Chapter 8
ANTON
Idon’t know everything there is to learn about Liliana. I only met her last night, and ever since Viktor brought her in shivering and cold after she crashed into my parked car out front, I’ve treated myself to exploring her delectable body and finding all the ways to pleasure her.
I lack the time and energy to get to know everything about her. That’s just how my hectic life is as a workaholic.
But I do know this.
She’s consistently eager to get away.
At first it came across as a sweet need to avoid being a bother. It’s endearing, this reflexive instinct to stay independent and not expect me to clean up her mess.
Now, holding her close and wondering why she’s so desperate to sneak out of my bed, I can’t help my curiosity about her flightiness. I’m too used to people overstaying their welcome and testing the limits of my patience. Liliana’s eagerness to slip away has caught my interest.
Before I can ask why she’s so determined to get away, I fight off the thoughts that she could have something—or someone—to get back to.
Once more, I hate the idea of another man having the right to claim her.
It’s possessive as fuck. It’s twisted, considering I’ve only just met her and knowing full well my busy life leaves no room for a girlfriend or a lover.
Her stomach growls, and she cringes, cheeks going pink. “Sorry.”
I scowl. “What the fuck for?”
She lifts her brows and parts her lips, searching for an answer.
“Why are you sorry that you’re hungry?” I ask, dismissing the multitude of other questions I have for her, like why she feels the need to get away from me. Sure, I’m bossy and demanding, but last night, she showed how much she liked my guidance.
“I’m…not,” she admits sheepishly.
“Then why are you acting like you’re doing something wrong?” Annoyed that I never fed her last night, and set on making up for it now, I hold her close and sit up, pulling her with me until she’s seated on my lap. A reminder that she’s not going anywhere. Not yet. Not until I say so.
That blush is still there, making her even sexier. It’s not an act. She’s not faking some kind of doe-eyed innocence to manipulate me. I can tell.
“You’re hungry. So am I.” I kiss her deeply, as a reminder that I’m hungry for her, too. “That’s part of being human.”
She sighs, leaning into me. “I know. It’s just that, um, my ex used to give me a hard time when my stomach would growl.”
I rear back to frown at her. Hearing that she has an ex, and not a current man in her life, sounds fucking amazing. But I despise him already. Both for having her first before I could and also for how he treated her.
“He was never into my body, and…” She frowns, more in anger than sadness. “And he was always telling me I was too fat.”
I grip the back of her neck and pull her in close to kiss her. I manage to erase that frown, but when we part for air, she’s slow to smile back at me. “He sounds like a fucking moron.”
She pulls her lips in and hesitates. “I don’t know if you really mean that.”
I nod. “It’s his loss he can’t appreciate a gorgeous woman.” I smooth my hands over her hips, wishing I had the time to hold on to her like I did last night, fucking her until she begged to come.
“No, I mean, you can’t actually think that about him. Because, um…” She winces. “Um, he’s your son.”
I don’t release her. Her statement surprises me, but it isn’t working as a deterrent to my desire for her. “What?”
She bobs her head and tucks some of her golden hair back behind her ear.
“Yeah. I didn’t realize it last night. But I saw your tattoo this morning.
” She presses her fingertip to the one on my chest. “This one, that says you’re the boss of the Sokolov Family.
And it clicked.” She lowers her gaze again, but only for a second.
“I dated Roman for just under a year. We shared an apartment. But when I walked in on him cheating on me with my best friend a week ago, I left him.” She clears her throat, tipping her chin up higher, as if saying that fills her with pride, not shame. “He brought me here over the holidays.”
Instead of bringing you to the family gatherings.
My stupid son brought some other woman, instead. Not her.
Now it makes sense. I thought something about Liliana’s voice was familiar, and I realize I must have heard her in the background sometime when Roman called me.
“And I left a few things. I came here to get them, and I didn’t count on crashing into your car. Or meeting you. Or letting last night happen.” She licks her lips. “I didn’t know you were his father.”
I capture her in a kiss again, showing how this doesn’t make a difference to me.
“And I didn’t know my son could be stupid enough to let someone like you go.
” In case she gets the idea I want to take my son’s place, to be her man and start something serious—something I don’t make time or effort for in my life—I stand and lift her with me.
Once she’s on her feet, I take her hand and squeeze it. “I think we agreed on breakfast.”
She seems surprised, smiling sweetly. “I think it was dinner, actually.”
I stride toward my pants to pull them on. “I suppose we were distracted then.”
“I’ll say.” She pulls her gaze from me and turns to go. “Breakfast it is.”
Musing over the fact that I slept with my son’s ex, I wonder if she’ll revert to that shyness downstairs.
