Chapter 18 - Anatoli
It was the afternoon before the big party, and I was in the worst meeting yet with Leonid, Miron, and the other high-ranking elders.
They were torn between joining forces with the Collective or risking war with them.
I had already gathered enough intel on them to go either way, and while I tended to lean towards staying independent, I was biding my time.
Miron wanted to join forces, pushing hard because, unlike my other uncle, he didn’t relish the responsibilities of leadership and wanted to rest easy with a strong ally instead of a strong foe.
For some reason, I still hadn’t worked out yet, Leonid was pushing the ridiculous idea of liquidating a remarkable amount of our assets and just giving it to Konstantin’s widow.
I was sick of going around in circles and put my foot down, telling them not to act on anything until I made my final decision. That started a tirade, neither of them happy.
“You need to be more like your brother was,” Leonid said.
Even Miron, who was more on my side than Leonid’s, saw Konstantin as forceful and decisive. I saw him as reactive and rash. That was what got him killed. That and cheating every other person who crossed his path.
“I don’t think so,” I disagreed. I was sick of the arguments and left them to squabble among themselves.
At the apartment, I found Masha with her hair done in an elaborate updo, just putting the finishing touches on her dramatic makeup. I liked her best when she was natural, but the effect of the glamorous hair and makeup while she still wore baby blue fleece pajamas was shockingly cute.
I had to laugh, because cute was a word I never believed I’d assign to my ruthless wife.
“What?” she asked, patting at her hair, which was utterly perfect. “Is something not right?”
She seemed nervous, staring balefully at her reflection in the mirror, then looking to me to see what had made me chuckle.
“Don’t start tearing it out, you look amazing,” I said.
She sighed and nodded, accepting the compliment, but still looking on edge. “You can’t be nervous about tonight,” I said. “You’ve already met almost everyone, and they’re all under your spell.”
She grimaced at me, then sighed again. After a little prodding, I finally got her to admit she had learned there would be dancing.
“I’m not good at that,” she said disgustedly, as if she should somehow excel at every last thing in the world.
“You did fine at Josef’s bar,” I reminded her.
Stomping over to where her golden gown hung, she swept aside the hem to reveal the spindly gold high heels that matched the dress. “That was in flat shoes, and you were mostly just flinging me around to the music. Tonight is formal ballroom dancing.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I said.
“Are you kidding? And risk hurting all those uncles of yours when I decline their invitations? And Nadia said people will want to toast us and expect us to dance together since they didn’t get to go to our wedding.”
Her scowl couldn’t have gotten darker at the mention of the wedding, which hadn’t exactly involved any dancing. I shrugged, not knowing what else I could do to ease her mind, because she was determined not to believe that no one cared if she stumbled or not.
“Can you…” she bit her lip, as if the words didn’t want to come out. “Can you help me practice a little? So I can make a good impression?”
Embarrassed by having to ask a favor, she kept her head down while she put the high heels on. She looked even sillier and cuter now, and my hands reached for her of their own accord. I snapped them back to my sides.
“Why do you care so much?” I asked.
She looked at me, stunned. “Because I always do my best, that’s why.”
“Even for me?”
“Even for you,” she told me, putting her hands on my chest. “When it’s my mission.”
Her eyes seemed even bigger with all the smoky makeup around them, and I wasn’t immune to her blinking up at me or the timid smile she gave me.
Timid? Not a chance in hell. “I imagine you walking into a firefight without hesitation, and here you are worried about a little dancing?”
“I’m good at firefights. I suck at dancing.” Her hands moved up to my shoulders. “Just for a few minutes. Please.”
I could have punished her for playing me, but instead decided to take her in my arms and start swaying.
I had been wanting to touch her again for what felt like a lifetime instead of a mere three days.
There was no music, but we didn’t need any.
As soon as my fingers gripped her waist, electricity flowed between us.
She had been looking down as we moved, following our feet, but when I pulled her close, her head jerked up. Our eyes met, hers going dark like black coffee, and her breath hitched in her throat.
“They’ll expect a slow dance,” I said. “You’ve been selling our love story very well.”
“Mmhmm.” Her eyes fluttered shut.
“I hope it hasn’t been too hard for you.”
She tipped up her chin, eyes still closed, her lips slightly parted. With a subtle shake of her head, she inched closer. Her hair looked nice, all piled on top of her head, accentuating her delicate jaw and pert nose, but I itched to sink my fingers into it and feel the silky strands between them.
It was like time skipped forward, and the next thing I knew, my mouth was on hers. Her hands had somehow twined themselves behind my neck, holding tight as I yanked her to me. She tasted like peppermint, and the scent of roses and fresh berries wafted from her hair and velvety-smooth skin.
I moved my hands down her fuzzy pajamas, smiling as she sighed against my lips.
I wanted her, too damn much. I didn’t want to fight it anymore, not when her body was pressed against mine and I had her perfect ass cupped in my palms. Not when she was rising on her toes to deepen our kiss, moaning when she felt my cock twitch against her.
“What about dancing?” she asked, leaning back an inch.
I tugged her back to me. “Just hold onto me.”
“I can do that,” she said, her mouth eagerly meeting mine again.
Was she faking? Did I care? Could I have her again and maintain control? I slid my tongue along her lower lip, moving my hands up her back, under her top to feel her heated skin. Her arms tightened around my neck, fingers sliding through my hair. Another sigh.
I couldn’t trust her, not at all, and giving in to my desire would mean giving up control.
She was so damn soft and warm, and holding on so tight.
She was Masha, she was mine. Suddenly, things like trust and control didn’t matter, and I began to ease her top up, wanting so much more. Needing so much more.
Just as suddenly, the alarm on my phone went off.
I groaned, but didn’t break our kiss, only pulled her closer, held on tighter. The damn alarm continued to ring.
“What is that?” she asked, leaning back. Her eyes were glazed, her lips wet, half her lipstick smeared, and the other half gone, probably on me. Her hands still toyed with my hair.
“I set it so I’d remember to get ready in time. It means we have to leave in twenty minutes. But—”
As I lowered my mouth to hers again, she jolted out of her trance, looking down at her pajama-clad body, then over to the gown hanging off the bathroom door.
“Twenty minutes?” she yelped. “Oh my God. That’s not enough—” Her eyes closed for a brief second, then she flung herself away from me, grabbing the elaborate dress and slamming herself into the bathroom.
Did she look as disappointed as I felt? Or was that more of the act?