Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Annika
Iam not in the mood for grumpy old men this evening.
In my opinion, I have cornered the market on being in a foul mood.
After all, I’m the one being forced to marry a stranger to help my father.
The one kissing goodbye to sculpting career.
And all in all becoming the type of woman I’d always attempted to avoid becoming: another miserable wife to a member of the Russian mob.
Tonight was supposed to be my self-proclaimed solo bachelorette party to say goodbye to my freedom.
Only unlike other such parties, I did not invite my friends or my sister, Valya, or any of my cousins.
Instead, I slid my curves into this corseted black dress, curled my long, dark blonde hair, added a little heavy makeup to my baby blue eyes, and went out alone, and I had a mission.
I told myself to be bold, to put myself out there and find one last guy I could actually choose before I gave up my free and single life.
Yet every time one of the young, muscular guys approached me and offered to buy me a drink, I found myself refusing.
I’m twenty-four, yes, but that didn’t mean I wanted to go home with another twenty-four year old.
I had wanted to find an experienced stud.
A man that could give me a memory that would last a lifetime.
One that I could reminisce fondly over every time I’m forced to be with my future husband.
I don’t know much about the man my father signed me over to.
Just that he was my father’s boss and apparently very important and dangerous.
I wasn’t allowed to have any more information than that, so once he’d told me the news I imagined that my future husband was fat, balding on top, hairy on the bottom, and though I didn’t exactly know why, I also imagined him to have an unpleasant odor.
It was this image of my future husband that had me buying shot after shot of vodka for myself until the bartender cut me off.
To be fair, that was after I cussed out the last muscle head that had attempted to ask me to dance.
So, with my drinking cut off, and my rage over my forced marriage stopping me from actual seduction, I leave the club, spot the only taxi on the street, and let myself in. Thus, leading me to this jackass.
“Well?” I ask, when the startlingly attractive cab driver only continued to stare at her.
My blue eyes roam over him again. He’s dressed pretty well for a cab driver, but who was I to judge? All I care about is getting back to my suite at the Four Seasons- another indulgence I’d granted myself for the night.
“Why are we not moving?”
Since the cabby only glares menacingly at me, I decide to switch to Russian. After all it was the language he’d used to curse at me.
“Ty medlitel'nyy ili prosto lenivyy?”
Are you slow or just lazy?
“Great,” the cabby growls, his dark brows furrowing deeper, “A spoiled brat that speaks Russian. Just what I need.”
“Hey, you’re not my first choice for drivers either, buddy. But you have money to make and I have money to spend, so why don’t you just turn your little light and your meter back on and take me where you want to go, hmm?”
The cabby opens his mouth, looking as if he is ready to throw another string of bilingual curses my way, when his piercing blues eyes suddenly shift to the back window, and narrow.
Another Russian curse growls from his throat as he suddenly whips his head forward and slams his foot into the gas pedal.
I let out a shriek as my back hits the seat hard, and I cling to the door and cushion as the cab begins to weave into the heavy New York traffic.
“Jesus!” I shriek, my long nails desperately digging into any surface that could keep me still. One minute the guy is refusing to move and the next he is nearing light speed.
“Is there some sort of medication you might have missed taking?” I ask, finally getting situated, “Or some you should at least consider getting prescribed?”
To my surprise, the handsome cabby laughs. It was low, throaty. More animal than man. And it sends a shot of desire through the depressing numbness I've been drowning in for days.
“Maybe you’re right. Any suggestions?” he replies, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. It was a dangerous move, taking his eyes off the road while going so fast, but for some reason it thrills me.
I lean forward, hugging the headrest of the passenger seat so I can get a better look at the side of his face.
My mind is still spinning from all the vodka, but I’m still able to register the man’s strong cheekbones, his sculpted jaw with a dark five-o-clock shadow, a sharply angled black brow and surprisingly long dark lashes framing his blue eyes.
“You’re pretty,” I state, grinning.
Again the man lets out that deep. animalistic sound I can only assume is a laugh.
“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you, angel,” he replies, his Russian accent coming out smooth and natural on the last word.
Maybe this night wasn’t such a waste after all, I muse, feeling smile growing bigger.
I’m just about to ask him where he learned his Russian when I feel the car start to slow, and frown as notice that he is pulling to the side of the street. I shift my eyes away from his handsome face to look out the window, and my frown deepens when I see no familiar landmarks.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my mood quickly souring again.
The cabby puts the car in park and turns to face me fully. It was only then that I notice that he isn’t as young as I had originally thought. He has faint lines around his eyes, some on his forehead; somehow making him more attractive than I originally thought.
“You got to get out,” he tells me. His tone is far less gruff than before. In fact he almost sounds apologetic. Except there’s an undertone of command I can’t help but pick up. After all, I’m used to men like this. I know what every tone means. Even the nicest sounding one is usually a warning.
Still I raise a challenging brow and refuse to move.
“And why is that?” I ask.
The man lets out a frustrated huff through his nostrils, works his jaw left to right a few times, and runs a hand through his black hair.
“I told you I couldn’t take your fare,” he replies, his tone clipped. “I’m…I have to stop for the night.”
“Why?” I ask, and smirk when I see annoyance flare into his eyes.
I like playing with him, I decide. He’s cute when he’s angry.
“You sound like a child,” he growls. “Always asking why.”
I bat my lashes innocently and hug the passenger seat tighter.
“Well, I suppose compared to you I am a child,” I reply. “Now come on, you grumpy old grandpa. Get a good girl to her hotel.”
The cabby chortles.
“Good girl?” he repeats, then leans back so he can rake his eyes down the short black corseted dress and high black heels I’m wearing. “Right.”
