Page 12 of Used By the Bratva

Leon follows me, observing me intently as I run my fingers over the smooth white marble countertops and trace the dark veins with my fingertips.

I open one of the fluted glass doors and find another smaller kitchen behind it. “Another kitchen?”

“A butler’s pantry.” Leon perches himself on one of the wooden bar stools and leans against the cream-colored cushion.

Closing the door, I looked at the paneled cabinets. “Where is the fridge?”

Leon gets up and opens one of the tall cabinets. “In here. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Whatever you have is good.” I go to the windows and walk along them until I reach the sliding door. As I step out onto the terrace, I hear the popping of a cork from inside.

I lean against the stone railing surrounding the terrace, where vines with beautiful purple flowers climb up. A spiral staircase at the corner leads to the terrace on the floor above.

Leon comes outside, two glasses of champagne in his hand, the little bubbles floating on the surface. “Do you like what you see so far?”

“Your home is breathtaking. I've never seen anything like it, only in movies.”

He holds the glass out to me before pulling back a little. “You are twenty-one, aren’t you?”

“Few weeks shy of it.” I take the glass from him. “Not that it would matter. Where I’m from, we are legal at eighteen.”

He sips his champagne. “And where might that be?”

“Rossiya, za posledniye pyantnadtsat’ let.”

His eyes widen, glass stilling halfway to his mouth.

“Russia, in the last fifteen years?” He grins and translates me word for word. “Impressive. You barely have an accent. I wouldn’t have guessed that. So, you figured out that I’m Russian too.”

The cool breeze tugs at the hem of my dress, creeping it higher up my legs. I step away from the railing, taking in the plush black and white loungers and the fireplace at the side.

Goose bumps cover my skin, and I’m not sure if it’s the chill in the air or the way Leon is looking at me. His heated gaze releases a swarm of butterflies in my tummy. I take another sip of champagne to calm them.

As if he could read my mind, he steps closer, puts a hand on the back of my arm, and leads me back inside. “Let’s get back inside; it’s too cold tonight.” His tone sounds more like a command.

I'm aware that we're on our way to having sex, so I babble nervously. “I lived in a predominantly English neighborhood and attended an English school. My teachers would beat us if they heard the slightest hint of an accent.”

He nods and lets out a low grunt as he guides me over to the plush couch. I notice that my head only comes up to about his shoulder without my heels. With my five-foot-five frame, I’d put him well over six feet. He towers over me. I know I shouldn’t, but instead of feeling scared, I feel safe.

We sit down, and his warmth surrounds me, his scent of cigars and raw masculinity, and I’d willingly drown in it. When his legs brush against mine, the friction sends an electric current through my body, zapping me to my very core.

As we share a steamy look, I realize I know nothing about him.

“You know so much about me,” I say softly as I cross one leg over the other and lean in. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” He drapes one arm over the back of the couch, his fingers circling lightly on my shoulder.

His touch is confident and deliberate. The little smirk at the corner of his mouth tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. But I don’t mind. This could be my first one-night stand, and I want it—no strings attached—one night. I’ll be out of here and never have to see him again.

“How old are you?” I ask, stifling a moan as he begins to massage my shoulder. His fingers press into the muscles and loosen the knots entangled there after a day at the easel.

“Thirty-eight.”

I would have guessed younger. But I don’t give a damn. He's sexy as hell, and I want to dig my hands into the dark, thick, wavy strands that threaten to flop over his forehead.

“Have you always lived in New York?”

His thumb brushes over my pulse. I’m sure he can feel how fast my heart is beating. He runs his fingers over my jawline as he turns my head toward him. “I grew up here, but I have homes worldwide.”

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