Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Eva
The car slows as we approach the building. A sleek modern high-rise downtown, towering with glass and steel—it reflects the night lights of the city. We pull into the underground garage and stop outside a private elevator.
“Welcome home,” Tolya says as he steps from the car, reaching his hand out to help me. When our hands meet, a shock of electricity arcs between us. With a slight gasp, I drop his hand and walk toward the elevator.
The guard on standby waves a keycard at the pin pad, and the elevator doors open with a small ding.
Stepping inside, all I see is our reflection in every inch of the small space.
The interior is made of ceiling-to-floor mirrors on all four sides.
The floor, thankfully, is an ornate black tile with veins of gold that won’t reflect up my skirts.
“Did they run out of your marble and crimson?” I blurt out sarcastically as I examine the mirror all around me. My hand flies to my mouth as I realize—I did just say that out loud. “Oh.”
Tolya doesn’t respond, but he can’t keep the smirk from crossing his lips either, rubbing his nose in an attempt to hide it.
So he does have a sense of humor.
When the elevator door opens again, it leads directly into the penthouse itself. The windows that line the front room open out to a panoramic view of the city beyond.
Stepping inside, Tolya sheds his suit jacket, laying it over the back of a leather chair as he passes it. He walks straight to the bar and pours himself a drink. Judging by the dark amber of the liquor within the crystal decanter, I safely assume it’s whiskey. No ice.
“This is where you live? No wonder no one can ever find you,” I say, standing awkwardly in the entryway.
“That’s the point, now, isn’t it?”
I watch him move through the space like I’m not even in the room.
Stepping down the stairs, I approach the windows overlooking the city, taking in the brilliant lights of the night sky.
From this vantage point I can even pinpoint where the city meets the lake, the lights fading into the darkness of the water beyond.
In the reflection I watch as Tolya loosens his tie, pulling out his phone and pressing a button before putting it to his ear.
“The view is beautiful here,” I say with a hmph. “Living in the sky, great idea. Unless someone throws you out the window.”
Tolya continues ignoring me, listening intently to something on his cell phone. He pulls it from his ear, and his fingers dance across the screen before returning it once more.
He barks what I assume are instructions to whoever picks up the other line in a slew of Russian I have no hope of understanding.
Turning to face him, I wait for him to fill me in on whatever’s going on.
Nico always would, even if it was only because he needed someone to be his sounding board.
But Tolya doesn’t. He scribbles some notes with a pen on a leather-bound notepad.
His face is unreadable as he proceeds to ignore my existence.
“Everything alright?” I ask.
Still no response, no acknowledgement. Anger builds within me at the way he ignores me.
I clear my throat, attempting to tactfully interject my presence into his flurry of action. But he continues on as if this is any other Tuesday night.
Seriously?
Crossing my arms, I watch him with growing disbelief. My jaw clenches and I begin to grind my molars.
“Ah, excuse me,” I finally try.
Still no response. He just goes on organizing… whatever the hell it is that Pakhans organize. His expression isn’t nervous. He isn’t stalling. He simply doesn’t give a damn that I’m here.
“So this is how it’s going to be? Even married, we're still going to be enemies?” I ask in frustration, stepping closer. “No small talk, no awkward post-wedding tension? Just voicemails, phone calls, and whiskey while I stand here like a deaf and dumb statue?!”
He still doesn’t look up from his notes. Phone in one hand, pen in the other.
“HELLO! Would it be a huge inconvenience for me to interrupt your majesty?” I say haughtily, my hands shooting to my hips.
That gets his attention. His ice blue eyes settle on me. “Would you prefer I ignore my responsibilities just to throw rose petals at your feet?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
He puts his phone and pen down and reaches for his drink. He tips the glass back, finishing off the last of its contents.
“And what if you married an ass? Perhaps you should have read the fine print more carefully,” he says as he examines the bottom of the now empty glass before discarding it on the table.
I blink in disbelief.
“Unbelievable. You act like you didn’t just marry me a few hours ago. No, I didn’t expect to be worshipped, but good God, I won’t be ignored like this!” I exclaim. “You said I am Russian now that I’m your wife. Prove that you meant it and I’m no longer an outsider.”
