Chapter Seven
Roman's POV
It shouldn’t go like this.
I shouldn’t feel this way.
But even someone who didn’t know anything about me could tell that I wasn’t unaffected. Anyone with eyes could clearly see how my eyes lingered on her after every retort and how my hands sought something to do just to keep from touching her.
I was too honest with myself to deny the fact that Liza Markova was doing something to me that I never had the time to plan against. It was like her quick mouth and short temper were a solvent that permeated a brick and made it crumble—and I, or a part of me, was the fucking brick.
From the moment I spontaneously spun the engagement story and asked her to act along, she had proven to be good at doing the exact opposite of whatever I expected.
Even at the onset of the whole charade, I hadn’t expected her to calmly accept the idea of getting married to a guy she knew next to nothing about, a guy who technically just had her kidnapped.
Although she gave me a promise in the form of a threat, she didn’t yell as I’d expected.
Neither did she get angry at the prospect of getting engaged; her ‘anger’ was pretty chill in my books.
I had absolutely no reason to have her wardrobe delivered to my penthouse in Manhattan.
But I did it, anyway. While I could tell my men, Liza herself, and anyone else that I did it so she wouldn’t have any reason to talk my ears off, the real reason was the simple fact that I wanted to give her what she wanted, to make what she deemed important happen.
Now, how do I explain this when the woman in question was someone I hadn’t spoken to until a couple of hours ago?
The thought of what just happened replayed in my mind as I walked away from the makeshift fitting room.
How could I not think about it? I had expected her to recoil the moment my skin touched hers through the smooth fabric of the dress—and she didn’t.
Moving away from my touch would have painted a typical picture: that of a captor threatening the captive, and the latter fighting for the tiniest bit of personal space by pulling back.
Instead, Liza remained in her position, unknowingly stripping the perfect picture of its colors and leaving a silhouette which revealed the hole in the narrative—my real reason.
Although I was thankful about not having to give up my real reason in her presence, I couldn’t avoid thinking about it.
My hands itched to touch her the second I saw her.
The tailor was zipping her up, and her eyes were on the mirror, oblivious to my presence.
Even before the zipper got to her upper back, the dress flared around the wide curve of her hips, and I could picture all eyes being on her wherever she went.
Combined with the fact that she opted for a different color from what I’d selected, the audacity she always embodied was clear.
It should have annoyed or even disgusted me, but it did the opposite.
I trained my men to be audacious and even punished them for acting like brainless sheep, but when it came to women, it was a different ball game.
I had been around enough ladies to know that what women prized as audacity was mostly unearned entitlement.
They believed they should be treated in a certain way because their parents spoiled them, and some gullible men told them they were one-in-a-million.
While I tended to smile charmingly at donors and patrons who fell under this category, I had no reason to maintain the smiling cover in personal meetings outside business.
With Liza, however, it felt different. There was none of that ‘I’ll have my way just because’ bullshit.
From the way she talked to the way she moved, it showed that she was a woman who had value and knew it.
How could that not turn me on? Besides, her curvy body, adorned with that beautiful not-so-pale skin and full reddish-pink lips, was to die for. Nothing about her was regular.
But ours wasn’t a real engagement; it was a chance meeting. Our engagement wasn’t about getting drawn to or finding out about each other; it was about revenge and the necessary cover.
Elizaveta is my leverage, not my lover.
I should keep my distance.
Regardless of how hard it might prove to be, I had to stay away from her. It didn’t matter if the thought of her name was so beautiful and so full of character; I had to take a step back. Scratch that, several steps back.
“Boss,” Stepan greeted, rising to his feet as I stepped back into my office.
“The guys just sent the footage of that night,” he informed as I went around the table to my leather chair.
“And was the Ruslan guy at the club that night?”
“He was, boss. Just like you said,” he answered, sliding the dark pictures to me.
“It got even clearer when I printed them out. It wasn’t so clear in the email, but the timestamp made it possible for me to track the time gaps in his initial alibi with the time a hooded guy came in and out of the club.
It was him.” He pointed at a picture where the back of the hoodie was zoomed in on, revealing a logo of some sort.
“This logo is for a brand that makes vegan reproductions of stock costumes. They are a small brand, so I asked Brad to hack into their website, and his address matched a purchase of the hoodie that was made last year.”
“He was just too detailed. You don’t dress like that unless you have something to hide,” I mused. “Good work, anyway. Call the NYPD guy and share these findings with him.”
The guy in question was a suspect in a felony, and he was reportedly sighted at one of my clubs after the crime before he went to his residence that night.
But he had denied stepping into the club on that night when the police brought him in for questioning.
To verify the truth, the police department had reached out to the club’s security department.
I had personally stepped in and promised the police to send them the footage of that night, whether or not it incriminated the guy.
On the part of the police department, it was unusually cooperative and even civil of me to offer.
Most club owners often fought tooth and nail to protect their company name and customers, and that included tampering with the footage or claiming the surveillance cameras weren’t in operation.
On my part, however, it was nothing because my men’s surveillance on the guy showed that he was a nobody—he had no ties with anyone who was anyone.
My cooperation with the police in the name of zero tolerance for crime was like throwing a bone out of a dog’s immediate reach to drive it further away.
“Again, we’re in the law’s good graces,” he remarked.
“We always will be,” I assured. “Always.”
“I’ll send them to him,” he uttered, gathering the photos to himself.
“What’s the update on Iago’s supply?”
“Sir Mikhail’s men told me it crossed the Atlantic a few hours ago. His men will get it tonight.”
Iago was one of those businessmen who supplied my club's drinks but got paid in drug shipments, rather than cash. His wine and vodka production company was a cover, just like the whole clean wing of the Lobanov’s business was.
But Iago wasn’t just a regular business partner; he was a long-standing, loyal ally—both in the underworld and in public.
