Chapter 6
SONYA
Ishower, towel dry my hair, apply a dash of makeup, and get dressed. I’m down in the lobby thirty minutes later, which is a personal best for me.
Matvei is reading a newspaper—in Czech, no less—in one of the plush chairs near the fireplace. There is a bubble of space around him; everyone appears to be going out of their way to stay as far away as they can.
He looks up when I’m halfway across the lobby, his gaze nearly pinning me to the spot.
“You look—” He pauses as I stop feet from his chair, and I wonder what kind of word he’s looking for.
For a moment, I have a flash of anxiety—what if he hates the way I look? I’m wearing the one sundress I brought, an oversized sweater over it to ward off the surprising summer chill. It definitely shows off my curves, and I wonder if it’s too much.
Samson’s words ring in my head, and I’m already coming up with an excuse to change when a flick of a smile flashes on Matvei’s lips.
“Beautiful,” he finally finishes.
“Oh. Thank you.” My cheeks warm again as I wonder why Samson has gotten into my head. I haven’t always been so self-conscious.
I watch as Matvei folds the newspaper and places it on the low table beside him before standing to his full height. I thought Samson was tall, at least six feet, but his half-brother towers over him, which I like. Actually, I like a lot of things about Matvei more than I liked about Samson.
“Come on,” Matvei says, putting his hand lightly on the small of my back to guide me out. “Let me buy you breakfast,” he glances down at his watch, “or maybe lunch.”
“You were probably up at five a.m.,” I mutter, hyper-aware that people are staring at us. Do they know a notorious Chicago Russian mob boss is escorting me out? A Russian mob boss I had sex with twice in the last twenty-four hours?
“I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping in until eight.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Oh, well then. Eight. You practically wasted the whole day.”
Matvei’s deep chuckle sends a vibration under my skin that rumbles through me like an aftershock of what happened upstairs. At this rate, I can expect several more earthquakes here in Prague.
As we step outside, a black sedan with dark tinted windows pulls to the curb as if waiting for us. The driver, wearing a black suit and sunglasses, completely silent as he opens the door for us, looks like he guards a head of state. Maybe he does.
“So,” I ask, uncomfortable with the silence as we settle in the car’s plush interior, “did you go sightseeing this morning?”
Yet another one of Matvei’s enigmatic smiles is the initial answer to my teasing question. “I had several meetings this morning,” he answers curtly.
I nearly make the mistake of asking what the meetings were about but quickly shut that down. I’m relatively certain I don’t want to know. In fact, I’m one-hundred-percent sure I don’t want to know.
We end up at the Four Seasons—elegant, refined—and exactly where I would imagine Matvei would stay. We eat outside on the terrace, our view of the Vltava River and Prague Castle, which probably rivals any tourist attraction.
I didn’t realize how ravenous I was, and my first taste of Czech food is incredibly impressive.
Halfway through the meal, Matvei leans across the table, his eyes boring holes into mine, and asks, “Ready to hear my proposal?”
I nearly choke on a potato and follow it with a long sip of coffee. I then put my knife and fork down with great care before looking up at this incredible man who makes my heart—and other things—flutter every time I’m near him.
“Okay. I’m listening. But no guarantees I’m going to say yes.”
Matvei dips his head. “As I said, you have every right to say no, and I will not bother you again if you do. You have my word.”
Oddly enough, I trust this man’s word. From what little I understand, one’s word is the only certainty in his world where you can’t trust anything else.
“I want you to be my date to Samson’s wedding.”
I’m glad I put down my knife and fork earlier because I would’ve dropped them, alerting the entire terrace to my shock. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“I want you to be my date for my worthless half-brother’s wedding.”
I gape at him before finally finding words. “You do remember he’s my ex-fiance, right? That he dumped me for this woman? Besides, they just got engaged. How have they sent out wedding invitations already? That has to be at least a year away.”
Matvei’s frown looks more like pity than disappointment, pity for me as he pulls up an article from the Sun-Times and hands me his phone.
On the screen is an engagement announcement for Samson’s wedding to one Genevieve Mancini.
The two of them are standing in a picture-perfect pose at the Art Institute’s South Garden, looking entirely gorgeous.
I feel like they’re smirking directly at me, gloating about the enormous ring on her finger.
“Oh.”
I can only stare at the article, the words blurring in and out of focus as I read all about the happy couple’s engagement and wedding, which is only two months away because “they’re too in love to wait!
” They may be too in love to wait, but the timeline makes no sense unless Samson and this Genevieve Mancini were already planning before the jerk broke up with me.
I doubt they’re sending out evites, which means they must have ordered the invitations several months ago, when Samson and I were still together. When I was planning my wedding.
“What better way to get back at the man who unceremoniously dumped you than showing up on the arm of the brother he hates so much?” Matvei asks quietly.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, handing his phone back and wiping at the dampness on my cheeks with the back of my hand.
Matvei stares at me for a moment, frowning. “For what it’s worth, in my opinion, he’s an idiot who let a good thing go.”
Oddly enough, his comment does make me feel better. It also makes me blush a little bit, dammit. “Thanks.”
Matvei leans closer, his eyes capturing mine again.
