CHAPTER 17 #2
His thumb stroked my cheek, his gaze burning into mine. “Liam is not blind to anything.”
“Perhaps not to anything,” I conceded, my voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “But trust, Nikolai, can be a blindfold. Especially when it’s placed by someone you’ve known your whole life. Someone you’d never suspect.”
I watched the flicker in his eyes, the almost imperceptible twitch of his jaw. I had hit a nerve. Valentin. He knew. Or he suspected.
His hand slid from my cheek to the nape of my neck, pulling me closer, his scent—cologne and something musky, primal—filling my senses. “What makes you think you can speak so freely, Rosalina? So dangerously?”
“Because I’m not as naive as I appear,” I whispered, my lips almost brushing his. “And because I see things. I connect dots. Just like my father did.” I let my eyes widen, a hint of false fear, real danger. “And because... I think you’re a man who understands loyalty. And opportunity.”
His other hand went to my waist, pulling me fully against his hard body. I felt the undeniable proof of his arousal pressing against my thigh. His lips were inches from mine, his breath warm, inviting.
“And what do you see, little historian?” he rasped, his eyes dark with lust and something else – a dangerous curiosity.
“I see a man who could be powerful,” I breathed, forcing myself to meet his gaze, to play the role.
“More powerful than he is now. If he knew the right secrets. If he made the right alliances.” My hand, slowly, deliberately, found its way to his chest, tracing the crisp fabric of his suit jacket, then settling over his heart.
“What if Liam is being played, Nikolai? What if his empire is crumbling from within, by someone he trusts implicitly? And what if I know how to stop it?”
His lips finally found mine, a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of unspoken desires and calculated risks.
His tongue plunged into my mouth, mimicking Liam’s possessive ferocity, but lacking the same brutal conviction.
I returned the kiss, my body yielding, pressing against his, allowing him to deepen the connection, to explore.
My hands snaked around his neck, pulling him closer, my hips swaying against his.
It was a performance, a dangerous dance, but my body, traitor that it was, still responded with a low hum of unwanted arousal.
The memory of Liam’s touch, his words, his ultimate control, still echoed through me, a phantom sensation that both repulsed and excited.
He broke the kiss, breathless, his eyes burning into mine.
“What do you know?” he demanded, his voice rough, urgent.
“Tell me, Rosalina. Tell me your secrets. And I will give you anything you want.” His fingers, strong and possessive, slid beneath my dress, grazing my bare skin, moving upward, towards my inner thigh.
A shiver ran through me, a mix of disgust and a thrill of dangerous control. He was ready to betray Liam, not for loyalty to Volkov, but for me. For a chance at power, fueled by lust. That was the leverage.
“Anything?” I whispered, letting my eyes drift to his mouth, then back to his eyes, a challenge, a promise. “Prove it. Tell me about the crescent moon cipher. Tell me about the waterfront properties. Tell me what Valentin is planning with Volkov. And then... maybe I’ll tell you everything.”
His fingers froze on my thigh. The raw lust in his eyes faltered, replaced by a sudden, stark realization.
His body stiffened, a coldness replacing the heat.
I had pushed too far, too fast. I had revealed my hand, or at least enough of it.
He understood now. I wasn’t flirting. I was investigating. I was dangerous.
He pulled back abruptly, his hands dropping from my body as if burned. The sudden distance was like a slap. His face hardened, the polite mask returning, colder, more impenetrable than before.
“You have a vivid imagination, Rosalina,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the previous warmth. He took another step back, creating a definitive space between us. “And you confuse art with reality.”
My heart hammered, a frantic beat. He was pulling away. He wouldn’t confirm it. But the flicker of fear, the immediate withdrawal, was confirmation enough. He was involved. Or he knew. And he was now a threat.
“Perhaps,” I murmured, allowing my gaze to fall, feigning disappointment. “Or perhaps, Nikolai, you’re just very good at keeping secrets.” I straightened my dress, smoothing out the fabric, regaining my composure. My hands, however, were trembling slightly.
He didn't respond, his face a stone mask. The moment, the dangerous, seductive game, was over. He simply turned, his broad back to me, and walked toward the gallery entrance, signaling to the attendant that we were leaving.
I followed him, my mind racing, a cold satisfaction warring with a rising tide of fear.
He hadn't confessed, hadn't explicitly confirmed Valentin's betrayal.
But his reaction, the abrupt shift from lust to suspicion, the mention of "old debts" and "opportunity," spoke volumes.
He knew. Or he was involved. Either way, he was now aware of my dangerous knowledge.
And Liam, the unpredictable, possessive beast, would undoubtedly be informed of my "flirtation. "
I had gambled, and I had gained a piece of the puzzle.
But I had also created a new enemy. And very likely, reaffirmed Liam’s belief that I was a defiant, manipulative creature who needed to be constantly reminded of her place.
The game had not just escalated. I had just thrown a match into a powder keg, and I was standing right next to it.