Chapter 5 - Mikhail
Mikhail was questioning his sanity as he slid into the chair across from the beautiful, laughing woman. If he had a grain of sense, he would give her a wide berth just as every other man in the club had been doing since their little scene.
But something about her drew him like a moth to a flame. She had slapped him— him —right in front of his men, and questioned his integrity. And yet, just one tear from her and a small laugh and he was back for more.
Well, who could blame him? He had never known a woman with enough humility to apologize as genuinely as she just had.
Alena had done far worse to him, and instead of contrition, she’d assured him that she hated his guts and she would get back at him for killing Dmitri if it was the last thing she did.
Thinking of Alena never failed to put him in a bad mood. But something about being around this woman…he couldn’t get angry with her—or around her, he realized in a flash.
That had to be why he’d been so deathly calm after she had slapped him, and why even now the thought of Alena couldn’t get a rise out of him.
The woman quieted a bit now as she looked at him. She was fresh-faced and seemed as innocent as a Catholic schoolgirl. Maybe that was why he felt protective of her. She didn’t give off the wiles and coyness of the women in his circles. She was sweet, fresh and guileless. What was she, twenty? Twenty-one?
He frowned worriedly at her. “Are you old enough to be in a bar? How old are you?”
Immediate fire sparked in her eyes as she thrust out her chin. “I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman, I’ll have you know.”
He looked steadily at her, employing the stare-them-out-of-countenance tactics he used whenever he thought one of his men was trying to get something past him.
It worked. She sighed as a tremulous smile played about her lush, soft-looking lips and she confessed, “Okay, fine. I’m twenty-five. That’s an adult in every country on earth!”
He chuckled. “Are you sure? In some countries, you have to be thirty first.”
She rolled her eyes. Then she grinned at him, leaning forward with an open, trusting expression as though she were confiding in her best friend. “You know, you’re not completely terrible.”
He quirked an eyebrow, a self-deprecating smile playing about his lips at her choice of words. “You don’t say.”
She chuckled. “What I mean is, when I saw you at first, I was afraid when I looked into your eyes.”
So that was why she’d seemed to recoil when he saw her at the bar. Smart girl.
“And now you’re not?” he queried.
She assessed him carefully before responding, “I think I should still be a little bit afraid.”
Smart woman , he thought again.
“What’s your name?” he asked, needing a name he could pair with this delightfully unpredictable woman.
“Mira. You?” she asked with a sweet, unassuming expression on her face.
He hid a grin. She didn’t know that someone in his past had died for knowing his name, and here she was sweetly asking for it. He went by many names, but a fresh young thing like her didn’t need to be frightened with all those names and their meanings. He dimpled at her. “Mikhail.”
Something passed between the two of them, something deep, warm, and unnamable, and suddenly he couldn’t look away to save himself. Her eyes were a deep green like sea moss; they were entrancing, and made a man want to keep staring into them until he drowned in them.
Mikhail could feel that stirring of arousal in his groin again, and he groaned inwardly. He knew himself well enough to know he was able to get any woman he wanted. If he set his sights on Mira, the difference in their ages wouldn’t matter one jot. He would get her.
But as delectable and arousing as she was, he felt very protective of her. She seemed too innocent to be dragged into the drama that was his life. He could and he would control his urges. What did it matter that no woman had ever stimulated and attracted him like she did?
He had to protect her, and the best way to do that was to leave her alone. He started to push away from the table when his gaze landed on his jacket, still flung around her shoulders, and he hesitated. He needed that jacket back, but she was evidently still cold. It was his favorite jacket and had sentimental value for him.
It was the last gift his mother had given him before she died when he was twelve. Even then, it had been several sizes too large for him, which was a good thing because he’d kept it all these years and still had it.
Who was to say his mother hadn’t been murdered by that Dostoevsky bastard?
Forcing his thoughts away from his enemy, he looked at Mira. He wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to venture into the club at this hour, but one thing he was sure of was that she needed to get home. And he would be the one to do it.
He climbed to his feet and extended a hand toward her. “Get up.”
She smiled up at him in confusion but trustingly put her hand in his as she rose in one smooth, fluid motion, heedless of how her breasts bounced seductively beneath her dress.
Is she even wearing a bra, for goodness sake? he wondered as cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Resisting Mira was turning out to be the biggest battle he’d ever fought. Something about her innocence spoke to the most jaded parts of his soul as nothing else ever had, and everything about her soft, succulent body made him feel that any man ever lucky enough to enter into her warm, wet depths would never want to stop making love to her.
“Where are we going?” she demanded, heedless of the thoughts coursing through his mind.
“Home,” he said, deliberately not explaining that he meant he wanted to return her to the safety of her own home and not his. Maybe he needed to scare her a bit so she wouldn’t be so damn trusting of him. Something about the way she looked at him with those big, expressive eyes of hers, an almost worshipful expression in their green depths, made him feel as if he could conquer the world.
It was a heady feeling he’d never experienced with any woman, but he was jaded enough to know that any woman who could wield that sort of power had to be very dangerous indeed.
Mira looked around at the club as though she were looking for something, then her eyes flicked back to him, and settled back on him as though she had just convinced herself of something. “Yes, Mikhail. Take me home and make love to me.”
His dick became so hard it was a wonder it didn’t tear right through his pants.
He clenched his jaw. Maybe this was some childish prank she and her friends had gotten up to, but he refused to be part of it. He would take her home and deposit her young ass at her doorstep untouched , even if the effort killed him.
With a low growl at the back of his throat, Mikhail grabbed her arm and strode toward the doors of the club, walking with unholy haste as though the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.