33. Natasha
33
NATASHA
“ Y ou look stunning,” Tatiana observes as she leans against my door jamb and crosses her arms over her chest. It makes her cleavage jaw-dropping, and though I’m sure she doesn’t mean to do it, she makes my attempt at dressing up look like child’s play.
Wearing a floral-embroidered, dusty-blue silk dress with a high collar and a plunging keyhole neckline, she’s showing off all her assets and, at the same time, calling attention to the intense blue of her eyes. Her hair is piled on top of her head, with several silky curls hanging loose to frame her face.
Meanwhile, I’m wearing a strappy metallic-gold bodycon dress with a ruched waistline and a high slit up the side of one thigh. And though I would never admit it, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of Killian when I picked it out. Wondering if it might catch his eye and hoping it won’t at the same time.
It’s been over a week since I last saw him—after the night I fell asleep in his bed and woke up the next morning wrapped in his strong arms.
And since then, he hasn’t strayed far from my mind.
Despite my best efforts.
But no matter what I try, he continues to come to mind at the most inconvenient moments. When I’m halfway into a dream state late at night. While I’m handling business for my father—and my newest victim is still gasping his last breaths. As I finally reach the point of desperation and need to relieve the tension from my suddenly uncomfortable abstinence, he’s there…
Killian’s laughing green eyes and wolfish grin appear in my mind’s eye at the worst times, making it impossible to forget about him. Which is why I have nervous butterflies fluttering in my stomach in anticipation of tonight.
There’s a good chance he’ll be at the charity event Mother’s putting on to support bringing clean water to Africa. Most high-society New Yorkers are expected to attend, and while Killian might seem a little rowdy and rough around the edges, he’s still considered high society by most social standards.
Which means I’ll likely bump into him at some point this evening. And while I know I need to keep my distance, I can’t help wishing—if just for a moment—that I might catch his eye.
I’m dreading the possibility that he might have another woman on his arm. After all, a week is practically an eternity for an eligible bachelor with a sexual appetite like Killian’s. When I stopped coming around, he easily could have decided to move on, to find a new woman to meet his needs.
It’s for the best if he has.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
And still, it sends a stabbing sense of loss into my chest every time the thought passes through my mind.
“Thanks, you too,” I say, smiling at my sister even as I resign myself to playing second fiddle to her in the beauty department—a position I really don’t mind.
There’s only one person whose attention I crave anyhow. And he’s about as off-limits as a man can get. So, tonight, I’ll do my best to play my part and be the Russian Bratva princess the world thinks I am.
“You ready to go?” Tatiana asks, pushing off from the doorway and turning toward the hall.
“Yep.” Rising from my vanity chair, I join her, looping my arm through the crook of her elbow.
I’m grateful to Tatiana. She’s a good older sister. Without needing to be asked, she’s been more present for me this past week. While we haven’t spoken about Killian again since she brought me to my senses, I know she’s worried about me.
And possibly reconsidering our conversation in the larger context of my emotional fallout. Because quitting Killian cold turkey has proven far more challenging than I ever could have imagined.
Without our late-night visits, I find the world a much colder, less welcoming place. As if the humor was somehow sucked out of it overnight. And I know Tatiana’s keeping a closer eye on me both to ensure I don’t relapse and do something stupid as well as to ensure I’m okay.
And I appreciate that she lets silence linger between us as we descend to the main living space of our family penthouse.
Mother and Papa are already waiting for us in the entry, our father looking dapper in a black tux while our mother is as elegant as ever dressed in a modest yet chic wine-colored long-sleeve mermaid dress. They’re both smiling, and I work up the effort to fake a smile back. From the way my mother’s lips droop slightly at the corners, I know I must not be very convincing.
Together, we head down to the ball as a family, riding the elevator in near silence, except for Mother’s sporadic reminders of which donors are most likely to be talked into a more generous mindset.
Then it’s time to mingle and entertain our guests as they filter in the grand ballroom of Central Park Tower where our family regularly hosts events just like these. It’s a steady flow of New York celebrities and high-society folk, all here to enhance their image through elaborate displays of generosity.
It’s a mind-numbing procession of one plastic face after another, and I take a back seat, letting Tatiana take the lead. Smiling and nodding, I pretend to be the quiet, younger Sokolov daughter who struggles to make eye contact for long.
