Page 39 of Caught By the Bratva Beast

“I don't think you are.” She pulls her hand from mine, wiping it on her skirt. “But I also don’t know how much I can trust you. How are you as a husband going to be able to protect me? I know you have enemies.”

“You'll go to the shooting range. You'll train with my men. If you want to, I can assign people to watch over you.”

I settle back into my seat, watching her, waiting for something to jump out. Something odd about her behavior that doesn't quite line up with what she's saying.

Nothing comes. She might not be happy about being here and having this discussion, but at least she's calm.

Pearl reaches for her water and takes a sip. “You think that's enough to stop your enemies? What if it turns out to be somebody close to you coming after me? I'd be your wife. They'd want to kill me to get to you.”

“I mean this in the kindest way possible, Pearl, but have a survival instinct. Between being a wild animal and being as charming as you are, I think you'd be just fine. I was out there with you in the woods, remember? On the way back to the house, you picked up on tracking other animals like a pro. You are a little huntress. So, do I have to worry about you being able to handle yourself? I don't think so. But maybe I should watch my back.” I lift my eyebrows, challenging her.

She smirks. “Seems like you have more faith in me than I have in you.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” I grab the menu and flip it open, glancing through the options. “Now are you going to tell me what you need from me, or are you going to keep dragging out this little bullshit game you like to play?”

“I want you to help me find someone. If you want me to marry you, you're going to help me track that person down.”

That's all she’s asking for in exchange.

She wants me to help her find a certain person when she has money to hire a private investigator if she wanted. She could find whoever she wanted in the world without my help, she doesn't need me.

And yet she wants me to be the one to help her. I'm more intrigued than I've ever been before about her and what she's hiding from me.

When we're married, she won't have these little secrets. Sooner or later, she'll have to open up to me.

“Come sit next to me.” I nod to the booth seat beside me. “If we're going to be talking business, we shouldn't be shouting over the table at each other. Come over here, sit down, and we can talk about our marriage.”

With an annoyed sigh as she stands up and moves over to my side of table, sitting down beside me. It's only when she moves that I notice the slit in the skirt that climbs high to her upper thigh almost to the point of her hip.

That's going to be the first skirt she stops wearing out in public. It's going to find a permanent home on my floor, and she'll never be able to get out of the house while she's wearing it.

She takes her menu, flipping through the pages until she finds one with seafood dishes on it. “What are your expectations for me in this marriage?”

“You’re going to be loyal to me and nobody else. There’s not going to be another man in your life.”

“If I have to be loyal to you, then you have to be the same for me. No whoring around. No affairs. I won’t tolerate it.”

My hand falls to her thigh, fingers slipping just beneath her slit to her bare skin. A deep red hue climbs up her chest and neck, slowly tinting her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” she hisses as she reaches beneath the table to swat my hand away.

I clamp down tighter on her thigh, not moving. “Nothing.”

“You are. You wanted me to come and sit here so you can feel me up.”

“I thought it would be more conducive to my side of the conversation if I kept you on your toes.”

“If you want to keep your fingers, I suggest you stop touching me and start telling me what this marriage is going to look like for you.”

“The normal way a marriage looks. You’re going to be my wife and you’re going to stand by my side in all matters. When the time comes, we’re going to have children, though that has to be handled sooner rather than later due to the interests of the Bratva.”

“And why do the interests of the Bratva play into our lives?” She squeaks as my hand climbs higher up her thigh, hidden beneath the charcoal grey tablecloth. “You need to stop doing that. People are going to think you’re fingering me under the table.”

“Let them think whatever they want.”

She shoots me a glare before pressing her thighs closer together and scolds me. “Maxim.”

“I prefer it when you moan my name.”

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