Viktor routes a call to me, though, and I take it before I go down to eat.
Feeding Liliana is my priority, but as I listen to the report from one of my supervisors, work takes precedence.
It always does. I step out of my room to pace the landing and listen.
Viktor is staying in his quarters on the other side of the mansion, giving me space, but this isn’t anything I can hand off to him.
I’m later than I want to be when I come down the stairs. To my surprise, Liliana’s made herself useful in the kitchen. A full spread of food is set out.
“You made this?” I ask, hearing how stupid it sounds the moment I step into the large kitchen.
“No. I ordered it in,” she replies with a sarcastic tease. No one’s on the road out there. The pots and pans in the sink are proof of how fast she whipped up breakfast.
“Hmm.”
She sits, ready to dig in, and using her foot, she slides another stool at the island out to me, a silent invitation to join her.
“You made all of this?” I ask as I sit, once again hating how simple I sound.
“Yeah. What? Are you used to something else?” she asks before taking a bite.
Yeah. I fucking am.
It’s not that she made food for me. It’s that she took the initiative to make food at all.
For herself. She’s self-sufficient, which is sexy as fuck after only ever meeting women who rely on hired help to get through life.
She’s competent, too, which is obvious the second I take a bite of eggs and have to fight back a groan.
And she’s so laid-back about having made me a meal at all.
It’s then that I realize how used I am to people like Elena looking at me and expecting me to provide.
Relying on me to have Viktor reserve a table or order around their particular dietary demands.
Being on the receiving end of a home-cooked meal shouldn’t feel this remarkable, but it does.
Sometimes it’s the small things that matter so much more.
“This is amazing,” I admit as I eat, stunned that my son could’ve ever let her go. That he could have ever been so stupid to lose her.
“Eh.” She makes a face. “The pancakes could use a little more vanilla.”
I smile, amused that she can be so candid about critiquing her own results. Not out of shame or embarrassment, just an open acknowledgment that she could improve.
I’m too busy eating to speak with her, but as we get through the food, I can’t help but observe how hungry she is.
A woman with an honest-to-God appetite. Unafraid of carbs.
It’s so strikingly different from any of the flings I’ve had since I divorced Elena twenty years ago.
And I know this can’t be unique to Liliana just because she’s young.
It’s just who she is. Unapologetically herself and not seeming to care that she’s with me, a man the entire city bends over backward to impress.
Fuck.
She’s getting to me, getting under my skin. All because she made us breakfast.
No, that’s not it.
It’s because she’s not expecting anything of me.
It’s because she’s so responsive to my touch and so sweet on my tongue.
Like she’s made for me.
Viktor strolls into the room, wide-eyed with comical surprise. “What is all this?” He looks at me.
“This is her masterpiece.” I gesture at Liliana.
“Masterpiece?” She rolls her eyes. “This is nothing.”
Viktor brings his incredulous gaze back to me.
“Don’t just stand there,” I tell him.
“Yeah. It’s getting cold.” Liliana stands to get a plate prepared for him. Not as though she’s a servant or cook, but a woman with the natural need to nurture and feed someone.
He sits and watches me with a silent question in his eyes.
I smile around another bite of food, knowing he’s got to be so shocked at this domesticity that feels like instinct.
She fusses with the coffee machine, muttering about it being too complicated, and Viktor gets up to point out what she’s doing wrong. While they manage that, I get a call and hate that I need to excuse myself.
I don’t plan to let this be the end. I have questions for her, ones I’m not doing a great job of talking myself out of asking. As the hours pass and I spend the bulk of my time in the office taking calls, I can’t shake the awareness that she’s here.
In the background.
In the kitchen, by the sounds of it.
When I pace past the open double doors of the office, I notice her on the phone. She looks agitated, and I catch myself before I care. Maybe she’s arranging car repairs back in the city. Maybe she’s listening to a voicemail. Whatever it is, I can’t let it be my business.
She crossed paths with me once.
One lapse in judgment, when we gave in to the attraction that flared up between us.
It doesn’t mean that anything needs to change.
Life will go back to the way it’s supposed to be.
As soon as the roads are clear, we’ll go back to our lives. Liliana will return to hers and I’ll resume mine. Normal days of working and managing an empire of wealth and sin.
As I picture it, sitting in my office and heading home each night after the grueling work of keeping the Bratva intact and prosperous, I war with the thought that it all sounds more daunting than the alternative. The peace and bliss I found here with her.
Forget it.
Forget about her.
I’ve never struggled to get over a woman before.
And I doubt that Liliana can end up being an outlier in that regard.
No matter how boldly she’s already captured my attention while we’re stuck here.