Page 84 of Little Blue

“Irelynn,” Ilya calls, and I chance a peek at him. Then I choke on my discomfort, struggling to swallow it down with a gulp of wine.

My eyes sting.

I’m losing the plot. The king of the Russian bad guys is going to pitch a fit.

My heart slams in my chest as he leans in close to say quietly in my ear. “I prefer your fear in my bed, when I can watch it transform into something I much rather devour.” My face heats, my body flushing with something other than fear.

Ilya leans back in his chair to appraise me, liking that he’s turned my fear on a dime into the lust he claims to prefer.

His voice is quiet, but it still somehow booms. “Polina may as well be my grandmother,” he tells me. “You would be surprised the way the woman takes it upon herself to berate me.” The table erupts in wide grins as nods of agreement bob. Polina just rolls her eyes as Ilya continues, “But she is right. You need new clothes.”

“I really don’t?—”

Boris cuts off my protest. “I can take her, Pakhan.”

“Yes,” Ilya agrees.

I frown. “Why don’t you take me?”

Ilya’s shoulders square in a breath. “I’ve spent more time away from work than I can afford at this point. I am doing all that I can from here, with you, but I am behind.” His eyes sweep the table, and he gives Boris a nod. “You will go with either Boris or Luka. Soon.”

With that, Ilya stands. “Are you finished?” I look down at my empty plate and nod, a little alarmed by the abruptness as he says, “Polina, please bring a slice of pie to my study.”

With a hand wrapped around my wrist, Ilya pulls me from the table.

In his office, Ilya pours me a fresh glass of wine, this one white. When I look at him in question, he explains, “You hardly touched the glass Polina poured. You’re new to drinking, this will go down easier.”

I take the glass and sip, finding that I do prefer the sweeter white to the dry red. “Thank you.”

“Mmm.” He pours himself a tumbler of vodka before he leans into his desk, his eyes fixed on me as I settle into my spot on the couch by the fire. When I give a shiver, he sets his glass on the desk, pushing off it to move to a closet. He opens it and pulls a cream-colored blanket from inside, handing it to me.

Then he returns to his perch at his desk.

I take another sip, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He doesn’t usually watch me like this in here. Normally, I take my place on the couch, and he goes to the desk, his attention on his computer screen.

“What?” I finally ask when he makes no effort to start a conversation. Clearly, there is something on his mind.

“You thought I would hurt Polina tonight,” he states matter of fact. “Why?”

Fear flickers in my chest, but I lift my chin. “You’re a Russian crime boss, Ilya.”

“I am the same man I was before you learned of my working title. Have you seen me hurt Polina, or anyone for that matter?”

“No,” I admit.

He nods, his point made. Saying nothing else, he pushes off to round the desk. In his chair, he opens a drawer and pulls three thick books from inside. When his blue eyes lift to mine, there’s something in them that has my breath catching.

“I have a gift for you.” He sets the paperbacks on the edge of his desk, waiting for me.

Interest piqued, I stand and cross the space. I take in the covers and titles before my mouth parts and my eyes land on his. A wry smile fights its way onto my lips. “Are you trying to be cute?”

He sits back in his chair, regarding me. “I don’t think anyone has accused me of being cute before.”

I blink. “These are all Bratva romances.”

He nods once. “Before you, I wasn’t aware this was a genre.” He takes in my blush, his eyes heating. “I must admit, it piqued my interest. There are more Mafia style books than I imagined possible.”

“You have no idea.” I’m uncomfortably breathless. “Spend five minutes on Book Tok and you’ll be enlightened.”

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