Page 31 of Cashmere Cruelty

Then he turns to me, and that’s when I realize…

He’sgrinning.

“Now, whatever shall I do with you, Ms. Flowers?”

Bad sign. Horrible, horrible sign.Remember the last time he grinned at you like that, April? You ended up buying maternity clothes.

“You could… let me go?” I venture.

“Sure. I’ll see you at the next kidnapping, then.”

Right.Somehow, I forgot why I even came here. Because Matvey Groza is dangerous, and he’s just painted a target on my entire life. A target exactly as big as the baby in my belly.

“Yuri,” he calls, “guard the corridor. I’ll be there shortly.”

Don’t go, I want to tell that grumpy, overgrown teenager.Don’t leave me alone with him!

No such luck. I watch him walk out the door. Then I watch his older brother walk around the couch. I feel like I’m being circled—a deer in a trap with vultures closing in.

But this man’s no vulture. This man is awolf, and there isn’t enough wool in the world to hide that. I get the feeling he doesn’teven try. The second he walked into my shop, I could smell the danger on him.

I still ended up with his tie around my wrists.

It dawns on me—yet again—how foolish I’ve been. From the start of this whole thing, I haven’t made a single good choice.

And now, I’m fresh out of choices altogether.

“Let’s hear it then,” I sigh, trying to find my old, polite self and failing. “You’ve got something in mind, I assume.”

“That’s a bold assumption to make.”

“I’ll go out on a limb here. You’re clearly a very resourceful man, Mr. Groza.” I smile, putting my sweetest face forward. I have no doubt he can taste the venom in my words, but I don’t care. I’m not liable for a customer’s interpretation of what leaves my lips—a handy trick I learned early on. Granted, a man like Matvey Groza isn’t likely to file a complaint, but still, I’ll take what little satisfaction I can get. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re really thinking?”

It happens in a blink. One second, he’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, the picture of a smug billionaire who’s never gotten a slap he didn’t earn?—

And the next, he’s kneeling in front of me.

“I’m thinking,” he rumbles, bringing his big palm over my belly, “that you should call me Matvey.”

I’m struck dumb. For a moment, I forget everything: how to think, how to speak. How tobreathe.

“And why’s that?” I exhale, voice trembling.

Mr. Groza—Matvey—smirks. “You’re carrying my child. I think we can do away with the formalities, don’t you, April?”

I reel from the way he says my name.A-pril.An open mouth, then a flash of teeth, sinking into the pulp of fresh fruit.

“I guess so,” I force myself to answer, breaths coming in short. “Matvey.”

A pleased hum. I can’t imagine I’ve spoken half as seductively as he did, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Good,” he praises. “We’ll be sharing a lot in the next few weeks. It wouldn’t do to have you call me ‘sir’while living in my house.” A beat. “Although I do like the sound of it…”

I feel my face go up in flames. “If you think I’ll live with you?—”

“Notwithme,” he corrects. “In my house. Here. I wouldn’t make the mistake of laying a hand on you again, April. We both know how it ended last time.”

I make a fist in a pillow, fighting the urge to throw it at his face. “Believe me, the feeling’s more than mutual.”

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