15. Emma
Emma
Friday, the day of the engagement party, arrives far too quickly.
The day before had been torture. The slow, grinding kind that comes from having too much time to think.
Ruslan spent most of Thursday in the suite’s office, taking calls in Russian and occasionally emerging long enough to drink coffee and glare at his phone. Every time I tried to distract myself with television, my thoughts drifted back to Andrei.
To the wedding invitation.
To the bruises.
Unfortunately, TV didn’t help much. All it took was one report of a body found floating face-down in Sloan’s Lake for me to realize that whatever Ruslan orchestrated the day Andrei grabbed me, it had been executed.
Tonight would be the first time Andrei would see us together.
Now, standing in front of the hotel mirror, I wish I could disappear.
The dress is beautiful. Lord the laces are taut and the sleeves frilled lightly.
The tiered skirt falls to the floor, hiding the sensible heels that will keep me balanced with the gold soles.
The color makes my eyes look greener and my skin look warmer. My hair actually cooperated for once.
I still feel inadequate. The old insecurities are back with a vengeance.
I know what Andrei’s fiancée looks like, and I know that I’m a far cry from her. She’s perfect, polished Victoria Browne, according to the invitation.
“You are doing it again.”
I glance toward the doorway. Ruslan stands there, adjusting the cuff of his jacket. His expression immediately darkens.
“What?”
“You are talking yourself into misery. You did this the first day we met, Emma. Do you remember?”
I roll my eyes. It’s hard to forget, but I don’t want to give into that smirk.
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is absolutely a thing.”
Easy for him to say. He looks like he stepped off the cover of a magazine. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to hyperventilate over an engagement dinner.
Ruslan walks farther into the room. His pale eyes move over me once, twice, and then settle on my face.
“Get hold of yourself.”
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me.”
My jaw drops. “That’s your motivational speech?”
“Yes. You look beautiful. The dress is beautiful; you are beautiful. The problem is that you are acting like someone awaiting execution.”
A scoff slips out of me and I teeter on the heels, Rus stepping forward easily and catching me by the elbow.
“Stop worrying about comparisons.”
Easily said, direct and those pale eyes drop to my lips. For a moment, a brief moment, I think about rising on my toes and pressing my lips against his. But that would ruin the light berry lipstick, so I hold still.
“Own the room,” he murmurs.
“I don’t know how.”
His expression softens slightly. “Yes, you do.”
The certainty in his voice catches me off guard. I almost think it’s possible, but we aren’t even out of the hotel yet. The night hasn’t even started.
* * *
The engagement celebration is exactly the kind of event I expected, and nothing I would’ve imagined if Andrei and I had…
But that’s a ridiculous thought. We were barely together. I was just a stepping stone, a rung on the ladder.
The ballroom glows beneath crystal chandeliers while waiters circulate with champagne and expensive hors d’oeuvres.
The ceiling is draped in tulle, with fairy lights sprinkled throughout.
Everything is rose gold and pink and cream; towering, thin vases of flowers lord over each table. It’s like a fairytale.
Everyone seems to know everyone else, and everyone is watching. Us, especially though not openly. It’s subtle, but I can hear the whispers.
Ruslan remains beside me the entire time, one hand resting lightly against my back. The gesture looks affectionate, maybe a little possessive. It feels protective, and though I’ll never say it out loud to him, I’m grateful.
People approach constantly. I smile and try to focus on anything but the fact that I’m at my ex’s engagement party. It becomes easier once my FBI mind kicks into gear, cataloging the casual conversation and the unspoken words for what they really are.
Men who want to become business associates. Political donors curious about this brother who has come out of the woodwork. One old family friend, who looks oddly relieved to see Ruslan, whispers a warning: “He has more power now than he did when you left.”
Most are polite. Some aren’t. One woman smiles sweetly while informing me that Andrei’s fiancée used to model. Another comments on how “refreshingly different” I am. A third asks if I work in fashion, and the tone says she already knows the answer.
Each interaction chips away at my confidence. By the time an hour passes, I can feel myself shrinking.
Unfortunately, Ruslan notices. The next time someone walks away after making a backhanded comment, his hand tightens against my waist.
“Come.”
I don’t argue. The ballroom has become exhausting, and I’d be willing to take up smoking just to sneak out a back door.
Instead, he leads me through a side corridor and into a quiet terrace overlooking the city.
Music still drifts through the open doors behind us, but the noise is muted here.
There were curtains obscuring the doors, so this area must be technically off-limits.
I lean against the railing and take a deep breath. The cool air feels wonderful, goosebumps forming over the tops of my breasts. For several seconds, neither of us speak.
Then Ruslan steps closer.
“Look at me.”
I do, and it’s a mistake. His gaze is intense enough to make my stomach flip.