And then, all at once, I feel the room’s gravity shift as the scent of eucalyptus and leather fills my nose. I breathe deeply on instinct, dragging the scent further into my lungs as it effortlessly awakens my soul.
My eyes lift, my head turning as I sense a looming presence behind me.
Then strong fingers brush the inside of my elbow, and goosebumps burst to life across my skin. “You look beautiful, love,” Killian murmurs so close to my ear that only I can hear.
I gasp, my attention snapping to the man who owns me, body and soul. And when I meet his laughing green eyes, warmth floods my core.
“Natasha,” Tatiana says severely, bringing me crashing back to reality.
“Excuse me,” I say breathily, my flight instinct triggered because I can’t stand and fight right here in the middle of a crowded room.
My sister’s gaze turns concerned, her eyes flicking in Killian’s direction. But I’m not ready to face him. I can’t. Instead, I spin on my heel and make a beeline for the restrooms.
Heels snapping sharply against the marble floor, I practically run in my desperation to get away. And I weave in and out of the growing crowd, ignoring people’s enthusiastic greetings as I narrowly avoid brushing shoulders with several of them.
As soon as I reach the ladies’ room, I yank the door open, slip inside, and despite the fact that there are several stalls in the bathroom, I bolt the door behind me. Then I make my way to the row of sinks. Planting my palms on the cold stainless-steel counter, I breathe heavily, sucking in lungfuls of oxygen like I’ve just surfaced from the depths of the ocean.
I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, and I hardly recognize the face that looks back at me. My eyes are feverish, my cheeks flushed. I look like a woman possessed. And I feel like it.
How can Killian have such an effect on me, even now?
He barely touched me, and it set my soul on fire.
I’ve spent the last week trying my best to forget about him, to crush the feelings he awoke in me. And with a handful of words, he obliterated all my hard-won efforts.
I feel like I could cry.
How did things get so completely out of hand?
I’ve completely lost control of my life, my emotions. And it terrifies me to think that one man could so thoroughly shift the very ground I stand on, my reason for being. But Killian has. I can feel it in my bones.
Tonight is going to be excruciating because now that I’ve had my first reminder of him—the deliciously masculine smell of his cologne, the rasping lilt of his deep voice—I want another taste. Not just that. I crave the sweet oblivion he provides like an addict seeking his next fix.
And this is the last place I should be falling apart like this.
Pull it together, Natasha. I focus my attention on the half-frantic woman in the mirror. Slowly, I manage to obey. Taking deep breaths, I steady my nerves.
Finally, I’m calm enough that I can go back out and face our guests.
But one thing is certain. I need to stay far away from Killian tonight.
Because I’m not sure I can control myself if he gets that close again.
Squaring my shoulders and straightening my spine, I unbolt the bathroom door and step back into the hall.
Thankfully, he’s not there waiting for me—a possibility I feared.
But as soon as I step out into the room of gathered guests, my eyes lock with his across the room. And he quirks an eyebrow. Clenching my teeth, I shake my head, silently warning him to keep his distance.
Of course, Killian doesn’t seem interested in following orders. And he makes his way toward me with calm, even strides. But his progress is like that of a hot knife through butter, the crowd melting away before him like they instinctively know to stay out of his way.
Killian’s towering sidekick is there in the periphery, watching his boss’s movement.
But either Killian has told him to keep his distance, or the man just knows.
It doesn’t matter. I can’t let the cocky Irishman get to me.
Clearly, hiding in the bathroom isn’t going to be a solution, though.
Taking a sharp left, I change directions, heading toward the lesser-known stairs that lead up to the terrace overlooking the ballroom. If I can get there before he sees where I’m going, I might just be able to lose him. Then I can watch from above and keep a low profile for the evening.
The stairwell is nearly empty, and as soon as I’m on it, I pick up the pace, racing up the steps as quickly as I can without making noise. The terrace is occupied by a handful of socialites, who glance toward me and give a polite acknowledgment before going back to their conversation.
I respond with a shy smile and keep moving.
And I don’t look behind me.
Passing from the larger terrace into a separate, adjoining room, I finally slow, breathing heavier than would strictly be necessary for the amount of exertion I just spent. But for some reason, the air feels painfully thin, the oxygen lacking.
“Does this mean you’ve given up trying to kill me, then?” Killian’s playful voice carries across the distance between us and sends my heart into a full-on sprint.