That automatically made his shipment a higher priority, regardless of his order quantity.
“Okay, and do they know that?”
“Yes, boss. I spoke with them after Yuri called.”
I nodded in acknowledgement.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There was nothing urgent at the club, so I decided to sit behind my desk and handle paperwork instead of heading over there with Stepan.
“Okay, boss,” he answered, standing and walking out of my office.
In that moment, I wondered what Liza was doing. Not wanting to get caught in the trap of thinking about her again, I lifted the pile of files at the edge of my table until I got to the one I was looking for.
I buried myself in the records of Arkady Markova’s shell companies.
************
I didn’t hear the door open; I only heard the soft sound of her footsteps as she moved closer to my desk.
“You’ve been glaring at those papers all evening,” she pointed out, her voice casual, like she didn’t just admit to entering my office and watching me uninvited. “Maybe you should try another tactic.”
I raised a brow at her, and my eyes raked her approaching form. Even in the early night darkness that shrouded the room, I could see how her breasts pushed against the fabric of her silk robe and how it flared around her hips.
Her gray eyes shone with audacity as she came over to my desk, moving unhurriedly like she was in control.
She took the glass of bourbon from my hand and sipped it.
Her eyes didn’t shy away from mine as she dropped the glass on the desk.
The mark her red lipstick made on the rim of the glass didn’t go unnoticed by me—or by my body.
“You want me to be scared of you,” she said, her ass leaning against the hardwood desk. “But fear isn’t what I feel when I look at you.”
Something in me snapped. It was probably my thinking faculty, considering how I lunged at her like a starving beast.
I slid the glass tumbler away and hauled her against me in the same breath.
She didn’t resist as I claimed her lips with mine, her lips latching onto mine.
Gripping her waist, I moved her so she was against the desk again as my body melded with hers.
The kiss quickly became rough, my will clashing with hers.
Her full breasts pressed against my chest, and I peeled off my suit jacket in a second, needing to feel every part of her body on mine.
Her hands slid up to my shoulders as I pressed her body closer.
Our tongues fought for domination as our hands explored each other’s bodies.
Her desire, which rolled off of her in waves, fueled mine even more.
I couldn’t maintain my composure. There was something about how she leaned into my touch that made me not want to stop.
The heat in the room was palpable as my hands slid to the curves of her breasts, the soft sound that left her lips spurring me on.
Her fingers disappeared into my hair, tugging with enough fervor to show me how much she wanted me, but with a tenderness that showed me her unwillingness to cause me pain or discomfort.
My heart swelled with a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to.
I grabbed her voluptuous ass and brought her to sit at the edge of the table as we broke the kiss.
Her chest still heaved, and her eyes were dark with lust as I calmly pulled the sash holding her robe together.
My gaze remained locked on hers as I undid the knot and slid my hands up her arms, pushing the robe down until it pooled around her on the desk.
My eyes slowly went lower, and I wordlessly took in her creamy skin and those curves that made my mouth water.
My hands landed on her lap, and my lips collided against hers again as she started to unbutton my shirt.
“Beautiful,” I muttered into the kiss as I took my shirt off.
Her hands explored my bare chest as I grabbed her breasts.
She let out a soft moan as I kneaded them, my fingers flicking the perky nipples.
The soft but throaty sound went straight to my crotch.
Like metal drawn into a magnetic field, every part of my body was pulled to hers.
My lips moved to her neck, and my hands dragged downwards as I kissed, sucked, and nibbled.
I rubbed her through the moist lace of her panties, and she squirmed, releasing a breath.
Not seeing any sign of hesitation as I met her eyes, I continued rubbing her, making her bite her lower lip.
I brought my hand to her mouth and pulled her lower lip out of the grip of her teeth.
Not leaving her eyes, I slipped my hand into her panties. Her chest lifted as she released another shaky breath, and she brought both hands to her sides on the table, steadying herself with them. The soft, wet skin my fingers came in contact with made me impatient to devour her.
“You’re wet, gorgeous,” I pointed out as my hands slid lower, to her entrance. “I want to fuck you against this desk from behind and drive you wild with mind-numbing orgasms until my name is all you can scream.”
Another shaky sigh left her lips as she looked at me with lustful eyes that definitely mirrored mine.
“But I’ll fuck you with my fingers first,” I added, sliding a finger into her. “I want your juices all over my fingers.”
Her hips bucked off the desk, and I held her down with my other hand.
I started moving in and out of her, my pace increasing.
My thumb rubbed her clit, and she moaned loudly, throwing her head back.
I added another finger into her pussy. I was pleasantly surprised as I felt her tighten against my fingers.
“Oh….oh, God….fuck!….don’t stop!”
I moved even faster and, in another few seconds, Liza moaned even louder as she came all over my fingers, her body quivering as I kept fucking her until she came down from her high.
Her eyes were hooded, and her face glowed with a sheen of perspiration when she resurfaced from throwing her head back.
I slid my fingers out of her and licked her cum off them while our eyes locked.
“Now I can’t stop,” I told her.
“Then don’t,” she answered, sporting a small smile.
I undid my belt, and she shifted to the edge of the desk as I took my black pants off, standing between her legs in only boxers. I was rock-hard beneath the boxers and, when I caught her eyes lowering, I knew she could see it clearly.
My fingers hooked around the band of her panties, and she lifted herself as I took them off.
“Like what you see?” I inquired as I took my dick out, fisting it once as I moved closer to her entrance.
“So, um…before….” she started, pursing her lips before she went on. “I think you should know that I’ve never…you know.” She shrugged casually, but the swift movement of her eyes betrayed her mild embarrassment.
What I, on the other hand, felt was akin to shock.
“You mean you’re a…virgin?”
She nodded in the affirmative.
Damn.