Chapter 2 Alexei
Alexei
This is better than any entertainment Dmitri paid for tonight.
Mila’s green dress swishes with every angry step. Even from here, her face is flushed.
She’s pissed.
Good.
Angry looks better on her than the mask of indifference she wore walking in.
I down the rest of my whiskey and set the glass on the bar. Dmitri lifts an eyebrow from across the room. I shake my head. Not now, brother. I have more interesting things to pursue.
When Mila slips through the French doors, I can’t help the low laugh that escapes me.
She’s running again, just like she did six months ago when I suggested the arrangement could work despite her sister’s disaster.
I should let her go so I can focus on actual business tonight instead of chasing after a woman who’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with me.
But I’ve never been good at doing what I should.
I swore I wouldn’t chase her. But some things are worth breaking your own rules for.
I follow her outside, keeping enough distance that she doesn’t notice right away. The garden is elaborately landscaped with hedges and stone pathways that wind through carefully cultivated flower beds.
Dmitri spared no expense for this wedding, but I doubt that when he booked this place, he was looking for secluded corners his brother could take advantage of. There are plenty of spots out here away from prying eyes.
I find her near a stone wall covered in climbing roses. Her back is to me as she grips the rough surface. Her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and I watch her compose herself.
“Running away again, Zaika?”
She spins around, eyes flashing. “I’m not running. I’m getting some air.”
“Sure.” I take my time crossing to her. “That’s why you bolted the second our conversation got interesting.”
“Interesting?” She barks out a laugh. “You mean when you insulted me and my family for five straight minutes?”
“I stated facts. Not my fault if you don’t like hearing them.”
She stalks toward me. “You don’t know anything about me or my situation.”
“I know you hide behind school instead of facing reality.”
“And I know you’re an arrogant ass who thinks money and muscle cover a bad personality.”
The insult makes me smile. “Good thing I don’t need charm to get what I want.”
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. “You think because women throw themselves at you that it means something. But it doesn’t. They want your name, your connections, and your money. Not you.”
“And what about you, Mila? What do you want?”
“To finish my degree and get as far away from men like you as possible.”
“Men like me.” I tilt my head, studying her face. Color burns in her cheeks, and a tiny dimple flickers when she clenches her jaw. Her hair’s twisted up tightly and dotted with pearls. I want to ruin it—drag my fingers through and see how long it falls.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she demands.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re imagining me naked.”
“I am imagining you naked.” No point in lying. “Have been since you walked in.”
Her breath catches, but she recovers quickly with a sneer. “You’re disgusting.”
“And yet, you’re attracted to me.”
“I’m not—”
“Yeah, you are.” I move in. She backs up until she hits the wall. “You wanted me then. You want me now. So why fight it?”
“I’m not interested in becoming another notch on your bedpost.”
“Who said anything about bedposts?” I plant a hand beside her head. “Maybe I just want to see if you taste as good as you look.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.” I lean in closer. “But you’re not pushing me away.”
“That’s because—” She stops herself, but I can see the wheels turning behind her hazel eyes.
“Because what, Zaika?”
“Stop calling me that. You’re just as afraid as I am,” she blurts out. “Afraid of what happens if you have to work for something instead of having it handed to you?”
“You think I’m afraid?”
“I think you’ve never had to chase anything in your life. Women fall at your feet. Business deals close with a phone call. You snap your fingers, and people jump.” She tilts her chin up in defiance. “But I didn’t jump. I said no. And that’s what bothers you about me.”
She’s right. And I hate that she’s right.
“You want me to chase you, Mila? Is that it?”
“I want you to leave me alone.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not—”
I cut off her protest by closing the distance between us and crushing my mouth against hers. It’s not gentle or sweet. It’s rough and demanding, and I expect her to shove me away and slap me for my presumption.
Instead, she makes a little sound. And kisses me back.