“Is this an Italian thing?” he asks, his blue eyes piercing my invisible armor once more. “This desire for constant attention?”
“That’s not what I said.” Now I’m beyond frustrated, verging on furious. “I am not some child demanding attention. I want respect, as I expect you do.”
That gets his attention. I feel the shift in the air immediately. He stands, stalking toward me with slow, deliberate steps. A predator studying its prey that suddenly found the will to fight back.
I step back. He keeps coming. I keep backing up until my back hits the glass windows. I realize too late that he’s deliberately backed me there. His arms come up, one hand planted on either side of me, boxing me in. His eyes pin me in place.
My pulse skips violently, and the air is suddenly so thin I feel dizzy.
When he speaks next, his voice is soft but rough, teasing me like velvet over my skin. “Is this what you want, Eva? For me to pay attention to you? To your needs? ”
I open my mouth. Close it. The heat that shoots through my body is nearly unbearable. I can feel myself squirm, cheeks flushing under the sudden intensity of his gaze, eyes darkening as he moves even closer.
“I… I don’t… know…”
God, he’s so close, I can’t breathe.
His mouth curves into a dark smile. “Don’t you?”
Then he kisses me. Hard. Fierce. Possessive.
His mouth claims mine like he has every right to it, marking me as his.
My world tilts. My hands grip his shirt reflexively, pulling him into me before I even realize what I’m doing.
The kiss steals my breath, replacing it with an unquenchable hunger far more dangerous.
I can feel myself growing hot and slick between my thighs, a needy, aching warmth growing in my core.
He pulls back and I mourn the loss of his lips, chasing after the contact again, but the sudden shift leaves me dizzy. He doesn’t move far—just enough that he can murmur in my ear, voice husky and rich with sinful promise.
“You have absolutely no idea whose hands you’ve willingly put yourself into.”
His lips find my neck, trailing teasing butterfly kisses over my skin, before his teeth scrape over the sensitive spot below my jaw. Between the assault, he murmurs roughly, “I don’t trust you. But that doesn’t change that I want you.”
Then he nibbles at my earlobe, his hands moving to my waist and pulling me hard against his steel formed body. “You are here to solidify peace. To give your brother the power that he wants. And to be my wife. Do not forget that. And play your part.”
His teeth nip at my bottom lip, making me gasp with the surprising pleasure that quick bit of pain evokes.
Then he kisses me again—deeper this time, slower, more passionate, as if daring me to stop him.
His hands roam, sliding lower on my hips, drifting back over the swell of my ass and gripping teasingly before continuing up my back to keep me flush against his chest. My nipples are twin peaks, pebbled hard and aching; every breath causing small shocks of pleasure to course through me from the friction of my dress over them.
I want to. I don’t want to. Confusion mingles within me as my emotions run away.
This feels good—too good—and I want more.
So much more. But I have to stop this before it goes further.
And before I can second guess my choice, I shove my hands against his chest, hard.
Hard enough to break our kiss and earn myself a few inches of reprieve.
“Don’t,” I say firmly, staring up at him panting. Breathless, angry, overwhelmed. “Don’t do that again.”
“Do what? Awaken your desires?” he laughs, low, knowing.
Raising a hand, he strokes his fingers down the side of my face as he examines my lips, a seductive smile on his own. Then he leans in close enough that for a second I think he’s going to kiss me again. Instead, he speaks against my lips.
“You’ll be begging me to do more than that before the week is over,” he murmurs, his voice like liquid sex running over my body, “Malishka.”
I stare up at his beautiful eyes, accepting the dare, refusing to acknowledge just how right he probably is.
“Guest room?” I demand.
Leaning back, he gives me enough space to slip past as he points down the hall.
“Master bedroom. Second door on the left.”
I duck out of his arms and stride toward the bedrooms, my heart still hammering, shivering as his hand trails down my spine in parting.
I can feel his eyes on my ass as I stride down the hall.
Taking an unsteady breath, I straighten despite his touch.
The feeling leaves me desperately trying to pretend that I have even an ounce of control over anything at all as I struggle to ignore the fierce, empty ache between my thighs.