss. There were other ways to work out her frustration. He would show her how.
CHAPTER15
Maya
Maya’s fingers curled into the front of Kostya’s shirt, and she found herself simultaneously wanting to push him away and pull him in closer. The kiss was an insult, a way to shut her up and take her mind off her frustrations. She knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to end it. The fire and passion in it spoke to her rage and shaped it into something she’d never imagined it could be—unimpeded want. It cascaded through her until no part of her was left untouched.
Kostya didn’t deserve kindness after what he’d said. Maya had been born a Popov, but while the blood that pumped through her veins was irrevocably tied to that lineage, the heart that pumped her blood wasn’t. She’d seen what her father could do. The evils in his heart weren’t comparable to Kostya, who did what he was told, and used force and took lives when necessary. Her father killed because he wanted to, and sentenced men to death who were innocent because it was advantageous to his desires. Maya had seen it herself—and suffered from his cruelty. He’d put to death people in her life, people she loved and cared for. Old, beloved nannies. Childhood friends who’d happened to see too much. Even her high school sweetheart…
But Kostya, who was told when to pull the trigger or when to cause pain, wasn’t like that. The darkness in his heart was different. Maya had seen into its depth and could see the light around it. What he did, he did out of necessity, and he was not needlessly cruel. He hadn’t killed Michael when the teen had broken into Maya’s flat—Kostya had given him a warning and sent him on his way instead. When he’d discovered that she was a Popov, he hadn’t jumped to conclusions or immediately detained her to use as a bargaining piece against her father. And more than that, when she’d become unruly and explosive, he hadn’t struck her. Instead, he’d shown her patience. He’d listened, and he’d tried to let her see that he had her best interests at heart even if she disagreed with him.
He wouldn’t hurt her. He would never embody the kind of evil she’d grown up around.
And so Maya returned his kiss, her touch every bit as insistent as his. She struggled to gain dominance over him, but although she kissed aggressively and kept her fists locked on Kostya’s shirt, he was the one in control. He set one hand on the small of her back, his fingers dipping down to brush the round of her ass while his other hand secured itself behind her head, his fingers weaving through her short hair making her suddenly wish it was longer, so he could give it a light pull. He moved her backward, slowly enough that the kiss was never broken, and before Maya knew it, they’d reached her bedroom.
Kostya’s fingers sought and found purchase against her short hair and tugged. She moaned into his mouth. Okay, maybe she didn’t need to grow her hair any longer—he was doing just fine with what she had. She nipped at his lips murmuring, “More,” and with a low growl that vibrated against her, he tumbled her down onto the bed with him. The kiss broke then, and Maya gasped. She landed on top of him, but he was quick to roll them over.
If this was what he wanted, she would give it to him. If he thought he was getting a meek, defenseless girl who needed his body to heal her, he was wrong. Maya refused to give in so easily.
She’d show him the passionate, eager, dominant part of her personality. She’d show him exactly how in control she could be.
And when he was done, panting and spent, it would be her looking down at him, letting him know that she didn’t need his help—that he was here because she wanted him to be. That they were equals, even though their paths in life had gone in opposite directions.
She would prove to him that she wasn’t afraid.
