Page 42 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

When I turn around again to grind on my dance partner, Boris has disappeared from the railing, and so has the mystery woman. I grin at how well it’s working and see Boris edging his way into the crowd, looking furious.

“Time to go!” I say to Anya, squealing and grabbing her hand, pulling her away from the center of the crowd.

“Where are we going?” she asks, laughing, until she looks over her shoulder and sees Boris, frustrated and trying to muscle his way through the guests to get to us. “Damn, Fiona, do you always have to fuck with him?”

I grin.

“He had it coming! Did you see the way he was flirting with that woman?”

“First of all, Miranda is like fifty years old,” Anya laughs as I tug her along. “And second, she flirts with everyone. I’m sure Boris wasn’t flirting back.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I counter as we finally break free of the dance floor. Anya’s wrists breaks free of my grasp as Boris emerges, grabbing her, then growling in frustration when he realizes he got the wrong girl.

I wave to him just before taking off down the hallway.

“You two are ridiculous,” I hear Anya mutter, but the rest of her sentence breaks away. I’m running at full speed down the hallway, my breath mixing with laughter, when I hear Boris coming after me, pushing people out of his way.

He may be bigger and stronger than me, but I’m faster than him.

I dash through the kitchens and back into the nightclub, blinking at the change in lighting. When I slide behind the bar, I fall to my hands and knees, holding up a folded twenty to the bartender.

“Double if you keep me hidden,” I whisper just before I hear Boris approach.

“Hey,” he says, sounding only slightly out of breath. “Tucker, be honest with me—your job depends on it. Are you hiding—”

“Yup,” Tucker, the traitor, says, and I launch out of my hiding spot, erupting into giggles as I push through the staff exit and run down another hallway.

“Fiona,” Boris growls, and when I turn to run down another hallway, I realize it’s a dead-end. If Boris was a real attacker, this is the part where I would turn and fight, but I know he’s not actually going to hurt me, so I slip into a closet at the end of the hall just before he rounds the corner.

Slowly, I back into the corner of the closet, my hand over my mouth to keep from making noise. It’s so dark that it takes my eyes a moment to adjust, but I can hear Boris in the hallway, opening and closing doors.

“Fiona,” he whispers, and it sounds like it’s coming from right next to me. A shiver runs down my spine. “There’s nowhere to go. If you give yourself up now, I’ll go easy on you.”

I don’t want him to go easy on me. When the door to the closet opens, and Boris is standing there in silhouette, his massive body rising and falling with the force of his breath, I feel my core tighten.

Who knew being chased could turn me on this much?

“Got you,” he whispers, closing the door behind himself and stepping into the closet with me. I feel my back hit the wall, and I let out a little gasp.

Boris is on me the next moment, our lips fusing together, tongues sliding over one another. It’s like music, harmony, the way we move, our bodies immediately sensing what the other wants.

When Boris puts his hands under my ass, I immediately jump up, allowing him to lift me so I can wrap my legs around his.

“Did it feel good?” Boris asks his mouth right next to my ear. His hand is already traveling down, brushing over my panties, which are soaked from the chase. “Having that man against you?”

“Not as good as you feel, Bor-y,” I breathe, and he presses against me, making my entire body shake.

“Just so you know,” Boris says, “you signed that asshole up for a beating. How does that make you feel?”

“I saw him groping some other girls, even when they told him to stop,” I say, blinking through the dark, trying to make out Boris’s features, but I can’t. I only have his body, his hands, his voice, with which to map him. “Why do you think I picked him?”

Boris growls, and I feel him hardening against me.

“What should your punishment be for letting another man touch you?” Boris asks, smashing me against the wall so my breath comes out all at once.

“What’s your punishment for letting that woman touch you?” I throw right back, which makes him chuckle low in his chest, the rumble of that rolling through my body and converting to need.

“Fiona,” he says, “you do know that I haven’t been with anyone else, right?”

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