I‘ve been sitting in my bedroom the past two hours, willfully striving for a solution to my predicament. Two hours of brainstorming awarded me with nothing more than a headache.
I’ve been in Nikolai’s presence a total of twelve hours. In that measly portion of time, I’ve ogled him naked, let his fingers penetrate me, and adored him fondling my breasts.
That’s why I’m hiding in my room. I’m afraid of how many more outrageous things I’ll cross off my list by the time Nikolai’s 72-hour house arrest is over.
And if I’m being honest, I’m also petrified about Nikolai’s response when he finds out what my brother’s arrest was for. It’s a double-edged sword. I have no doubt Nikolai’s interests in me would wane considerably when he discovers my true identity, saving me from more bouts of idiocy, but would his shift in interest be so significant I would fear for my life?
I’d like to say no, but my intuition is warning me not to be gullible. Nikolai’s extensive rap sheet shows he is a man to be feared—so why is my heart pleading for me not to be so quick to judge?
Exhaling a deep breath to rid my body of nerves, I stand from my bed. Although I’d like to spend the next three days hiding in my room, I can’t. The grumbling of my stomach is so extreme I can’t ignore it for a second longer. My quest for food was so rampant twenty minutes ago, I fished out the mints the gentleman in the elevator gifts me every morning from the bottom of my purse. Because they weren’t individually wrapped, I had no intention of eating them. . . until my hunger became too dire to ignore.
My nose screws up when the rusty hinges of my bedroom door announce its opening. I prick my ears, seeking any signs of life.
Failing to find any, I carefully pry open my door. My brows furrow when my soundless steps into my living room have me stumbling into an empty space. I fiddle with the hem of my cotton shorts as I pad across the wool rug between my living room and the guest bedroom. Perhaps Nikolai has returned to bed, and that is why the house is so quiet?
Peeking in, I discover an empty bed. The sheets on the double mattress are pulled so tight in the corners, it appears as if it hasn’t been slept in.
Swallowing down the unease creeping up my throat, I continue my trek to the kitchen. I don’t know why I’m acting so spineless. If Nikolai wanted to hurt me, he had ample opportunity last night and this morning.
“It’s not physical pain you’re worried about,” I grumble to myself.
Feeling my confidence slipping, I give myself a stern talking to.
You are strong.
You are determined.
You are not the same woman you were four years ago.
My pace to the kitchen quickens, inspired by a dash of courage. My newly discovered backbone withers when a set of heavily accented voices boom through the swinging door of my eating area. From the range of tone and pitch, I’d say there are at least four or five men engaged in a rigorous discussion in my kitchen. Although their words are hushed, I can hear most of their conversation. They’re discussing a shipment of powder that is arriving late this afternoon, how it’s to be distributed once it arrives, and the installation of surveillance devices.
When Nikolai’s angry objection to the video monitoring roars through the door, I cowardly take a step back. Although any discussions he has in front of me are protected under client/attorney confidentiality, I’m not eager to associate with more mafia personnel than I’ve already met in my short twenty-five years.
My heart falls from my ribcage when my brisk retreat has me colliding into a wall of hardness. I don’t need to peer back to know it’s a man I’ve bumped into. The heady smell of testosterone leaching from his pores is a strong enough indication.
When my arms are tightly gripped, panic sets in. I try to shoot out of his hold, but a man his size is too large for me to contend with. He drags me into my smoke-filled kitchen without a drop of sweat beading his brow.
I stop wailing when my manic thrusts gain me the attention of four pairs of narrowed eyes. They’re all dark as death. . .except one pair of icy blue eyes. Nikolai’s eyes are lighter than his companions, and thankfully, less wrathful.
“I found her snooping outside,” grunts a non-accented voice from behind my shoulder.
I shake my head before peering at the man clutching my arm. I’m left void of a retort when my eyes lock in on a vast brute of a man. He is tall and thick, his width as wide as my height. Nearly every inch of his skin is covered with tattoos—even his face.
“I wasn’t snooping,” I squeak like a mouse, my confidence vanquished beyond recognition.
When my eyes drift to Nikolai, seeking assistance, a handsome African American man seated at his right says, “Nikolai is busy, Justine. Go wait in his room until he is ready for you. . .”
The man swallows the remainder of his suggestion when Nikolai slices his hand through the air, cutting him off mid-sentence. “She’s fine, Roman. Let her be.”
When Nikolai stands from his chair and heads in my direction, my first thought is to bolt back to my room, but the frenetic quiver in my veins keeps my feet planted on the ground. I wouldn’t necessarily say I hold my ground because Nikolai is unlike any man I’ve ever met. It’s more a personal challenge than anything. Call me conceited, but I want to know if his interest in me is purely a cure for his boredom during his house arrest? Or is there something more sinister lurking beneath his dark, temperamental eyes?
