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“Now that looks hot and all, but should you two maybe get a cabin?”
Ruslan’s mocking drawl jolts me out of my sensual trance. Stiffening, I step back and, for lack of anything better to do, throw the coverup that I’m still clutching onto one of the lounge chairs. Alexei is already on his feet, glaring at his brother, who’s standing a few feet away and smirking for all he’s worth. Like Alexei, he’s changed out of his formal suit and into a T-shirt and pair of swimming trunks. He must be planning to swim as well.
“I’ll do my face,” I say tightly, reaching for the bottle of sunblock in Alexei’s hands.
He lets me have it this time, and I swiftly pat the cream onto my cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin before carefully rubbing it in. I don’t really care if I mess up my makeup now—I’m about to get my face wet anyway—but old habits die hard.
“Why the fuck are you here? Don’t you have some work to do in your cabin?” Alexei growls, eyeing his brother like he wants to give him a shiner.
Speaking of which, is that a bruise I see on Ruslan’s jaw?
“Nah,” Ruslan says. “Nothing that can’t wait until I’m back home. I overhead you two planning a swim, and it sounded like a great idea to me, so I figured I’d join you.”
My ears perk up. He’s returning to Moscow? How? In a casual, almost disinterested tone, I ask, “And when are you going home?”
Alexei’s brother grins at me sharply. “Eager to get rid of me? Fear not, I’ll leave you to your honeymoon as soon as—”
“Ruslan.” Alexei’s voice is like the crack of a whip. “Take a dive, will you?”
“Gladly.” Ruslan pulls off his shirt with the lazy confidence of a man who’s supremely fit and knows it.
As he strolls past me, I see that his body is similarly proportioned to Alexei’s and just as muscular, albeit with fewer tattoos. Yet I don’t feel any of that discomfiting desire that makes every minute in my new husband’s company a special kind of torture. I suppose that makes sense. I’ve been around plenty of handsome, well-built men, and none of them have lit the slightest bit of spark in me. The rich boys at my boarding school had access to the best personal trainers and dieticians, not to mention plastic surgeons, yet they might as well have been Ken dolls for all the attraction I experienced. Same goes for the guys I met in college. Of course, by then, I knew Alexei was stalking me, so that might’ve influenced my feelings.
It’s hard to be attracted to a man when you know he’s likely to end up dead because of it.
I must’ve been staring at Ruslan while lost in my musings because as soon as he scales the starboard ladder and executes a perfect dive off the top rung, Alexei grips my arm and drags me closer, dipping his head to bring his lips to my ear. His voice is barbed wire wrapped in silk as he whispers, “Like what you see?”
Before I can respond, he spins me to face him. His jaw is clenched tight, a tiny muscle ticking by his ear as he transfers his grip to my nape and leans in, his eyes coal black as he bites out, “My brother—and every other man—is off limits to you. Do you understand?”
My heartbeat leaps, a chill spreading over my skin at the lethal fury in his gaze. Yet some devil prods me to retort, “Or what? You’ll kill your brother like you killed Josh and that guy in Bali? It was no accident he went over the cliff on his scooter, was it?”
Alexei’s hand tightens on my nape, his fingers biting painfully into my skin as he grips my hip with his other hand. “No.” The word, barely audible, emerges through gritted teeth as he lowers his face until his mouth is barely an inch from mine. “It fucking wasn’t.”
His lips crash against mine, the kiss hard and bruising. It speaks of possession more than desire, of violence rather than lust. Yet a familiar fire streaks through my veins, the smoldering embers of need inside me igniting into flames that scorch everything I am. By the time he lifts his head, I’m clinging to him, weak and breathless, trembling with need. He’s breathing hard as well, his expression still dark, still dangerously possessive.
Shifting his hand to my face, he presses his thumb against my swollen lips. “This is mine.” His voice is a rough, animalistic growl. “And this”—he wedges his other hand between my thighs, palming my sex through my swimsuit with a hard pressure that makes me gasp—“is most definitely mine.”
Before I can respond to that crude statement, he lets me go and steps back. Pulling off his shirt in one swift motion, he drops it onto a lounge chair, strides over to the ladder, and dives overboard with the same effortless athleticism as his brother.
