Chapter 17
TESS
Kirill has bought a designer dress that I admired online weeks ago, and it’s even more gorgeous in real life.
A dusky pink, it reaches to my knees in flattering layers of silk.
Not only that, but the whole outfit that I planned out in my mind.
The lipstick, the shoes in the correct size—of course—and the lovely hair stuff I took out of my shopping basket because I couldn’t afford it.
He messages me when to be ready, and he’s in the double-height entrance hall, looking absurdly handsome in a suit, his black hair as untamed as ever, as I walk down the glass staircase, and when he hears me and turns, my heart attempts to throw itself—and me—down to him, and totally distracted by Kirill and unused to the high heels, I nearly trip.
Instantly, Kirill is up the stairs, before me, hands on my waist to steady me. He’s two steps below, and we’re almost face to face.
“Easy,” he chastises softly, eyes full of amusement.
My heart lurches again, because oh god, I really lo… like this man.
I do not love him. That’s silly.
I’ve only seen Kirill in jeans and a T-shirt, so I assumed that was what he wore all the time. But no. He looks utterly comfortable in an outfit so well-tailored it can only be custom-made.
“I didn’t know you owned a suit.”
“I mostly wear a suit, when I’m not…”
“Indulging in your hobby?” I finish for him.
“Precisely,” he says with an approving smile that warms me. “There are expectations of the head of Blackfen, and a suit is one of them. I’ve grown to like it, to be honest. It’s a clear reminder of what I am, so I don’t have to remind people to do my bidding in more painful ways.”
“Your clothes are practical even when they’re formal,” I joke, and that’s so Kirill.
“Clothing is a weapon.” He takes my arm and leads me downstairs and outside to where there’s a limo waiting. “Women know this. Many men have yet to catch up.”
It’s more than that. He looks hot, of course he does. But the suit hides his physical strength in favour of showing his power and wealth. Both outfits provide cover for the fact his most dangerous weapon is his brain.
“Where are we going?” I ask when we’re settled into the car.
“A hotel in central London.” He adjusts his cuffs and the gesture is so sexy I almost melt. But while it’s self-assured, I wonder if perhaps he’s nervous. What about, I have no idea.
“That narrows it down to about a thousand locations and even more reasons.”
“We’re going to meet with some people, and I’m taking them a present.”
“Me?” Panic spikes into me. He’s giving me away.
“Not you, lapochka.” Laughing, he shakes his head. “You’re mine tonight, and I want everyone to know it. My third favour from you today is that you play my devoted girlfriend this evening.”
I gape.
He drags his hand through his hair and gives me a roguish grin that’s a cover. I’m beginning to see the difference. There’s something brittle around his grey eyes. Steel rather than mercury. “Adoring will also do. Loving. Besotted.”
“I’m a bookish girl, not an award-winning actress.” But honestly, I can’t imagine it’s going to be difficult to pretend to be falling for Kirill. Seems to be second nature to me. “Who are we meeting, and do they have eyes?”
“A group of mafia bosses who work together. They’re sometimes known as the London Mafia Syndicate, but I’ve also intercepted some messages where they call themselves the London Maths Club. And yes, I think they have eyes.”
I didn’t think this was Kirill’s thing. “Why?”
“Pfft. Because I haven’t gouged them out yet?” he deadpans.
I can’t help but smile. “No, I mean, why are they called the London Maths Club?”
“Because it takes all of them to put two and two together.”
“Shall I tell them you said that?” I reply innocently.
He rolls his eyes. “Apparently the beginning of mafia sounds like the beginning of maths, and Canary Wharf thought the woman he was trying to win over would like it better if he was part of a maths club, than a mafia syndicate.”
I think of all my dark romance enthusiast friends online. “That feels like the wrong call.”
“Indeed, and the rest of them went along with it to ensure he got what he deserved.”
“An equally nerdy partner?” I suggest. I’m leaning into Kirill, and he’s dipped his head so we’re speaking quietly in the back of the car. It’s intimate, despite our banter. Or maybe because of it.
“And a baby. Or three,” Kirill says with a little smile.
A family. That sounds lovely. “Okay, but a maths club and a computer geek—”
“Nerd, I prefer nerd,” he corrects me.
“Seems like a perfect match. Why do you need a fake date?”
“They’re not actually a real maths club. Mostly, these men have wives. I think it will go better if they think I’m attached. I’ll be less of a threat. You know.” He shrugs, and his tone goes ironic. “Softer. More human. Relatable.”
“You’re relatable,” I protest. “You don’t need—”
“I’m a solitary computer hacker with murderous tendencies. I tortured one of the members of this club, I’ve pissed off half of them by refusing to be their pet IT consultant, and I’ve stolen money from the rest. Some of them are even smart enough to know it was me. Others, I left a calling card.”
“That’s…” I’m not sure what that is. A bit unhinged. A lot of cool. I kinda like that Kirill is powerful and rich, and doesn’t give a flying flamingo what anyone thinks.