“Think about it. You know what Samson is like. How do you think it’s going to affect him when you show up on my arm?
You know he hates me; it will drive him insane when he sees you’ve chosen me, more or less.
Play my queen at his wedding. Let him watch while I touch you in ways he never dared.
Help me burn down everything he’s built up. ”
It’s not difficult to imagine.
The guy whose charisma got past my defenses is nothing if not full of himself.
He may not want me, but I know he wouldn’t want anyone else to have me, either, especially the half-brother he despises so much.
I can see it now—the anger on Samson’s face when he sees me as his brother’s guest, Matvei affectionate and treating me like his queen.
I’ve never been the revenge type. But Samson is awful and he deserves it. Hell, I deserve it. I know Kelly would enthusiastically agree, even if she wouldn’t entirely agree with the means by which I’m going about it.
“How much danger would I be in?”
“None whatsoever. You have my word.”
Now it’s my turn to raise a brow at the mob boss.
Matvei nods in acknowledgment at my unvoiced question. “I suppose there is always a slight chance of danger when you are with me. However, the security will be far better than whatever rent-a-cop your boss pays for.”
“I suppose so—” I start to say, then realize I never told Matvei where I work or what I do. “You did a background check on me,” I accuse.
Matvei shrugs, clearly not at all repentant. “As you said, I invite danger. I can never be too careful with those I come across.”
“And what did you find out about me? I deserve at least that much if you’re going to go behind my back.”
He grins at my glare. “I learned enough to wonder why you’re so afraid of being with me when you’ve had to fend off abusive partners of clients who represent far more danger to you than I do.”
I highly doubt that. I think it but don’t say it. I don’t want to poke the bear sitting across the table from me, no matter how genteel he looks in a three-piece suit with diamond cufflinks.
Matvei has one final card up his sleeve. “I know you want to open your own law firm so you can help more people. Do this, and I’ll invest in a practice of your own.”
That does it.
“Okay.” I’m not sure why I’m agreeing to this stupid scheme, except that I’m in Prague and still furious with Samson for dumping me like he did.
“I’ll do it, but it’s just one night. Nothing else.
You have to promise me. Just one single night and then you invest in my practice.
No loans, no money from the mob, no silent partners.
Money I don’t have to pay back in dollars or favors for you. ”
I draw on the woman inside me I use to confront abusers, not the one who’s been a hot mess on vacation. I don’t back down from Matvei’s tiger-like stare.
“Just one night,” he agrees solemnly. A small curve pulls at a corner of his mouth. “Although I’d like to have you for a few more nights while we’re still here.”
“I want a contract,” I tell him, ignoring the comment for the moment. “Ironclad.”
“My computer is upstairs. What do you say to coming up and authoring the contract?”
I know I should say no, but my traitor body is two steps ahead. I nod once and say, “Okay.”
Matvei’s room is exactly what I expected it to be—an enormous suite—much nicer than my own.
I make short work of the contract, stipulating everything I can think of to ensure a single night and nothing more.
I refuse to be in debt to the Russian mob.
I hand Matvei the document, still warm from the printer.
“Do you want to have your lawyers look it over first? I’m fine if you want to wait to sign it.”
He takes the papers from my hand. “No need.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I trust you.”
I’m pretty sure the only reason he trusts me is because he knows he can make me disappear and thus render the contract null and void.
As he sits to sign it, I drift to the windows taking up one side of the suite.
The view is even better than on the terrace.
Below the hotel, the dark waters of the Vltava flow under the Charles Bridge, and I watch as people cross its Gothic surface.
The red-tiled roofs of Malá Strana spread out below the enormity of the palace on the hill and all its spires.
Darkness rises behind me as Matvei’s looming figure approaches.
I can see the reflection of his eyes in the glass, causing a shiver to run the entire length of my body.
I watch as he leans down and kisses my neck, shifting my hair to get better access.
My breath catches, electrical currents running under my skin.
“Your hair is so soft.” Matvei’s fingers tangle in the golden strands as he continues kissing my neck. Using his other hand, he slips the strap of my sundress off my shoulder and follows the line down.
I can’t help the sigh that escapes, raw, pent-up desire growing from spark to fire.
“Your skin is so soft.” The words are a vibration against my collarbone, and I watch, fascinated, as this frightening enigma of a man engulfs me. One hand moves to cup my breast, a thumb brushing over the hard nipple pushing through the thin fabric of my dress and bra.
A gasp ends in a drawn-out moan as my body melts into the man behind me, opening up entirely in preparation for what I know is to come.
How am I so entirely powerless in the arms of this man? How does he drive me to new heights of pleasure I didn’t think were possible? I’m in danger of becoming obsessed, addicted to him. And that’s one thing I know I can’t do. What happens here must stay here.
But at least I know I’ll get my fill, especially as I press back against him and feel how hard he already is.
He nips my neck, his hand sliding down and under my sundress, gripping the outside of one of my thighs. I turn my head, his mouth claiming mine before his kisses trail ice and fire across my skin again.
“My brother is an idiot for giving you up.” His words are a dark whisper in my ear. “And by the time I’m done with you, you won’t even remember his name.”