Chapter 16 – Poppy
“What is this place?” I breathed.
Ivan cut the engine. “I own several clubs and bars, but Nosh is the beating heart of my territory.”
“Nosh.” I tasted the word. My tongue felt fuzzy and thick, probably from the multiple glasses of wine with each course. Not that any were full pours, but the combination of so many was leaving me feeling light. “That’s a funny word.”
And there I went, opening my big old mouth.
Ivan chuckled. The sound was rich and delicious. If the chocolate cake from the restaurant had a sound, that would be it.
“Noshtuvka is too hard for most people to say, so we shortened it.”
“Noshtuvka,” I tried it and thought the pronunciation was solid. “And what does that mean?”
“Sleepover.” The suggestion behind it sent another stab of heat through me. “It isn’t just the slumber party, but you staying the night and creating memories.”
Fitting. Especially since he was here nearly every night.
“I don’t hide from my sins, Poppy,” Ivan added. “And I created a place where my guests can indulge in theirs.”
A shiver rattled down my spine.
The club loomed before us, all sleek glass and dark stone, with a subtle red glow emanating from within. A line of well-dressed people waited behind velvet ropes, but Ivan led me directly to a side entrance where a mountain of a man in a black suit nodded respectfully.
“Boss,” the bouncer said, stepping aside.
Boss. The word sent another tremor through me. I’d known Ivan was dangerous, but seeing his world firsthand made it real in a way that terrified and thrilled me.
Inside, the music thrummed through my bones—deep bass that seemed to synchronize with my heartbeat.
The interior was all rich burgundy leather and polished mahogany, with crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across the crowd.
It screamed money and power and things I had no business being part of.
From a cursory glance, it seemed like the clubs I’d scrolled through on social media, but there was a feeling in the place that didn’t come through the digital screen.
I felt it now, pulsing like a heartbeat, a hurried, frantic rhythm.
Ivan’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me along the edge to a VIP section. It was a steady, dominant presence. The thin material of my dress did nothing to suppress the heat.
I tried, and failed, to ignore the heavy touch.
We ascended a short flight of stairs to a raised platform cordoned off with more velvet ropes. A burly security guard unhooked one to let us pass, his eyes carefully averted from Ivan's face in a way that spoke volumes.
That’s when I saw it. Centered in the VIP section, positioned to overlook the entire club, sat what could only be described as a throne.
Not some tacky nightclub chair, but an actual high-backed seat with ornate carvings along dark wood and plush red upholstery.
The thing belonged in a medieval castle, not a modern nightclub.
“Is that—” I started, my voice faltering.
“Where I conduct business,” Ivan supplied.
The nerve of this man! To sit on an honest-to-goodness throne?
It was audacious. Over the top. And somehow…it fit.
Ivan folded back into the embrace of the monstrosity, and with a sharp tug, he pulled me onto his lap.
I yelped, the sound stifled by the volume, but struggled to move away.
Ivan wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged me close. Pressed against his hard, unyielding body, my breaths became short and shallow.
“Just for a moment, Poppy,” he breathed, his words a warm caress against the sensitive shell of my ear. “Let them see you.”
I panicked, falling completely still, as my gaze swept over the club. While I couldn’t see their faces well from this vantage point, I felt their stares. The curiosity was intense.
What was he doing? Showing me off like some trophy?
The thought should have filled me with indignation, but instead, a treacherous warmth spread through my body.
I was hyperaware of every point where our bodies connected—his muscular thigh beneath mine, his arm snaked around my waist, the heat of his chest against my back.
If I moved just a few inches to the side, what else would I feel?
I swallowed hard. I did not like that. I shouldn’t be here.
But it was me, fighting to hold my body back so as not to lean over and center myself on him. I wasn’t pushing away.
“Ivan,” I whispered, struggling to form coherent thoughts. “People are staring.”
His breath caressed my neck as he leaned closer. “Good. Let them. They will all know that you are mine.”
But I’m not!
My body betrayed me with a shiver that had nothing to do with cold. I hated how my skin pebbled at his touch, how my breath quickened when his fingers traced idle patterns against my hip. This was wrong. I should be repulsed. I should be fighting to get away.
Instead, I found myself melting against him.
Damn me.
“This sends a message, my little mountain flower,” Ivan continued, probably oblivious to what kind of hell fires he was starting inside me.
I tried for flippancy. “Oh, and what’s that?” =
Ivan shrugged. The movement against my body sent another rush of wild emotions through me. “They won’t touch what is mine.”
“I’m not yours.” There. I said it.
But…what was that sour taste on my tongue?