Her lips are soft. Insistent. They match my aggression. When I trace the seam of her mouth with my tongue, she shivers before she opens for me. She tastes like champagne and something… sweet… with an edge of bitterness that makes me want more.
I press her to the wall, and my hands find her waist. She fists my shirt like she might tear it.
“This is a mistake,” she gasps when I drag my mouth down her throat.
“Probably.”
“Someone might see us.”
“Let them.”
I find the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and bite gently. She arches against me, and I feel every curve of her body through the thin silk of her dress. The way she responds—unguarded and honest—makes my cock throb.
“Alexei.” My name comes out breathless, and I’ve never heard anything more perfect.
“Tell me to stop,” I growl, sliding my hands up her ribs, and feeling her every shaky breath. “Say you don’t want this.”
“I—” Her protest breaks into a moan when I cup her breast.
“That’s what I thought.”
I capture her mouth again, swallowing whatever protest she was about to make. Her hands slide from my shirt to my hair, and she tugs hard enough to sting. The pain only makes me harder.
My other hand slides down her body, over the curve of her hip, and to the hem of her dress. The silk rides up under my palm, and then I’m touching bare skin. Her thigh trembles under my fingers.
“Last chance, Zaika.” I pull back to study her face. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Tell me no, and I’ll walk away.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Then, she grabs the back of my neck and drags me down for another kiss.
Good enough.
I hike her dress up even more and slip my hand higher until I reach the edge of her panties. They’re lace. Of course they are. I trace the fabric with one finger, and she whimpers into my mouth.
“Please,” she breathes.
“Please what?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“I need to hear it, Mila. I need to know you want this.” I press my palm against her through the lace, and she bucks against it. “Use your words.”
“I want—” She breaks off when I increase the pressure. “God, yes. I want it. I want you to touch me.”
At her request, I slide my hand under the lace and find her wet and ready. She gasps when I circle her clit with my thumb, and her head falls back against the wall.
“Look at you.” I watch her face while I work her with my fingers, memorizing every expression. “So wet for someone you claim to hate.”
“I do hate you.” But her hips rock against my hand, completely betraying her words.
“Lie to me all you want, Zaika.” I slide one finger inside her, and she clenches around me so tightly that I nearly lose control. “That’s why you’re soaking my hand.”
“Shut up and—” She gasps when I add a second finger, stretching her. “Oh, God.”
I curl my fingers until her legs start to shake, my thumb never leaving her clit. She’s slick and trembling, her breath breaking against my neck. Every sound she makes shoots straight through me.
“That’s it,” I murmur. “Take what you need.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” I press harder, driving her higher. “Come for me, Zaika.”
She shatters, her body locking, and her voice catching in my shoulder. I feel every pulse as she comes apart in my arms, working her through it until she’s trembling and spent.
“There you are,” I breathe against her temple. “That’s what I wanted to see.”
I slowly withdraw my hand and pull the skirt of her dress back in place. She’s panting, her face is flushed, and she won’t meet my eyes.
She’s still shaking when her hands move from my shoulders to my belt. Her fingers fumble with the buckle, but I catch her wrists and pull her hands away.
“No.”
“What?” She looks up at me with confusion and desire warring in her eyes. “But I thought—”
I grin, and the look of lust falls from her face, replaced by the familiar contempt I’ve come to expect.
“You bastard.”
“Probably.” I bring my fingers to my mouth and taste her, watching her pupils dilate as I do. “But you’ll remember this the next time you run. Good night, Zaika.”
I turn and walk away, adjusting myself as I go. My cock is hard as hell, and there’s no way I won’t have blue balls tonight. But the look on her face is worth it.
I glance back once and catch her still collapsed against the wall. Her dress is wrinkled, her hair is a mess, and her lips are swollen. She looks thoroughly wrecked and completely furious.
Perfect.
She can stew on that for a while. She’ll realize walking away from me won’t be as easy as she thought.
If Mila Andreeva wants to play games, she’s going to learn that I always win.