ANYA
CHAPTER NINE
Afamiliar awareness slid beneath my skin. One I had felt over the years since I’d left my husband, but it always failed me when I went searching. Jetmir—or Thorne, as I had once called him—was never there.
My hand moved to the back of my neck, intent on shaking off the feeling much like I had done before, but the sensation only intensified.
As though caught by an invisible thread, I turned my head. And then I saw him.
Jetmir Thorne Volkov-Tijuana.
My ex-husband.
My heart stuttered and time seemed to grind to a halt. Across the room stood a towering man whose burning gaze was entirely focused on me. Those eyes that haunted my dreams. The very ones I had spent three years trying to forget.
He was the only thing I could see as pain lanced through me and my pulse thundered against my ribs.
No. It couldn’t be him.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, willing the image away. He was a hallucination. A nightmare. A cruel trick of the mind.
When I opened them again, he was still there.
Jetmir.
In the flesh.
He stood above the crowd like a storm cloud given human form. Broad-shouldered and imposing, he commanded attention without seeming to seek it. People moved around him instinctively, parting without realizing they were doing it.
Like subjects stepping aside for a king.
But he wasn’t a king. Kings ruled kingdoms. Jetmir ruled chaos, lies, and the Volkov criminal empire.
The black suit only disguised the devil beneath. I swallowed hard as my gaze swept over him.
A tumbler rested loosely in his hand, untouched.
Fingers that used to touch me, pleasure me, curled around the delicate glass, and a memory flashed through my mind—those same hands gripping my hips, my thighs, my waist.
My breath caught, and my core throbbed. Heat unfurled through my veins, igniting every nerve ending.
My mind remembered every reason I should hate him. My body remembered none of them.
The ache spread through my chest with the realization that despite everything that had happened and the damage he’d caused… I still wanted him. The realization hit like a slap.
Disgusted with myself, I straightened my shoulders.
I would ignore him and pretend he didn’t exist. Yes, that was my plan, and—
No. No, no, no. Why was he walking toward me? Please turn around. Go anywhere else.
I wasn’t ready for this. Three years hadn’t been enough. A hundred lifetimes probably wouldn’t have been either. Five feet, four, three… He stopped two feet away.
His scent reached me first.
Everything else faded.
The music. The conversations. The crowd. The room.
Only Jetmir remained.
God, I almost forgot just how tall he was and how small I’d always felt in his presence.
“Hello, my angel.” His deep voice brushed against me like a spark to dry tinder and his spicy scent surrounded me. For the first time in three years, I felt whole again.
God, to feel so much for someone couldn’t be healthy. Yet, I feared there was no cure. Deep down, I’d hoped to see him again. Why? Maybe because I was a damn glutton for punishment. It wasn’t as if I could expect a happily-ever-after with him.
If I was smart, I would have looked away. I should walk away now. Instead, I stood frozen.
Remembering every kiss. Every touch. Every word… But his words were all lies. His actions had shattered my family.
My grip tightened around my champagne glass.
Whatever hold Jetmir had on me bordered on sickness. And I knew it.
“Go to hell, cabron.”
He smiled cruelly, his eyes darkening like a moonless night. “I can tell you missed me, wife. My angel.”
My body instantly responded. The blood in my veins heated and my nipples tightened. My legs shook while my inner thighs trembled and I had to shift on my feet to ease the pressure between my thighs.
I swallowed hard, trying my best to stay composed and keep this fragile peace intact. We’d already cost our families too much.
“I’m no longer your wife. And thank God for that.
” My voice came out sharp and clipped, ignoring his comment.
I couldn’t admit to anyone—including myself—how much I’d missed this infuriating man over the past three years.
“And stop calling me your angel. You lost all rights to call me any nickname.”
It was a petty jab, but satisfying nonetheless.
Jetmir ignored my warning. “I meant it when I spoke my vows, my angel. You’ll always be mine, and I’ll always be yours.”
I winced.
“I don’t want to be yours, and I certainly don’t want you to be mine.” I hissed out the blatant lie, keeping a pleasant mask while my eyes searched the ballroom for anyone who might see us and start shooting. “So cut the shit and stop calling me yours.”
Why was nobody paying attention? Shouldn’t they rush in here and make this situation a little bit less awkward?
Then it dawned on me. I’d been hiding a little too well, which meant I was alone with the devil. Jetmir knew it too.
I silently cursed myself as I went to sidestep him, but he mirrored my movement. “Why are you running, angel?”
“Stop calling me that,” I gritted. “And for your information, Jetmir—” I purposely used his first name, ignoring the way my heart thundered under my ribs. “I’m getting as far away from you because I can’t stand to be close to you.”
He leaned down and brushed a soft kiss against my cheek.
“Oh, Anya. We both know you’re lying to yourself,” he purred, sending goose bumps scattering in his wake.
“I can feel your emotions as if they were my own. You want me. You crave me, and I crave you too.” His mouth lowered further, hovering over my neck.
“Your neck is the perfect place for my lips. It’s like you were made for me. ”
I fluttered my eyes closed, remembering the sensation of Jetmir’s mouth on my body.
Heat. Fire. Danger. Everything I wanted and shouldn’t have.
I hated myself for still craving him. Loving him, damn it.
My thoughts kept returning to the countless little moments that had made our short time together so special. Most of all, I remembered the evening our date ended in a warm evening rain.
We ran through the rain, trying to get somewhere dry and then finally gave up. Instead, I started dancing, loving the way my husband watched me with reverence and love in his eyes. He joined me and we slow danced in the rain, ignoring the passersby and forgetting about the world.
But that was a dream back then and this is the reality now.
“I’m not… made for you,” I breathed. “I’m not yours and don’t want to be. I don’t love you.”
“If your love is over, we’ll use mine. I have plenty to go around for both of us.”
“I despise you.”
There was no doubt about it, the man was delusional.
Whatever we had, whatever fragile thing had grown between us three years ago… it was now dead.