Chapter 17
“What are you doing?” Lev repeats his question, with much less volume now.
I give a pointed look at the vacuum in my hand. “What does it look like to you that I was doing?”
He pinches his lips together and drags in a long breath through his nose. Like he’s taking a moment to let the frustration run its course.
“I meant, what are you doing vacuuming my bedroom?” He snatches up the book from the floor, snapping the hardcover shut.
“Some of Marion’s hair was on the chair,” I explain.
“I have a full staff that takes care of this sort of thing.” He crosses the room and takes the vacuum from me.
“I know, but she’s my cat and it was her mess, so I— you know, does it really matter? I was just cleaning up.”
“Stephan said you made him eggs,” he says, but it sounds more like an accusation.
“Are your men always going to tattle on me? Even the most mundane of things?”
He surveys the room before answering. “They’re my men. They answer to me.”
“So that’s a yes?”
In response, he cocks his head, giving me a silent answer of what do you think? This telepathic way of communicating is going to cause a miscommunication at some point. But he’s not being a completely arrogant ass right now, so I decide to let it go.
“I’m going to call Vivienne and let her know what’s happening. I think I should stay with her until I can find a new place. If she’s okay with that— stop shaking your head no at me.”
“You’re not staying with them. You can’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Because they won’t be there. They’re leaving in the morning.”
“Why?” Alarm runs through me. “Is everything all right?”
“It is.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“Sheath your sword, little warrior. I’ll tell you.” He leans the vacuum against the wall.
Maybe he doesn’t want me holding a weapon while he tells me.
“The shooter wasn’t there for you last night.” He hooks his hands on his hips.
It makes him look all business, like he’s leading a meeting of some sort.
But worse, it makes him look hotter. The button-down black shirt he’s wearing pulls tight across his chest. The sleeves are rolled up half to his elbow, showing off his flexed, tattooed arms, and his fingers spread wide across his hips.
Which makes me remember how those thick, long fingers of his felt when they were touching me. When they were inside of me.
I press my thighs together. Better to keep the embers in my panties from bursting into actual flames right now.
“They wanted you.” I nod. “That makes more sense, right? I mean who would want me? The guy in that window was probably looking for you. Maybe they knew you had someone watching my apartment building, which reminds me, why did you have someone watching my apartment building? We can get to that later, but the guy was probably just trying to lure you out and was using me. I mean your enemies — of which I’m sure there are many— probably know how arrogant you are. ”
He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. His fingers tap against his hip, and I’m pretty sure he’s trying to find his patience again.
“No.” When he opens his eyes, they’re steadfast and serious.
“Okay, then what?” I perch myself on the arm of the couch.
“They were there for Ivan or Vivienne or both.” He rubs a hand over his face.
There’s a tiredness there now. “We caught one of the shooters. They thought they were looking into Vivienne’s window. And when they saw us leave, they mistook us for them.”
“Vee is thin and blonde; how could they have mistaken me for her?”
His eyebrows lift and his expression freezes. Like he’s trying to get from one thought to the next, but I’ve derailed him on the way.
“At some point we need to talk about your choice of words, but we’ll get back to that. The shooters saw me first, thought I was Ivan and assumed you were Vee.”
My mind tries to catch up to the conversation. “So they were the Armenian gang you keep talking about?”
“No. They were Marco DeAngelos’ men.”
“So a different gang?”
“He’s high up in the Italian mob.”
Right. So now we have the Russian Bratva, Armenian gangs, and our newest addition, the Italian mafia, involved.
“You know, I’m just a clerk at a bookstore.” I push off the couch. “I sell books. I clean up the store, and I order supplies and stock. I’m not mafia material. My brothers aren’t mafia material. They’re petty thieves.”
“Maxine.” He says my name like he’s throwing me a life raft, but I ignore it and begin pacing.
“And now there are three…THREE…mafia families, gangs, or whatever somehow involved in my life!”
“It’s a lot.” He agrees. A little too easily.
I stop and twist toward him. “A lot? My brothers are missing. I’m getting shot at. Some pervert was watching me in my window—wait, was that one of them?”