“You are letting them get inside your head.”
I laugh softly. “Aren’t they right?”
“No.” His answer is quick and almost gives me whiplash. Certain. I have to look away.
Ruslan catches my chin gently and turns my face back toward his.
“No.”
This time, they’re almost whispered. It feels personal. And the distance between us disappears.
The kiss that follows isn’t about revenge or politics or Andrei. No one inside matters anymore. Neither of us is performing.
The rest of the evening fades away. Ruslan’s shoulders shift, bunching upward, as he gathers me close to him. His mouth covers mine, tongue lapping slowly across the seam of my lips, and I feel wet heat pool at my core in response.
When he finally pulls away, my breathing is uneven; his hand remains beneath my chin, holding my gaze.
Making sure I’m listening.
“Andrei was a fucking idiot.”
My heart stumbles. “Rus—”
“He was. Still is. He let you go.”
The words settle somewhere deep inside me, confusing and comforting all at once.
Ruslan studies me for another moment before releasing my chin. “This is only the beginning.”
The reminder sends reality crashing back into place.
The engagement party.
The wedding.
The revenge plot.
Everything waiting ahead.
“I need you focused.”
I nod slowly, feeling something inside me slowly diminish. Maybe I’m wrong; maybe I’m the one caught up in wanting to think the kiss was something more, that beneath the surface Ruslan is looking at me as a person. Not as a tool.
The truth is, my focus is becoming a problem. Every day I spend around him; the lines blur a little more.
I tell myself it’s attraction, chemistry, maybe even infatuation. No one has ever touched me like Ruslan does. Devoured me.
And as if he reads my mind, he turns me around and presses my body against the railing. Overlooking the city once more, lights like fireflies floors and floors below us. The sound is muted—from inside, from the streets. A chill breeze swirls the skirt of my dress.
“You’re more than they know, Emma,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear, his chest pressed against my shoulder blades. My breath catches in my throat, and his hand, the one not wrapped around my belly, ghosts over my breasts.
Now the goosebumps aren’t just from the cold air. My nipples peak, another breath straining the ties holding everything together as Ruslan caresses me slowly. Teasingly.
His lips press against the junction where my neck and shoulder meet. I let my head fall to the side, curls spilling over, wanting—what?
Him? Or just a distraction?
His hand moves away, bunching the tiered skirt and pulling it up. I gasp and squirm, feeling blood rush to my face.
“Rus, someone is going to see.”
“We’re fourteen stories up, Emma. No one can see what I’m going to do to you.”
The promise is a dark liquid pooling deep inside me. I shiver, feeling his fingers ghost up my thigh, over the lace panties that felt feminine enough for this outfit.
They were meant to be empowering, but they’re not as empowering as having a criminal press me up against a railing and delve two thick fingers between my folds.
I widen my stance, teetering on the heels, and whine, shifting my ass back unconsciously. Ruslan chuckles in my ear.
“Have you been this wet the whole time?”
Shaking my head, another sigh slips out as he prods at my entrance. Teasing still. His thumb shifts, moving roughly over my clit, and my whole body jerks.
“When you walk back in there,” he growls, his erection pressed hard against my ass, “I want you to walk in like you’ve just been fucked.
I want you to own how beautiful and tempting you are, Emma.
Because as soon as I saw you in this dress, I considered staying at the hotel.
And fucking you all night, until you were too exhausted to stand. ”
With each word, the pace of his thumb against my clit grows faster.
I’m trembling under his touch now, a rhythmless, mindless whirlwind as his fingers dip back into my pussy, just barely, making me clench around nothing.
The sounds that spill out of me are wanton.
I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so turned on, so absorbed in how he’s making my entire body feel by touching just between my legs.
“Can you do that for me?” he asks, pace slowing.
Frantically, I nod. “Y-yes.”
“You’re going to walk back in there and act like you’re mine. Because you are mine, aren’t you, Emma?”
Another nod. I can’t even get the words out. The pressure is building, pulsing, from my clit up through my torso, the overstimulated sensation tugging at my nipples. I want so badly to feel him inside me. I want to leave, drag him back to the hotel, lose myself in the way he touches and fucks me.
Instead, he plays my pussy perfectly. Just the right amount of pressure, the right pace, and I’m coming around nothing—letting out an unsatisfied moan as my legs tremble, Ruslan holding me up against the railing.
He huffs out a contented hum and holds me until everything steadies again.
Then he steps back, letting me turn slowly. And I watch those pale eyes glint as he raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks.
When he holds out a hand, I take it.
And when we walk back into the room, nothing and no one matters anymore. Just the man at my side and the feeling that I’m his.
It’s a dangerous thought. But one I can live with for tonight.