Page 20 of Caught By the Bratva Beast

We reach the modern log house, the windows standing tall and looking down at the valley, light shining through them and cascading across the white oak floors.

I push open one of the back doors, leading her into the kitchen.

Pearl runs her fingers over the white stone countertops, stopping to look at the way they glitter in the sunlight streaming through the window. She turns and heads into the living room, taking off her shoes once more and allowing her toes to press into the fur rug.

“Do you hunt here? I did some reading and I learned that hunting is a great tradition up here.”

“I don't have much time for it these days. I used to hunt more when I was younger. My father often brought home food for us from the woods.”

“So, which is better, deer or bear?”

“Personally, I'm a fan of a good steak, however, Bear is delicious, but so is deer.”

Pearl moved over to the mantle hanging above the large stone fireplace, looking at the pictures seated upon it. “Is this your family?”

“Yes, me and my cousins, and my brother, Nikita. They all used to live in Russia too, but most of them have moved to New York.”

“Do they return often?”

“Every now and then. Some of them prefer Russia more than others. It's rare that we all get together here.”

Pearl nods, heading down the hall, her hips swaying in a way that's making my mouth water. If it weren't for that damn contract, I'd have her in my room now, spread out on my bed and begging me for more.

She doesn't want me though. Not in that way, she made that clear.

And I don't think I've ever wanted anyone more. But I can't have her. Not yet. Knowing that I can't even lay a single finger upon her beyond the casual touch or walking her through a restaurant is driving me insane. I'm sure it's by design.

She knows exactly the hold she has over me right now and she's delighting in it. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, running her fingers along the hand-carved railing, feeling over every bump and ridge while she studies the grain of the wood. “Is this handmade?”

“Yes, me and my father built this entire house from the ground up when I was a boy. I used to think that one day I may become a carpenter and spend my life building houses in Russia. But things changed.”

She looks up at me. Something changing in those mocha eyes. “You were called up to join the Bratva?”

It takes me a brief second to recover.

All this time, I didn’t think that she knew about my involvement with the Bratva. Yet, here she is, proving that she knows more about me than I thought to give her credit for.

“I wouldn't say that I was called up, more that I've been a part of it since I was born, and it was time to finally take my place.” Taking her by the hand I lead her up the stairs. “I was wondering if you knew who I was.”

“I've done my research.”

“And what else did your research tell you?”

“That being here with you is probably a bad idea.” Pearl peeks inside several of the rooms we pass, looking at the thick linens on the beds and furs on the floor.

“If it's such a bad idea, then why are you here?” I stop in front of the door of the room that's hers, pushing it open.

“Call me a glutton for punishment.”

“You're safe with me, as safe as any one person could be.” I watch the skeptical look appear as a brief flash on her face before it disappears. “This is going to be your room. Mine is just down the hall.”

Pearl steps inside the room, her hands flying to her mouth as she catches sight of the windows that stretch along the length of two walls from ceiling to floor. She walks over to the furniture painted white with little blue designs. Her fingers ran over the dresser, tracing the florals before she made her way over to the door that led to the ensuite.

“There is a bathtub on the balcony?”

“It faces the sunset. I don't know if you've ever taken a bath outside at sunset. It's something you can't possibly miss while you're here.”

“Should I be expecting you to be watching me from the garden?”

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