It feels like the sun circles the planet numerous times as Nikolai spans the distance between us. I use the lapse in time to my advantage—by drinking in his delicious frame. Although he is wearing more clothing than he was earlier this morning, my eyes drink him in as if he isn’t. He’s wearing designer jeans and a loose navy blue shirt that showcases the impressive ridges of his stomach. His hair lacks the product he had in it last night, rendering it flopped on his head, and the lack of bags under his eyes show his quest for sleep was more successful than mine.
When he stops in front of me, I roll my shoulders and straighten my spine. A gleam in his eyes tells me he didn’t miss my avid scan of his body, but there’s also a snip of danger emanating from them. On paper, Nikolai scares me, but there’s an edge to him that chastises me for being quick to judge. He is no doubt a dangerous man to be associated with, but when he is presented in front of me, my interests are immense—too piqued to back down.
“What do you need, Ahren?” His tone shouldn’t be used when surrounded by members of his crew. It’s throaty and full of need, setting my pulse skyrocketing.
‘Umm. . .’ My eyes scan the room, seeking a reply that will get food in my belly and a way out of this situation unscathed—with some dignity left intact. If I have any left.
‘I was just wondering if you needed anything at the store?” I nudge my head to the nearly empty pantry on my left. ‘There’s barely enough in there to scrape together a meal, let alone three days’ worth, so I thought I should go gather some supplies.’
I inwardly fist pump, stoked by my quick thinking. It probably helps that every word I spoke was gospel. My pantry is so bare, tumbleweeds blow through it when I open the door.
“You’re running to the store?” Nikolai’s accent thicker than usual.
I don’t trust my voice not to squeak from the way he looks at me as if I’m the only woman in the universe, so I nod.
He flashes a grin that intensifies the throb between my legs. “To gather supplies?”
I nod again, shocked he needs me to spell it out for him. Usually, I’m the only one who acts daft during our exchanges.
“Are you going to feed me, Ahren?” I squeeze my thighs together, turned on by his deep timbre.
“Yes.” My one word way too throaty for an attorney to use on her client. “Food. Only food,” I add on quickly when the lust in Nikolai’s eyes detonates.
He smiles, loving my flustered appearance. “We’ll see,” he mutters, his words only for me.
When he cranks his head to the side, a bundle of notes materializes across the room. Its rolled-up appearance leaves no mistake of how it was earned.
While yanking three one hundred dollar bills out of the thick bundle, he instructs, “Take Viktor with you. He’ll keep you safe.”
I snort when he nudges his head to the man who rough-handled me mere minutes ago. “I’ll be safer without him in my presence.”
I realize I said my grumbled comment out loud when Nikolai says, “Now that he is aware of who you are, he’d slit his throat before he touches you again.”
Viktor’s bobble-headed reply can’t conceal the fear Nikolai’s backhanded threat instilled. The color drains from his face as his pupils widen.
“Y-y-yes, Boss. I-I’ll take her to the store. I’ll keep her safe,” he stutters, his childish voice not matching his size or demeanor.
My eyes return to Nikolai when he tucks the hundred dollar bills into the pocket of my shorts. “Go to the store; get what you need, then come back here immediately.” His tone leaves no doubt his demand isn’t a suggestion.
“Okay,” I mumble, lost for a better reply and, honestly, too tired to fight.
All my energy has been zapped controlling the intensity bristling between Nikolai and me. It’s so damn electrifying I feel like every cell in my body is lit up for the world to see.
Issuing Nikolai a tight smile, I spin on my heels and leave.
“Ahren,” he grinds out, his deep timbre extra throaty. “Are you forgetting something?”
When I crank my neck back to peer at him, he smiles a blinding grin before tapping on his cheek. He stares into my eyes, allowing them to express what his mouth is failing to speak. No one says goodbye without a kiss.
My wide gaze drifts to the side, expecting his crew to be eyeballing our exchange. There isn’t a pair of eyes on us. They’re all facing the ground, either not interested in the sexual storm brewing between Nikolai and me or turned off by it.
I return my eyes to Nikolai, my confusion at an all-time high. “Attorneys don’t kiss their clients goodbye,” I stammer out in a husky breath, disappointment conveyed in my tone.
The instant he tapped his cheek, excitement took over my senses. It’s only my astute brain stopping me from fulfilling his request.
“Then I guess I better get a new attorney—as I’m planning on doing a whole lot more than kissing you.” The guarantee in his voice has my libido skyrocketing.
I writhe on the spot, struggling to contain the wildfire brewing in my sex when he paces toward me. He watches me like a hawk, the width of his pupils dilating with every step he takes. His attentive gaze has my confidence returning at a faster rate than my brain can fathom. It adds a thud my heart doesn’t usually have, leaving me thinking reckless thoughts.
Shockwaves jolt through my body when his intoxicating scent encompasses me. His smell is so virile, even my frangipani body wash hasn’t dampened its manliness. It’s manly and sweet at the same time.
My heart thumps at an unnatural rate when he leans in and presses the quickest peck to the corner of my mouth. To an outsider, his exchange could be seen as an innocent gesture between friends, but to me and anyone in Nikolai’s lifestyle, it’s a clear indication that for the second time in less than four years, I’ve once again been claimed by a mafia prince.