“You don’t know what type of girl I am,” I reply flirtatiously.
Oh, God! I’ve never talked like this before! Even flirting.
Still I notice the gleam of admiration in my handsome cabby’s eyes, and instead of backing down, I lean back and undulate seductively against the back of the seat, letting my body choose what it wanted to do.
“But you could find out,” I tease. “If you be a good little cabby and get me to my hotel.”
For a moment temptation flares into the man’s eyes as his jaw goes slack and his lips part. Then in the blink of an eye his features harden again and he shakes his head.
“Sorry,” he gruffly states, turning his eyes to the front windshield. “This is as far as you’re gonna go. Get out.”
Okay, flirtation didn’t work. Guess I’ll have to try a different tactic.
“No,” I simply reply, folding my arms across my chest as I flop into the back seat.
The cabby whirls around again, fury sparking in his bright eyes.
“What do you mean no?” he retorts.
I giggle. I can’t help it. Even if he’s angry, this is fun.
“Look who’s asking the questions now,” I mock.
The man opens his mouth as if he has a nasty retort, but then as if he’s having second thought, snaps his teeth together and lets out a growl.
Ooh. I like that sound. Sexy.
“Listen,” I sigh, leaning forward, “I am not getting out of this cab on this street, alright? I have no idea where I am. It’s two in the morning. And I’m a single woman. I may be drunk, but I’m not stupid.”
The cabby shuts his eyes together tightly as he rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a cooling breath.
“Look, beautiful, I get where you’re coming from. But I got my own priorities to worry about. Don’t be mad at me because your numbskull boyfriend was dumb enough to let someone like you go out alone.”
I feel my anger cool a little at his compliment as I look the man over again. He’s been a bit of a bastard so far, but maybe there were some redeeming qualities about to him.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I reply, my tone soft.
It isn’t exactly a lie. The man I’m promised to is certainly not my boyfriend. Hell, I’m not even allowed to see him until our wedding day. I will simply go from single to married in one short day, and what I do with myself until then is no one’s business but mine.
Nibbling my lower lip, I lean forward and reach for his arm.
I feel nothing but solid muscle beneath the black jacket as he narrows his eyes at me.
Not one to back down from a challenge, I hold his gaze, and vaguely remember watching some animal documentary about predators.
What was the rule when you caught eye contact?
Never look away first? So I held his hardened gaze, and slide my hand down his arm, over his forearm, and up to his shoulder.
He is chiseled, just like the very marble I chisel sculptures out of.
An idea suddenly flashes in my mind of a new potential piece to create next.
A muscular torso out of black marble. Laced with golden streaks.
A streak of brilliant blue crushed glass slashed from the right shoulder to the left hip.
I see it so clearly I gasp and smile; exhilarated by the sudden burst of inspiration.
“What are you doing?” he asks me, his tone wary. He still hasn’t looked away. Neither have I.
“Looking for a soft spot,” I purr, squeezing his bicep. “Surely there’s one in there somewhere.”
That flare of temptation returns to the man’s gaze, and his jaw twitches.
“I don’t have soft spots,” he grits out.
“On the outside of your body? No, I can certainly see that is true,” I reply.
“Not on the inside either,” he warns in a flat tone.
Realizing my flirtation isn’t going to get me anywhere, I sigh, and finally blink.
I look through the window, and see a group of men eyeing the cab and shift uncomfortably.
I have my taser in my purse- but my purse is at home.
I opted for the wristlet that was only big enough to hold her phone and money earlier.
“I wish I was the same,” I murmur. “But I’m soft everywhere. Inside. Outside.”
The cabby finally looks away from my eyes to the follow my line of sight, and he lets out a sigh of annoyance when he sees the group of men nearby.
“Fine,” he grits, wringing the steering wheel with his hands. “I’ll take you to your hotel.”
Relief floods through me as he puts the car into drive and pulls away from the side of the street.
“Thank you,” I breathe with relief, and genuinely mean it. Still holding on to his arm I lean toward him again. “This means a lot to me- um, what is your name?”
“None of your business,” he snaps, turning into traffic.
I can’t help but flinch at his curt tone, and he must have felt it because he lets out another sigh and adds, “I mean, it’s not like it matters anyway. We’re just strangers that’ll never meet again. I don’t need your name. You don’t need mine.”
I nod. I suppose that is true and in the spirit of truth I decided that I like his blunt honesty. It isn’t often I get to hear it. Apart from my art dealer, Max, and my little sister, Valya, everyone else in my life caters to me a little too much thanks to who my father is.
I frown at the thought, knowing that the position of my father is the reason why I have to get married to a stranger in the first place. He has loved me. Catered to me. But now, just like everyone else, he’s using me as a pawn to gain higher status for himself.
My frown deepens as these thoughts circle my mind, and I let my hand slip away from the driver’s arm and slide back into the seat. Tonight was supposed to be about me. It was guided by me. And I’ve failed.
“We’re here,” the driver grunts, pulling up to the illuminated front entrance of the grand hotel.
Through the window I looked with disinterest at the finery before me. I booked the room to have a night of passion. Now I'm just going to bed like every other night- alone.
“I don’t want to go in,” I say.
The man whirls on me again, giving me that now-familiar are you insane look that I’m actually starting to like.
“You just spent the last thirty minutes suckering me into getting you here, now you’re refusing to get out?” he asks.
I rake my gaze over him slowly, finding the scowl on his face more attractive than intimidating, and decide to give my night of freedom one last chance.
“I mean I don’t want to go in alone,” I tell him, leaning forward with my most flirtatious smile. “I want you to come with me.”