Chapter 7 - Irina
Irina had an education in reading danger that most finishing schools didn’t offer.
She could recognize the difference between casual observation and professional surveillance, could spot the subtle tells that marked someone as a threat rather than just another club-goer.
So when Matvei told her they were being watched, every instinct she’d inherited from her bloodline kicked into high alert.
The two men at the bar weren’t trying to hide their interest, which meant they were either amateurs or confident enough in their abilities that concealment didn’t matter. Neither option was particularly comforting.
“I see them,” she murmured against Matvei’s ear, her lips brushing the sensitive skin there as she spoke.
She felt him tense at the contact, his hands tightening on her waist in a way that had nothing to do with the potential threat and everything to do with the electricity that always seemed to spark between them.
“Good girl,” he said, and the approval in his voice sent an unwelcome thrill down her spine. “Just keep dancing. We need to look natural.”
Natural. As if there was anything natural about the way her body responded to his proximity, the way every point of contact between them seemed to burn with its own heat.
The music pulsed around them, a hypnotic rhythm that made it easy to lose herself in the moment, to forget about watchers and danger and the complicated web of lies that had brought them together.
Matvei moved with surprising grace for a man of his size, guiding her through the steps with the kind of confidence that spoke of extensive practice. His hands were warm and sure on her waist, his body a solid wall of heat and muscle that seemed to dwarf her despite her own considerable height.
“Where did you learn to dance like this?” she asked, genuinely curious despite their circumstances.
“My mother,” he said, and something in his voice made her look up at him sharply. “She insisted all her children learn proper ballroom technique. Said it was essential for business.”
The mention of his mother was unexpected, a glimpse into a more human side of the man who’d bought her at auction.
Before she could respond, the crowd around them shifted, pressing closer as more dancers flooded onto the floor.
The movement pushed her fully against Matvei, eliminating any pretense of space between their bodies.
The contact was electric. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips aligned with his, every inch of her front molded to his larger frame.
She could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt, could smell the expensive cologne that couldn’t quite mask the purely masculine scent underneath.
“Irina.” Her name escaped his lips like a prayer or a curse, his hands sliding lower on her waist to grip her hips. The movement brought her even closer, close enough that she could feel the evidence of his arousal through their clothes.
The knowledge that she affected him as much as he affected her was intoxicating.
For weeks, she’d been trying to maintain some semblance of control in their twisted relationship, trying to prove that she was more than just a pawn in his game.
But here, now, pressed against him in the darkness of the club, control felt like an abstract concept.
The music shifted to something slower, more sensual, and Matvei’s movements adapted accordingly.
His hands guided her hips in a rhythm that had nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with the age-old push and pull between man and woman.
She could feel the heat of his palms through the thin fabric of her dress, could imagine how they would feel against her bare skin.
“We should go,” he said, but his voice was rough with desire, and his hands made no move to release her.
“Should we?” The question came out breathier than she’d intended, her voice betraying the effect he was having on her.
In response, he spun her around so her back was pressed against his chest, his arms crossing over her stomach to hold her in place. The position was intimate, possessive, and completely inappropriate for their public setting. It was also the most aroused she’d ever been in her life.
His lips found her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke. “The watchers are still here. We need to maintain our cover.”
Cover. Right. They were playing a role, pretending to be a couple in love rather than two people trapped in a marriage neither of them had wanted. The reminder should have been sobering, should have helped her regain some of her equilibrium.
Instead, it only made the fantasy more intoxicating.
His hips moved against her from behind, the motion subtle enough to look like dancing but intimate enough to make her gasp. She could feel every inch of him pressed against her, could feel the way his breathing had quickened to match her own.
“Matvei,” she whispered, not sure if she was asking him to stop or begging him to continue.
“I know,” he said, and his voice was strained with the effort of maintaining control. “I know, sweetheart. Just a little longer.”
The endearment, spoken with such raw honesty, nearly undid her completely. This wasn’t part of their act, nor was it for the benefit of any watchers. This was real, whatever was happening between them, and that knowledge was more dangerous than any professional surveillance.
The crowd pressed closer, forcing them into even more intimate contact.
Matvei’s hands splayed across her stomach, his fingers dangerously close to the sensitive skin just below her breasts.
She could feel his restraint in the careful way he held her, the visible effort it took for him to maintain the pretense of dancing rather than claiming her mouth the way his body was clearly demanding.
“We need to go,” he said again, but this time there was urgency in his voice that had nothing to do with their watchers and everything to do with the way she was grinding back against him with increasing abandon.
“Yes,” she agreed, though whether she was agreeing to leave or to something else entirely, she wasn’t sure.
Somehow, he managed to navigate them through the crowd without breaking the intimate contact between their bodies.
His hands never left her, his touch burning through the thin fabric of her dress as he guided her toward the exit.
She was dimly aware of passing the bar where their watchers had been stationed, but her entire focus was consumed by the man behind her, by the way his presence seemed to overwhelm every other sensation.
The cool night air hit her like a slap when they finally emerged from the club, shocking her back to some semblance of awareness. Matvei’s hands were still on her waist, still holding her against him, but the spell that had held them both captive on the dance floor was beginning to fracture.
“The watchers?” she asked, proud of how steady her voice sounded despite the chaos raging inside her.
“Still inside,” he said, finally releasing her so she could turn to face him. “We managed to slip away without them noticing.”
In the harsh light of the street lamps, she could see the evidence of their encounter written across his features. His hair was mussed from her fingers, his eyes dark with unsatisfied desire, his mouth set in a hard line that spoke of barely leashed control.
“Who do you think they were?” she asked, grateful for the distraction of business talk.
“Could be anyone.” He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying more agitation than his calm voice suggested.
“My family has a lot of enemies, Irina. More than your brothers realize. Sometimes it’s best to slip away from suspicious situations rather than wait to find out if they’re actually threats. ”
The admission was surprisingly honest, a glimpse into the reality of his world that he’d never shared before. It also reminded her forcibly of why she was here, what her ultimate goal was supposed to be.
The drive home was tense with unspoken desire and the weight of everything that had almost happened between them. Matvei kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched with visible effort, while Irina stared out the window and tried to make sense of her own tangled emotions.
She was supposed to hate him. He’d bought her, forced her into marriage, disrupted her entire life for his own selfish purposes.
The fact that her body responded to his touch didn’t change any of that.
If anything, it made the situation more dangerous, more complicated than she’d ever imagined it could be.
By the time they reached the mansion, the silence between them had stretched to the breaking point. Matvei walked her to the front door with the kind of formal politeness that felt like a slap after the intimacy they’d shared on the dance floor.
“Goodnight, Irina,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
“Goodnight,” she replied, then watched him disappear into his study without a backward glance.
Alone in her room, Irina found herself pacing like a caged animal.
Her skin still tingled where he’d touched her, her body still thrummed with unsatisfied arousal, and her mind raced with questions she couldn’t answer.
What had happened in that club? What did it mean?
And why did she feel like she was losing herself in a game she’d thought she understood?
She needed a distraction. Something to remind her of who she was and why she was here.
The mansion was quiet as she slipped out of her room, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. Matvei’s study was dark, no light visible under the door, which meant he’d probably retreated to his room for the night. Perfect.