Page 69 of Seduction (Wicked Vows)

“I don’t care,” I say, feeling like a stubborn child. “Those all mattered to me more before I realized what matters to me most, Markov.”

“Vera—”

“Listen to me,” I say, tears shimmering in my eyes. “I’ll call my father. I’ll explain everything. I’ll tell him how you’ve taken care of me, how good you are to me. He has to understand. Surely, I can make him see reason?—”

“Vera.” He grasps both of my hands in his. They’re warm and rough. . . like him. “You don’t really know me. You know the man I am here. You know the role I play here. But I’ve done wicked, terrible things.” He leans forward. “Unforgivable things, Vera. If you knew what I’ve done. If you really knew who I am. . .” his voice trails off in a ragged whisper. “You’d never forgive me.”

I blink, a lone, fat tear rolling down my cheek. “I know you aren’t the classic definition of a good man, Markov. I know that.” I sniff. “I’m a smart girl, remember? And those were your words, not mine. Life is complicated. We can make this work. We can.”

He pulls me to his chest in a grip so tight I can hardly breathe before he releases me, both hands on either side of my face, his gaze burning into mine.

“Life is complicated. Yes,” he says with a nod.

“We can do this,” I whisper. But even as I say it, I can feel the futility of my words.

He slams his mouth onto mine, and all thoughts come to a screeching halt. I can hardly remember what we were arguing about. I can hardly remember how we got here or where we go from here. When his tongue tangles with mine, I taste the salty essence of my tears.

We pull away, press our foreheads together, and entwine our fingers. Hold each other. Hold this space of fear mingled with love and of past misdeeds mingled with grace.

Can I forgive him for the atrocities he’s committed? How much do I really, truly know him?

“You are right,” he whispers as he licks his lips. “Whatever comes. . . whatever happens. . . We take grave risks, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Why do his words seem hollow?

Why do I question his sincerity?

Where, truly, do we go from here?

“Let me make a call,” he whispers. “Let me see if surveillance saw anything. We don’t have to make a decision right now other than whether or not we’ll go to tonight’s team dinner.”

“Right. Yes.”

I watch as he takes a phone out of his drawer and texts, scowling at it, before I push myself out of bed and find something to change into. The window’s closed now, as it should’ve been in the first place.

I step into a pair of jeans and tug on a fitted top. Even though he’s on the phone, he crooks a finger at me.

I walk over to him, and he grins at me—one of those wide, toothy grins that splits his whole face into two, as rare as a solar eclipse and as bright as the midday sun in summer. I kiss his prickly jaw.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says. “We’re going to make this work, Vera.” The deep timbre of his voice somehow seems foreboding when he says, “No matter what.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nikko

Aleks, tell me if there was anyone outside our door between the hours of 18:30-19:40. It’s crucial.

I see no one in the nearby vicinity at that hour, just the program director Irina walking by at 19:40. Why? What’s going on?

I tell my brothers everything. We have no secrets from one another. But I have no idea how to tell him. . . this. I cannot betray my family, yet I cannot betray the woman that I love.

And yes, I’ll admit that, if only to myself. I love Vera Ivanova. Against all better judgment and knowledge in my head, I’ve fallen in love with this fierce, intense, brilliant, beautiful woman. So I do what’s become a habit by now: I tell him a half-truth.

The window was open and I suspected our privacy was invaded. After the last fiasco, I feared the worst

All clear brother. Our sources tell us that her father is still in town. Your thoughts on your timing?

I draw in a breath and release it.

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