He hesitates but then shakes his head. “It wasn’t him, but one of his friends.”
“Ah. Good. That’s great.” I pick my pacing up again.
“They’ve been taken care of the ones who were watching your window.”
I don’t want to know what that even means. I mean, I know what it means, but I don’t want to know. I desperately want to go back to not knowing any of these things.
“Right.” I nod. “This guy, this shooter guy. I want to talk to him.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not? It’s safe enough if you’re there, right?”
His eyebrows raise. “He’s dead.”
“Because you killed him.” I deadpan. I mean, of course, he killed the guy; he’d been shooting at us.
“I did.” He doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Do you want to know how?”
“No!” I sink both hands into my hair, dragging them through before dropping onto the couch. “Thank you, though, for your honesty.”
“I’ll always be honest,” he answers without pause.
“So. What now? Does Vee know about this?”
“I’m sure Ivan’s telling her. He’s taking her out of town in the morning.”
I blow out a long breath and lean my head back against the couch cushions. “He’s taking her into hiding?”
“He’s taking her somewhere safe, where he knows they can’t get to her.”
“They’re going after her because they’re trying to hurt him.”
“The DeMarco’s and the Volkovs are at war. Them going after Ivan’s woman escalates things. Them shooting at you— that gets me involved.”
“Why?” I lean forward. “No. You’re not involved. I mean, not over me. You don’t even like me.”
I shove off the couch.
“Obviously, I need to find somewhere else to crash. I’m causing you all sorts of trouble with being around you.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Max.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
His lips tick at the edges. Like what I’ve just said has amused him greatly.
“I can. I just did.”
“I just need to get a hold of my brothers. I can get this all straightened out if I know what’s happening.”
“What are you going to do, march into Vartan Petrosyan’s place and demand he leave your brothers alone? Your older brothers? Who seem to have run off with their tails tucked between their legs? Is that what you’re planning?”
He shoves his hand through his own hair, making it stand on end in multiple places.
“I don’t have much choice, do I? They’re my brothers.”
“They’ve dragged you into something dangerous, and all you care about is finding them and making this right for them. What about you?” He demands.
“You don’t know anything about my brothers or me.”
“I know they should be here protecting you, not putting you in danger.”
“I don’t need them to protect me.” I jump up to my feet. “See, this is why I can’t stay here. You don’t understand. None of this is your concern. I appreciate what you did for me last night, but your job is done. You don’t owe me anything.”
I turn, fully intending on getting my bags and high tailing it out of this looney bin, but he grabs hold of my arm and flips me around to face him.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I try to yank my hand from his grip but fail marvelously. “If this is because of what we did last night, you’re being an idiot. You don’t owe me anything from that, it was just something that happened. It didn’t mean anything for either of us, or it’s never happening again.”
His eyes light on fire. Maybe I’ve pushed him a little too far now.
“You’re staying here, Maxine. In my house. In my bed. Do you understand? You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m your captive now?” Again, I tug, and again I fail.
“If that’s how you want to look at it, fine. You’re my captive.” He leans in. The warm spice of his aftershave hits my senses, and it makes me all gooey again.
It’s not fair. How am I supposed to combat against how damn hot he looks when he gets all bossy on me, and he smells just as delicious?
“I don’t want to be your captive.” What dumb thing to say, but I blame my brain. He’s making it all mushy with being this close to me.
“Doesn’t matter what you want.” He lifts a shoulder as though he couldn’t care less.
“You’re staying put. You’re staying safe.
And if you so much as put one toe outside this penthouse, I will bare your ass where I find you— and I will find you— and take my belt to your ass until your voice dies from your screams.”
My throat dries. This time when I pull, he releases me, and I stumble back a step before I catch my balance.
“You’re never touching me again.” I move away from him, needing to put distance and furniture between us.
“Oh, you think so?” He half grins. Like he’s just been given a challenge.
“I do. I know it.” I slide along the back of the couch as he approaches.
Each step he takes makes me retreat one, until I’m headed in the direction of the bedroom.
“Lev. Just stop.” I put my hand out, splaying my fingers.
It’s about as effective as trying to catch an ocean wave with a butterfly net.