“Yes. So, I need a girlfriend to show I’m not actually an irredeemable arsehole,” he says with a twist of humour. “Because I want them to help me.”
I think I must be as crazy as he is, because the idea of pretending to be Kirill’s girlfriend makes me all warm and gooey.
He’s the sort of man people are scared of.
Hell, only days ago I was terrified of him.
But I’ve seen another side to Kirill… A man who held me, gave me a chance, bought me not just the essentials of life but the things that would make me happy, even though he kidnapped me.
Most importantly, he seems to want me.
He’s honourable, in his own twisted, anti-social way. And he’s wickedly smart.
I think I’d be proud to be his partner. I’m absurdly pleased to be his fake girlfriend, there’s a possibility I might explode with joy if I actually got to call this man mine.
“I do realise that the irony of having kidnapped a girl to be my girlfriend to show what a great, upstanding person I am is off the scale.” He gives me a wry smile.
“Is that why you kidnapped me?” I ask. “I thought it was because I saw your face.”
“Maybe it’s because I saw you.” I’m about to ask what he means by that when he continues. “There’s something more important to do before we arrive, lapochka.”
He leans across and cups my face with his hand, cradling my jaw and watching my response.
My mouth falls open in surprise.
“We should practise kissing,” he says huskily.
I nearly point out that we’ve kissed before. That he kissed me to claim his favours, and that we almost kissed when I was on his lap. But I stop myself in time, because I’m absolutely not going to allow a detail like that to interrupt.
“That sounds sensible,” I agree, probably far too eagerly.
“I don’t want them suspecting anything, and since neither you nor I have had a relationship before—”
“How do you know that…?” And has Kirill really never had a girlfriend before?
“Unless you have some experience you’d like to tell me about?” he adds casually. “Offline perhaps?”
“You looked at my messages…?” Of course he did. A thrill goes down my spine. I’m slightly outraged, but also weirdly flattered.
“I went through everything the computer algorithm flagged up as potentially a relationship, and they were, without exception…” He brushes his thumb over my cheek delicately. “All about your book boyfriends.”
I flush hot with embarrassment.
“I know you investigated me, but that’s an invasion of privacy!” Mainly, it’s mortifying.
“It was an education for me, lapochka. I’m aware I have some big skates to fill.”
I wince.
“So come here.” His tone goes low and gravelly. “And let’s put everything we’ve learned from your smut novels to good use.”
Then he gathers me up in his strong arms. His mouth pauses tantalisingly close to mine.
His breath is warm on my lips, and despite the movement of the car, he doesn’t let our mouths touch, holding my head gently away, drawing out the tension between us until I could scream for sheer need of him. For desire to have him kiss me.
“What are you waiting for?” I whisper when all my patience is used up. It’s at least half an hour that he keeps me held, kissing me, but not kissing me.
“When we have an audience, I won’t hesitate.
I’ll take your mouth like it’s mine, and we can’t have you squirming like you do when I kiss you after a chase.
It needs to look as though I’ve kissed you to satiety hundreds of times, and lingered over every caress.
” He shifts his hand down to my neck, pressing his fingers into my nape.
“So I want to relish this moment where we both anticipate how I’ll kiss you. How good it will feel.”
All I can get out is a little whimper of desire.
“Our first kiss as a couple.” He trails his lips oh-so softly up my cheek. “I’m not going to hurry.”
Shock and arousal strike into me as the tip of his tongue traces over my earlobe—I had no idea I was so sensitive there—and then he withdraws the smallest distance, and blows. The shivers go right down to my heated core in tingles that defy belief.
“Besides, isn’t this what a book boyfriend should do?” he teases, whispering in my ear.
I’m humming with need, every part of me straining towards him like a flower reaches towards the sun.
“I’m going to kiss you, and it’s going to feel like I’m claiming your soul. Tell me no.” His grip tightens on my neck, drawing me closer and keeping me there, as though I might try to escape rather than climb into his lap and plead with him to keep me forever.
He can have my soul, so long as he kisses me and says I can be his girlfriend for real.
Wait, what? Then all my thoughts fly as he tilts his head, and his lips brush mine, soft, and alluring.
“Tess,” he rumbles, and slides his fingers into my hair.
The next press of his lips is firmer. Confident and sexy.
He doesn’t thrust his tongue into my mouth this time.
He lures me. His parted lips tempt mine to do the same, and he moans, his chest vibrating against my hand as he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. Heat flares between my legs.
I’m mindless with lust. I need this man inside me. I can’t live without him, and I’m fooling myself that I’m his captive now. I wouldn’t leave Kirill if you paid me. As his lips seduce me, soft and giving, you couldn’t drag me away.
Then there’s a jolt. The gentle breaking of the vehicle.
We both still.
Then Kirill pulls away, and I want to weep.
“Enough practice, lapochka.” He reaches across and unclips my seat belt. In a second he’s slid me out of the car and I’m walking with him into a luxurious hotel, his arm around my waist as though we do this all the time. “Time to meet the Maths Club.”