Gasping, I whirl to face him, and a shiver races through my body as I take in his full glory for the first time tonight. He’s devastatingly handsome in a navy-blue suit and a crimson and gold paisley tie, the white shirt behind it making the intricate pattern stand out.
I can just make out the lines of his neck tattoos creeping over the collar of his dress-shirt, and it makes my chest ache painfully.
“Don’t, Killian,” I plead, backing away slowly. But I have nowhere to run—not unless I want to wind up trapped in a stairwell with him. Which sounds dangerously tempting.
“Why do I get the sense you’ve been avoiding me?” he asks, ignoring my request as he steadily stalks toward me, closing the distance between us.
“I am avoiding you,” I say fiercely, my desperation making me blunt. “I want you to stay away from me.”
“Why?” he asks, stepping closer, despite my preference.
And my breath catches as my back hits the edge of a waist-high bookshelf filled with heavy tomes. “Because nothing good can come of it,” I insist, my voice quivering now, as the last few feet between us vanish.
And suddenly, he’s all around me—his intoxicating smell, the welcoming heat from his body, the magnetic pull that effortlessly shifts my true north until I’m inexplicably leaning toward him.
My heart slams painfully against my ribs, warning me that we’re reaching the point of no return. And as Killian’s arms settle onto the bookshelf behind me, caging me in, I see my last chance to escape slip away.
His intense green eyes hold my gaze, daring me to try and stop him.
But I’m completely unprepared today. Right now, in such a public venue, I’m unarmed beyond my own physical strength, and I’m supposed to be acting the proper young lady. The one who speaks softly and averts her eyes because she’s shy.
I’m not at all prepared to stop Killian.
He slowly leans in, his eyes shifting to my lips just moments before he follows through on the silent warning. I tense, my spine going rigid as he kisses me, soft but passionate.
And the fire that erupts through my core is like molten lava. Try as I might to resist, I can’t find it in me. It’s like he’s put me under a spell. My body moves of its own accord. I reach up, ready to shove him back, but instead, my fingers curl around his lapels.
And then I’m pulling him closer, as if all this time, I’ve been starved of oxygen and he’s a fresh breath of air.
“Is that the ‘nothing good’ you were referring to,” he murmurs when he pulls back just far enough to break the kiss.
And his lips are gone all too soon for my liking.
“Yes,” I breathe, my heart doing somersaults in my chest as sweet relief floods my veins.
My resistance quickly crumbles in the wake of his attention, which I’ve been craving desperately all week. That he sought me out right from the beginning—without another girl on his arm—fills me with a possessive kind of satisfaction I wasn’t anticipating. And I know I’m a lost cause.
Killian hums, the sound turning me into a giddy puddle. And he snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his powerful chest.
“I’ve been dreaming of your lips,” he growls before stealing another kiss. “How can this not be good when it feels so right?”
I don’t have an answer for that, but I am intensely aware of the fact that this is the first time I’ve kissed him without having tried to kill him first. And suddenly, it hits home that I’m not just following through with the bargain we made. I’m kissing him because I want to.
I want him.
I want Killian with a desperation I can hardly wrap my mind around. And it steals my breath away to realize just how badly I’ve missed him. I can no longer hide behind the thin veneer of duty or blackmail to deny my feelings. And that makes the emotion all the more powerful.
“God, I want you, Natasha. Right here. Right now.”
I gasp, my desire wiping the last drops of rationality from my mind.
And I nod.
Killian snarls, his reaction one of animal desire as his hands find the fabric of my skirt and start to hike it up around my thighs. His fingers curl around the waist of my panties, and he guides them down my legs.
I step willingly out of them as he kneels before me, his green eyes molten as they hold mine. And as I step free of the lacy fabric, he balls them in one palm and shoves them into his pants pocket.
“Panty thief,” I tease, even as it sends a shiver of desire racing up my spine.
“If I had my way, I’d steal them all so you’d have no other option but to go without them,” he growls.
Then his hands are on his belt, unbuckling it, and he swiftly opens the front of his pants.
My core throbs as he pulls out his impressive cock, swollen and rock-hard, and my mouth waters to see the precum weeping from his tip. Wrapping one arm around my waist again, Killian hooks my knee over his other elbow, bringing me close even as he opens my legs for easy access.
Then his silken tip presses inside my entrance, filling me as he sends electric pleasure crackling through my veins.