He just keeps coming. One determined step after another. I’ve never noticed how many muscles move when a man walks, but I notice on him.
I seem to take note of everything on him.
“Lev.” The back of my legs hit the bed. The only thing between me and him is my hand.
And as soon as he’s close enough, he brushes it away like some errant fly circling the picnic.
In the next instant, his hand is wrapped around my throat and his mouth is on mine. I want to shove him away. Or at least I should want to.
I don’t.
I manage to press my hands against his chest, but not enough to actually move him. And I’d like to tell myself that it’s just because I’m not strong enough. But I hate liars, even when lying to myself.
When he breaks the kiss, he touches his nose to mine, inhaling deeply. He squeezes his hand around my throat, raising my chin a fraction.
“You’re blushing, Maxine.”
“You’re choking me.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up. “You can breathe fine. I’m holding you steady.”
“You don’t need—”
“Of course I do. You just won’t admit it.” He brushes his lips across mine. Soft. Teasing. “And that’s okay. I can play the bad guy until you’re ready.”
With his free hand, he reaches down between us finding the button on my jeans and easily undoing it.
“Wait. Lev.” I wrap my hand around his wrist, but he doesn’t stop.
He shoves my jeans down until they pool at my ankles.
“Step out of them, Maxine.” He orders, lining up his eyes with mine as he does. Heat courses through my body, trailing straight down to my core.
“If I don’t?”
His eyes practically sparkle. “Then I’ll bend you over the bed, rip off those panties, and fuck you. Use you. And I’ll leave you wanting and aching for a release that won’t come.”
I swallow against his hand, feeling the weight of his grip, the warmth of his skin against mine.
“You have until the count of three.” He holds up his index finger. “One.”
“You’re holding me.” I argue, his grip tightening slightly as I talk.
“Figure it out, Maxine.” He throws up a second finger. “Two.”
I press my right foot on top of the hem of the left pant leg and pull my leg up.
“Better hurry,” he says darkly.
After I get my second foot free, I kick away the pants.
“See, you can be good.” He tugs on the elastic of my panties. “Now these.”
“You have to let me go.”
“No.” He moves in closer.
Not only taking away any space between us but invading my running thoughts.
“I’m back to one.” With the tip of his finger, he trails it along my abdomen, just above the elastic.
The featherlike touch sends a ripple through me.
I hate having my stomach touched or looked at.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of my body. It doesn’t bother me that I carry around extra weight, but I don’t like it pointed out.
And having someone touch me there, is very much pointing out the extra padding.
It’s harder this time because I can’t do this with my foot. I lean as much as his grip will allow to one side, pushing the fabric down and then the other side. Heat creeps up my chest, covering my neck and face as my panties fall to my feet and I kick them away.
I said he’d never touch me again, and here I am bare-assed for him again.
A low sound from deep in his chest vibrates against me as he presses his body into me.
He brushes his nose along my jaw line until his mouth hovers over mine.
With a slight squeeze of his fingers, he constricts my breathing.
Not enough to cut off my air. Just enough to remind me how dangerous he is, how easily he could snap me.
“Now, get on the bed, Maxine.” His voice is husky, weighted down with the same arousal that burns bright in his gaze.
“Lev.”
“You want option two then? Used and left wanting?”
I swallow against his fingers. “No.”
“Then get on the bed, Maxine. Show me what a good girl you can be, and I’ll reward you. Be a bad girl, disobey me right now and you’ll regret it.”
I believe him.
One by one, he lifts his fingers away from my throat and steps back half a step. He’s giving me room here. I can either climb on the bed, do as he say, or I can try to run. But we both know what will happen if I do that.
Maybe I want that. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t want to admit this to myself, and I need him to force me.
“Maxine.” His patience has run out.
I sink back onto the bed, sliding myself up until my head is on the pillows. Laying back against the plush softness, I stare up at the ceiling. Then I clamp my eyes shut, ball my hands at my sides, and close my legs firmly.
A dark chuckle makes my body hum.
“My little warrior thinks she can hide from me. Open your eyes, look at me.”
Slowly, I lift my eyelids open, settling my gaze on him.
Oh, god.