Page 16 of Arranged to Marry the Bratva

“We can’t just act like it!” she protests. “These things can’t be forced, can they?”

With a frustrated growl, I reach out and grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. "No, they can’t be forced. But it is your duty to at least give your husband a chance, Anoushka. To acknowledge him, to be present in this marriage we've found ourselves in.” My voice gets softer now as she stares right into my eyes, her breathing gentler. I release her chin, but she keeps her eyes on mine, her lips parted, almost breathless.

And the truth is, I can't take it anymore. The tension between us is suffocating and electrifying, and I find myself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Our faces are mere inches apart, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

Anoushka's eyes flicker with defiance, but also something else, something I can't quite place. Her hands tremble slightly as she holds onto her laptop, the only barrier between us. “So… ” she whimpers, her voice choked and throttled. “You want a chance?”

“Without a chance, what else is there?” I murmur, gently reaching over without thought to tuck away a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She gasps and jerks back slightly, the intensity of our proximity finally breaking through her walls. “Nikolai, we can't just… ” she starts, but I don't let her finish. In one swift movement, I cup her face with my hands and brush my lips against hers, but the moment I do, I step back.

What the hell am I thinking? Going and assuming things like that?

“I… I’m sorry,” I say, watching her carefully to see if I crossed a line. “I didn’t mean… ”

But she places her hands on my arms and leans forward. The next thing I know, I’m leaning in, too, and our lips crash together with a fury from being denied too long. Anoushka's hands find their way to my hair, pulling me closer as if she's been waiting for this as much as I have. The taste of her, the softness of her lips against mine, makes me yearn for more. I slide my tongue between her lips, and she parts her mouth, allowing me a taste of her—coffee and cinnamon. I moan and move my hands behind her waist, gently lowering them until they caress the curves of her ass, and she presses into me, her crotch against mine.

Jesus, I want to slide my hands up her legs, down her thighs. I thrust into her skirt, our clothes an unwanted barrier, and she moans out loud. I’m in half a mind to put her over my shoulder and take her here and now in an empty conference room somewhere when we hear the sound of footsteps rounding the corner.

I immediately pull back. No matter how much I might want this, Anoushka can’t be compromised like this in front of her employees. I look to find Anoushka standing there, adjusting her blouse. Her hair is still a mess when a man walks toward us.

“Anoushka!” he smiles at her warmly and then frowns when he notices her appearance, the smeared lipstick, the wild hair. Then, his gaze shifts to me. “And you are?” he asks, with a slight sneer on his lips.

He looks familiar, and then when Anoushka says his name, “Maximus!” I realize who it is. From all my surveillance on her, this is the employee who I always thought had a thing for her. He brings her coffee, waits outside her meetings, and stays late if she does. He does anything for an extra minute with her, but today, he’s going to learn his place.

I place an arm around Anoushka’s waist and pull her close. She looks up at me questioningly, but I smile at Maximus and extend out a hand—“Nikolai Orlov. Anoushka’s husband. Pleasure to meet you.”

He looks at my hand like it’s diseased, but with Anoushka watching him closely, he sees no option but to give me a half-hearted handshake. “So, you’re the man who forced her to marry you?” he sniggers, thinking he’s cracked a wild joke.

Besides me, Anoushka stiffens. I, however, keep my smile intact. "Maximus, you are sorely mistaken if you believe I ‘forced’ Anoushka into anything," I say, my tone icy despite the neutral expression I maintain. “And had you been here moments ago, you would have seen it for yourself.”

Maximus smirks, clearly not one to back down easily. "Well, well, well," he drawls mockingly. "Looks like the big bad husband is finally here to stake his claim,” he says, eyeing her waist, where my hand rests.

“Maximus!” Anoushka says in a low voice, warning him without being rude.

There’s something about the way his eyes linger on Anoushka’s waist and then graze up her body before meeting her eyes that sets my blood on fire.

With my jaw clenched tightly, I hold back the urge to grab Maximus by the collar and throw him out of the building. Anoushka shifts uncomfortably next to me, sensing the tension in the air.

I pull away from Anoushka and step closer to Maximus until we're almost nose to nose, my gaze piercing through his smug facade. "You seem to forget your place here, Maximus. Anoushka is my wife, and I will not tolerate any disrespect toward her," I growl, every word laced with a warning tone that leaves no room for misinterpretation. “When you imply I stake a claim, you reduce her to an object when, in fact, she’s my wife and not one who can be claimed by myself or anyone else. The next time, you’d remember well to know how to refer to an Orlov.”

And with that, I grab Anoushka’s arm gently and pull her along. “Wait, Nikolai, my work,” she tries protesting.

“We’re getting out of here,” I say, grabbing her laptop so she can keep up, leaving no room for argument as I lead her to my car.

Chapter 8 - Anoushka

The car's engine purrs beneath me, and I find myself utterly confused. Half an hour ago, I was in my office alone. Five minutes ago, Nikolai was all up in Maximus’s face. And now? We’re barreling down the road.

I turn to face Nikolai, trying to think before I speak, but seeing him glower as he drives only makes me angry. What right does he have to look upset when he completely ruined my day? "What were you thinking, showing up at my office like that? You can't just barge into my life and take over!"

Nikolai doesn't even flinch; his gaze remains fixed on the road ahead. His hands grip the steering wheel with confidence. "I was just checking in on my wife," he says nonchalantly. “And am I glad I did.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I seethe.

“That guy, Maximus. I don’t know if you noticed, Anoushka, but he’s clearly in love with you.”

“He is NOT!” I shriek, finding the idea preposterous.

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