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“Let them see how your husband affects you. How much you crave his cock. Don’t you, lastochka?”
My pussy clenches thinking about his dirty words whispered against my skin in a roomful of people. He’s finally abandoned his suit jacket and his tailored white shirt is casually unbuttoned at the top, with sleeves pushed up to his elbows revealing powerful forearms. The way he sits back, knees apart, causingthe fabric of his pants to pull taut... My goodness, is it hot in here?
As if he senses me staring, his intense eyes connect with mine. An amused expression hints he's aware I was enjoying the view. I glare back at him.
I’d like to say I didn’t appreciate his wandering lips and hands, but it wouldn’t be true. I may hate him, but my body did not get the memo.
I’ve missed everything Grigor has said to me in the last two minutes, but I do catch him saying, “You must see this Valentin Serov piece.”
He gently takes my elbow, guiding me towards the foyer, where several art pieces adorn the walls. Among them are some rare Russian masterpieces.
God, I had no idea the mayor was so stinking rich, but then again, if Pyotr is doing business with Maxim, it means he has his hands in all kinds of pots. As we’re admiring the Serov painting, a slithery presence enters into the room.
I know immediately who I will find when I turn around. The creepy-ass mayor who has been throwing me lusty looks all night. Even if he’s a sleazeball, he’s also the man I need to talk with if I'm going to learn about Maxim’s involvement in my aunt’s death. Maxim warned me against being alone with him, but I can handle myself. I’ve certainly dealt with my fair share of assholes.
Anatoly’s revelation still burns beneath my skin. Why would Maxim neglect to tell me about his connection to my father? I know we haven’t had deep talks, but it’s highly suspect that this never came up between us.
Turning on a megawatt smile, I turn to the mayor approaching us and carrying two full glasses of champagne.
“I noticed your hands were empty, my dear.” He passes me one of the glasses and keeps the other for himself. “We can’t have that.”
“Thank you. So thoughtful,” I say, trying not to puke in my mouth. “About that antique sword collection—I’d love to see it if you have the time.”
The man’s eyes widen like he won the lottery. “I’d like nothing more.”
Grigor clears his throat. “I’d be interested in taking a look myself if you don’t mind?—”
“Sorry, not much room down there.” Pyotr shrugs. “I try to control the humidity. Too many bodies… You know how it is.”
Grigor shoots me a concerned look, but I don’t want him to worry so I wink and murmur so only he can hear, “If I’m not back in twenty minutes, send help.” It’s a joke meant to disarm him, but Grigor laughs nervously.
Great.
Pyotr leads me down a long flight of stairs, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway. We arrive at a heavy wooden door that Pyotr pushes open to reveal a cozy room with an arched ceiling. Swords of every size, shape, and vintage are hung meticulously.
Maybe it would be kind of cool if the mayor wasn’t standing so close to me I can feel his breath on my neck. I move further into the room, wanting to put as much space as possible between us.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Pyotr walks slowly along the display, a reverent touch on each piece, as I feign interest. "Each sword has a story, a part of our rich history."
"It's magnificent,” I say with forced enthusiasm, which naturally Pyotr takes to mean I want to hear the history of each piece.
Twenty minutes later, I know more about Damascus steel sabers and the curved Cossack shashkas, than I’ll ever need to.
“Come sit. Let’s have a drink.” Pyotr gestures to the far side of the room, where a little sitting area is set up—a plush burgundy sofa in front of a grand fireplace.
The mayor moves to a small bar cart and pours two glasses of amber-hued cognac. Not that I have any intention of drinking around him—I’ve long abandoned the champagne from earlier. But this is my chance to pump the man for information, so I lower myself onto the cushion.
No sooner have I made myself comfortable than Pyotr is right beside me, handing me a glass. His proximity is unsettling; he sits too close, his thigh almost touching mine.
There’s an intensity in his eyes as he raises his glass for a toast. “To new friendships,” he says, his voice low and too intimate. “Now, I want to hear all about you. Maxim has said very little about his new bride.”
I smile demurely. “Oh, I’m not very interesting. But since you’re such good friends with my husband, I was hoping you can tell me more about him. He’s so tightly guarded, even with me.”
The mayor chortles. "That's Maxim for you, a mystery. But I'd be more than happy to help in any way I can..." His fingers brush lightly along my leg.
I have to suppress a shudder of revulsion. His touch elicits the exact opposite effect of Maxim's.
I clear my throat and shift out of his reach. “I hear nothing happens in this city without Maxims’ approval, is that true?”
