8. Nikolai
8
NIKOLAI
I t’s a quiet afternoon as I stride into Sofia’s gallery, intent on surprising her with an impromptu visit. It’s been six days since I made her come at the dinner table during the Fairmont Copley Plaza gala. The front desk attendant scrambles to announce me, but I wave her off and make my way to the office in the back.
The door stands ajar. Sofia hunches over her desk, spreadsheets scattered across the polished surface. Her shoulders tremble. Even from here, I catch the shine of unshed tears in her eyes.
My jaw tightens. Someone has caused this distress.
“Sofia.”
She jerks upright, hastily wiping at her eyes. “Nikolai! I didn’t... the gallery’s closed for lunch.”
“Clearly.” I step inside, scanning the financial documents spread before her. Red numbers jump out at me as significant losses despite strong sales figures. “Your books don’t add up.”
“It’s nothing. Just a temporary cash flow issue.” She tries to gather the papers, but I catch her wrist.
“Don’t lie to me.” My hand spans her throat. “Protection payments?”
Her gasp confirms what I suspected—local gangs targeting successful businesses—how predictably tedious.
“I can handle it.”
“Can you? Because these numbers suggest otherwise.” I release her wrist to pick up a spreadsheet, studying the systematic drainage of funds. “Let me help.”
“I don’t need?—”
“This isn’t a request, Sofia.” I lay the paper down and meet her gaze. “You have two choices. Accept my help willingly or watch me solve this problem anyway. Either way, these payments stop.”
A telling flush paints her skin. The cause is irrelevant—her body betrays far more interesting truths in how her hand quivers as she reaches for her Bordeaux, each movement cataloging her fear.
“Why would you help me?”
“Because I want to.” I step closer into her personal space. “And because I protect what’s mine.”
“I don’t belong to anyone.” Sofia’s chin lifts, eyes flashing with defiance. “And I won’t be another acquisition in your collection.”
A smile tugs at my lips. Such fire beneath that polished exterior. My fingers itch to touch her, to see if her skin burns as hot as her spirit.
“Is that what you think this is?” I lean closer, drinking in the subtle catch in her breath. “That I see you as just another pretty object to display?”
“Isn’t that what rich men like you do? Collect beautiful things?”
Her words carry a bite, but I detect a slight tremor in her voice. She’s affecting confidence she doesn’t quite feel. Fascinating.
“You misunderstand me.” I trace one finger along her desk, watching her track the movement. “I don’t wish to own you. I want to unleash you.”
She backs away a step, but her pupils dilate. “I don’t need unleashing.”
“No?” I circle around the desk, savoring how she holds her ground despite her urge to retreat. “Then why do your hands shake? Why does your breath quicken when I’m near?”
“That’s not—” She cuts herself off, fists clenching at her sides. “You don’t intimidate me.”
The lie permeates the space between us. I want to chase it from her lips, replace it with truths she’s too afraid to voice.
“Good.” I stop mere inches from her. “I prefer you defiant. It makes the eventual surrender so much more satisfying.”
Color floods her cheeks, but she doesn’t back down. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“I’m sure of what I see in your eyes, Sofia. The same hunger that burns in mine.”
The catch in her breath tells me I’ve struck true. Still, she raises her chin, meeting my gaze with that delicious mix of fear and challenge.
“Get out of my gallery.”
Perfect. Every show of resistance only feeds my desire to possess her completely.
I lean in closer, my breath ghosting across her lips. Her pulse jumps beneath the delicate skin of her throat. She tilts her face up, eyes half-lidded, body swaying toward mine. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and vanilla—clouds my senses.
But I don’t close that final distance. Instead, I sweep my thumb over her bottom lip, savoring her sharp inhale.
“The protection money won’t be a problem anymore.” My voice drops lower, rougher. “Consider it handled.”
Sofia’s eyes snap open. “Just like that? How?”
A laugh rumbles in my chest. Her naiveté is endearing—she truly has no idea who I am or the power I wield in this city. The thought of enlightening her piece by piece, watching realization dawn in those expressive eyes, sends a thrill through me.
“Let’s just say I have some influence.” I trace my finger along her jaw. “No one will trouble you again.”
“Influence?” Her brow furrows. “What kind of influence?”
“The powerful kind.” I step back, enjoying how she sways forward before catching herself. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”
A pretty pink stain flushes her cheeks. “You’re an art collector.”
“Among other things.” The corner of my mouth lifts. “Do yourself a favor, Sofia. Research me when I leave. It might prove illuminating.”
I turn to leave, savoring the way Sofia’s breath comes in short, uneven gasps. Her pupils have dilated so wide that only a thin ring of green-gold remains. The flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck betrays her arousal.
“Until next time.” I pause at the doorway, drinking in how she grips her desk for support and her knuckles have gone white.
A light sheen of sweat glistens at her temples, and her chest rises and falls rapidly beneath her silk blouse. The sight stokes the fire in my blood. Such a visceral response from barely touching her—I can only imagine how she’ll react when I finally claim her properly.
Her lips part, but no words emerge. The great Sofia Henley is rendered speechless by my proximity alone. Pride and possessiveness surge through me.
“You should look into me.” I keep my voice low and intimate. “I wouldn’t want you unprepared for what comes next.”
A small whimper escapes her throat. She presses her thighs together, an unconscious tell that sends heat racing through my veins. Every expression, every tiny movement reveals her desperate need.
I leave her there, trembling and aroused. The sound of her shaky exhale follows me down the hallway.