Chapter 12Monroe
12
Monroe
Z ane is already in the pool when I finally work up the courage to come outside and join him. It’s too cold in the house to wander around in this frightfully tiny swimsuit any longer. I just hope the water is warm, because if it isn’t I might actually freeze to death in this ridiculous thing.
I wrap my arms around my torso, hiding as much of my exposed skin as possible.
"Oh, come on. You can't hide those gorgeous curves forever," Zane says, wading through the water toward me. "Come, enjoy yourself. Nobody can see us here. It's perfectly safe."
"You can see me," I say, looking up and down the long, rectangular pool. There's a waterfall in one end, and it flows into the shallow end where a hot tub sits, bubbling away. There's also a massive deck, with a built-in grill, an outdoor kitchen, a fire pit, and a bar.
It's so strange, being somewhere so luxurious, and it doesn't feel right. The whole place makes me uncomfortable, but I can't exactly complain about it. There are much worse situations I could be in right now. Spending the night with a handsome mafia boss isn't so bad, considering the alternatives.
"I'm going to take a dip in the hot tub. I need to thaw out a bit," I say, stepping off the edge and lowering myself into the water.
"Good idea. I'll join you," Zane replies, getting out of the pool and walking over.
I glance at his body. He's wearing black swim shorts that cling to his thighs. His hips are narrow, and the muscle on his chest and abs is unreal. I can't stop staring.
"Like what you see?" He asks, smirking as he steps into the hot tub and sinks into the water across from me.
"You're not the ugliest guy in the world. Maybe you should be the one wearing dental floss."
He throws back his head and laughs, the tattoos on his neck stretching out over his throat. "Don't tempt me."
His sense of humor puts me at ease a little, but I'm still nervous. My body is trembling, and not because I'm cold.
"So, you wanted to know about Maksim," he says, running his hands through his hair and sitting back against the wall. "Let's start at the beginning. You know I'm Bratva, yes?"
I nod. "Yes, that much is clear. Is he the same?"
"Yes, but from a different family. A rival family, actually," Zane explains. "We've been at war with each other for years, decades, even. Ever since our grandfathers were young men. It's an old conflict that nobody knows how it started. Probably to do with money."
"It's always money," I mutter, shaking my head. I find it ridiculous, but I won't tell him that. I doubt he'd see things the same way. Money is so important to him, much more than silly little things like morals and values.
"Not always," Zane says, his eyes wandering down to my chest. "Sometimes it's women."
"Tell me more about Maksim. You said he was in prison," I say, bringing the conversation back to its original purpose.
“Oh, yes, for multiple reasons. I thought he was gone forever, but they let him out. It’s been a while, but his legal team is good. The trick is to have a criminal defense lawyer. The key word here being criminal .”
“Why did he go to jail?” I ask, leaning in a bit. “Tell me.”
Zane shrugs his big shoulders. “Multiple homicides and a slew of other charges. Nothing especially unique, but it caught up with him because he’s considerably more brazen than me about such things.”
I cock my head to the side, curious about Zane’s history. Has he ever been to jail? Has he ever killed someone? It seems likely, especially since Kiro killed two of Maksim’s men in my house, and Zane attempted to shoot Maksim.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to see inside my head,” he replies, moving some of the bubbles away from his chest with his palms. They’re gathering against his tan skin, clinging to his thick chest hair.
I can’t help but to laugh. Even though he’s a vicious bratva boss, he’s still boyish in some ways. He doesn’t quite seem to know how to interact with a woman. He’s defensive when he’s not aggressively trying to get me to sleep with him.
I put my hand on his arm, feeling the tightness of his skin over his muscle. “I’m just curious about you. You claim that Maksim is terrible, and I believe you, but what about the things you’ve done? The people you’ve killed?”
He lets out a long sigh, like it’s not something he wants to talk about, but I want to know. I’m not letting him off the hook that easily.
“Tell me,” I say, moving a little closer to him. My foot brushes his, and I pull it away, my cheeks flushing hot. I hope he can’t tell. They’re probably already pink from the warm water.
He gives me a lopsided grin. “You get to ask all the questions, and yet you won’t answer any of mine.”
“I’m an open book,” I reply, spreading my arms out wide.
“What was on the flash drive?” he asks, raising a challenging eyebrow.
I roll my eyes. “You could’ve asked me anything, and that’s what you came up with? Come on, at least pretend to be interested in my boring little life.”
He leans in, his face close to mine, and puts his hand on my bare thigh. He runs his fingers slowly along my leg, tracing a line up and down. The sensations from his touch are intense, and my breath catches in my throat. He leans his other arm on the wall behind me, and then he's completely surrounding me.
His masculine scent fills my nose, and the heat from his body is intoxicating. It's hotter than the water. It's hotter than anything I've experiences, and yet the burning feeling is like heaven even though I know I'm in hell.
"Let me ask you a question, then, something unrelated to all this business," he says, his voice low and husky.
I can't find the words to reply, but I manage a nod.
"Why were you living in that house all by yourself? Don't you have any family, any guys in your life?"
"Neither," I admit.
"Why not? You're smart and beautiful. On second thought, maybe that's why. Nobody is good enough for you, are they?"
His words are surprisingly insightful, but that doesn't make them any easier to hear.
"I don't know," I reply. "Maybe."
"What would it take, Monroe? What would make you happy? Tell me."
"A man who respects me and makes me feel safe," I reply without thinking. The answer is immediate, as if it was lurking just under the surface of my consciousness, waiting to burst out.
He laughs softly, shaking his head. "There's only one way to get that, and you're already experiencing it."
"And what's that?"
"Me," he replies, moving his face closer to mine.
I can barely breathe, but I shake my head. "You don't respect me. You don't make me feel safe."
"How could I respect you more? How could I keep you safer? You're in my home, the most secure building in the entire city, surrounded by guards and protected by me. I'd say you're doing pretty well for yourself," he argues, his lips only inches away from mine.
I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it's hard to do. It feels like I'm trying to choke down a tennis ball. Something in my stomach is buzzing, and between my thighs there's a pulsating feeling that's growing in intensity.
"Kiss me," Zane demands, his lips brushing against mine.
My heart is beating so quickly that I can't even count the number of times it's pounding in my chest. This is what I've been missing, the thing I didn't know I needed until now. He's right that nobody has ever been good enough... until now.
I kiss him, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling him into me. His mouth opens, his tongue pushing into my mouth. The warmth of his body, his skin, his mouth, his tongue, all of it is perfect.
Zane's strong arms wrap around me, holding me tightly against him. Our bodies are pressed together, and the hardness of his muscles feels amazing. It feels like safety, like comfort, and like passion. It's all wrapped up in one, and I never want to let him go.
"Come on," he growls, getting out of the hot tub. "We can't do this in the pool."
I laugh a little, climbing out after him and letting him lead me to the lounge chairs. There's a thick towel sitting on one of them, and he picks it up and wraps it around my shoulders before guiding me down.