“A lie,” he breathed, answering both the spoken and unspoken statements. “You live under my rule now, Poppy. You sleep under my roof. To those who matter, you…are…mine.”
I stewed silently for several minutes, formulating then readjusting the dangerous claim that he had no right making.
“It’s time.” Ivan pushed me forward, and when I found my feet, he rose.
Lacing his fingers through mine, he led us behind the throne to a doorway that I hadn’t seen when we came up here. The silence was deafening as the door fell closed, blocking the music. Instead of going down, we ascended. Once again, I was grateful I didn’t wear the heels.
“This poker game.” Ivan cleared his throat, but it seemed like a cover for him to find the words. “There are powerful people there I’m hoping to…wow. No. Woo?”
“Woo,” I said, and without thinking I gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.
Ivan gave me a grin that was lopsided, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. It was impish. Boyish. As though we were sharing a secret. I couldn’t look away, but I had to so I didn’t trip.
“Thank you for telling me,” I added. “But I’m afraid I’m not good at cultivating business relationships.”
We stopped on a landing. Ivan pulled me around to face him.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He reached out and paused.
I gave him a small nod, and he pushed the lock of hair over my shoulder. “I didn’t deal with potential alliances in the mob.”
“You could do it,” he breathed, his hand lingering on my hair. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
I arched a questioning brow. “It’s not?”
His touch glided once more over my hair before he let it fall behind my back. “You’re here for me. Not them.”
A thrill shivered over my skin. The intensity of his focus was intoxicating.
I was spared an answer as we continued to climb.
At the top of the stairs, another door opened to a dimly lit corridor with plush carpeting that swallowed our footsteps.
Several closed panels gave off eerie vibes, but Ivan pushed open another door, revealing a room bathed in dim golden light and wreathed in cigar smoke.
The haze made my eyes water as I stepped through the threshold.
This wasn’t just any back room—it was opulent, with dark, paneled walls and a massive circular table dominating the center, covered in rich green felt.
“Mladenov,” a deep voice called from across the room. “About time you joined us.”
I froze, my breath catching as I recognized the speaker.
Jasper Kane—the action movie star whose face had been plastered across billboards for the last decade—sat at the table, shuffling chips between his fingers with practiced ease.
Next to him was a woman I’d seen in fashion magazines, her angular face impossible to mistake even through the smoke.
“Gentlemen. Ladies.” Ivan nodded, his hand still firmly gripping mine.
“You’re late.” A woman in her mid-sixties pushed back her perfectly coifed hair.
“I’m precisely on time, Senator,” Ivan replied coolly, taking a seat across from her. “The game doesn’t start until I arrive.”
With a small tug, Ivan drew me close. He was going to make me sit on his lap here too! I opened my mouth to protest, but Ivan cupped my face, sliding his fingers back through my hair.
“There’s a couch over there, and something for you on the side table,” he murmured softly.
I shot a glance at the side, but his insistent touch stayed in place.
My brow lifted in question.
“It’s said that the kiss of a princess is good luck.”
I let out a rough laugh of surprise. “You want our first kiss to be here?”
His lips twitched. “Ah, so there will be a first?”
My lips snapped tight, pushing flat. I wasn’t answering that.
“I’ll admit, my motives are purely self-serving.” Grinning now, Ivan jerked his head to the table. “With these sharks, I’m going to need all the luck I can find.”
He was testing me. Pushing to see how far I would go.
I made a split-second decision, without pausing to think through the consequences. I darted forward and placed a chaste, almost familial kiss, on his forehead.
“Good luck!” I jerked back and straightened.
Ivan only chuckled darkly.
Hurrying to the couch to hide my flaming cheeks—because yes, I felt a bit idiotic and very lightheaded—I sank into the plush cushions. This wasn’t me. I was so far out of my comfort zone that I felt like I was falling.
I’ve got to get out.
The game began. I kept one ear on their conversation while leaning over to the end table. What Ivan left me took my breath away. A novel. It was a new release, set for preorder—
“Crap,” I whispered, the air leaving my lungs in a whoosh as I sank back into the couch. I’d been in Chicago too long. The days were blurred without my digital calendar. The book was released now.
Sad that I was missing out on the comings and happenings of the bookish community, I opened the book to the first page.
The conversation about some fancy shindig faded away as the book consumed me.
I turned page after page. The fictional world unfolded, and characters who had been hinted at in the first books finally took center stage.
I laughed with them. My heart ached for them.
They had the power to draw me into their lives and make me feel.
As an exile in the country, books were my escape.
I let this one take me away from the den of sleepovers and the troubles that haunted my mind.
For a few blissful hours, my own troubles didn’t exist.