Page 47 of Dangerous Passion

Andrei’s breathing speeded up, his heart raced. One hundred thousand dollars. 100K per pop. Oh yes, this was it, his moment. In a day, maybe two, he could accumulate more money than in a lifetime of working hard in shit jobs in other people’s kitchens.

He was smart. He could feed the information in tiny incremental bits, string this Rutskoi along. In a couple of days, with the initial payment Andrei could have five hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more.

Five hundred thousand dollars would allow his father to retire, would allow him to open up Troika with enough style to guarantee its success. This was opportunity knocking at the door, what everyone said would happen in Amerika. All he had to do was answer.

OKhe texted, combed his long, blonde hair, dabbed some Hugo Boss cologne on his pulse points and went off looking for Shota.

Though Grace was starvingand though her stomach was making embarrassing noises, it was hard to keep her mind on food with Drake walking naked across a room.

The man was simply magnificent. There were no words to describe him. Luckily, Grace didn’t need words. Her artist’s eye told her everything she needed to know.

She’d studied human anatomy all her life. During art school, she’d drawn literally thousands of human backs, but had never seen anything like the musculature of Drake’s back. It was immensely broad, rippling with muscle, tapering to a lean waist. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. It almost looked as though he didn’t have any skin, either, the muscles underlying it were so prominent. Clothed, he was impressive. Naked, he looked lethal. The pristine whitebandage over the enormous ball of his left shoulder looked almost like a decoration. It was impossible to think that he’d taken a bullet only the day before. He looked completely fit and moved with utter ease, like a huge panther.

It was hard to imagine what kind of exercises he put himself through to obtain a body like that. Bodybuilding exercises pumped muscles up, made them rise. These weren’t built muscles, they looked … forged. Out of iron and steel.

He didn’t move like a bodybuilder, either, with that muscle-bound waddle they developed. No, he moved like water, smoothly flowing across the floor, like a force of nature.

She remembered the feel of him in her arms. Amazing. Like holding a warm, perfectly-proportioned rock. No, that wasn’t the right analogy. Though he’d been hard as stone, what had come through her fingertips had beenlife. As if the man had a greater proportion of life force in him than others. She’d felt her fingers sizzle with electricity when she touched him, a connection to something almost superhuman.

Everything about him was outsize. His physique, his fighting ability, his … wow. Yeah, that was outsize, too. Grace didn’t have that much experience with male members, but even so, she understood that she’d just held a champ in her hand.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like sex, it was just that sex involved men and a goodly portion of them turned out to be unlikeable jerks. She’d tried, she really had. Done her best to relax, go with the flow, all the other clichés, but she never quite managed it.

With Drake relaxation hadn’t been a problem. Her muscles had turned to mush. All he had to do was touch her, and her entire body softened for him.

Drake opened the door and walked back to her, pushingan enormous trolley carrying covered plates, cups, cutlery, a Thermos. She could smell the rich aroma of coffee, buttery croissants and juicy meat from across the room.

Grace sat up against the headboard cross-legged, pulling the sheet up under her arms, covering her chest. Drake parked the trolley next to the bed and poured two cups of steaming coffee from the Thermos.

He held a cup out to her, while the other hand tugged down the sheet. “Don’t cover yourself up,” he said softly. “You’re much too beautiful.”

She could have put up a fight, but of course it would have been ridiculous thinking she could win a tussle against Drake. She was naturally modest. Even in the locker room, the few times she made it to the gym, she preferred dressing in the toilet cubicles. Not out of prudery, but out of shyness.

Which, clearly, had taken a hike, because she let him tug down the sheet without a murmur. It might have been the molten heat in his eyes that convinced her to just let go of the sheet instead of clutching it to her. No one had ever looked at her like that, like he wanted to eat her up and was restraining himself with difficulty.

Once the sheet was down to her lap, he handed her the cup and curled his hand around her breast, his thumb lazily twirling around her nipple. Grace could barely hold onto the coffee. What he was doing made her shake, made her muscles lax, made her vagina contract so hard even her stomach muscles clenched.

Drake was watching her closely. He understood exactly the effect he was having on her. She chanced a glance at his lap. Well, it was mutual. He was fully aroused again, his penis flat against his stomach, thick and dark, with ropy veins running up the column.

His dark eyes were hot.

“Drink the coffee,” he growled.

Coffee. Right. She had to hold the cup with both hands, otherwise she’d spill the hot coffee all over herself and all over this beautiful bed. She tipped her head back against the headboard and sipped.

God, it was delicious. Sharp, yet with a smooth smoky taste. Some outrageously expensive blend, no doubt. She took another sip. Perfect.

His hand continued stroking her breast, movements lazy. “Good?” he asked.

“Wonderful.”

“Give me a taste,” he said suddenly, stretching over to cover her mouth with his. Oh lord, she could simply sink into his kisses. This one was long, languid, the strokes of his hand on her breast echoed by his tongue in her mouth. He lifted his head for a second, then moved in more closely, tongue deeper in her mouth. He lifted his head again and smiled down at her. “Itisdelicious.”

“Mmm.” Grace was too shaken to talk. It was the first time she’d seen a full-fledged smile from him. She’d made a study of faces and knew by the lines in his that he rarely smiled. Perhaps it was for the best because he became frighteningly attractive when he did. She drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves. His hand was caressing her left breast and she was certain he could feel her heart thumping away, as if she’d been running.

Drake’s hand left her breast to run down her side. He frowned as he felt along her rib cage. “But you must eat. You are too thin. I’ll take care of that.”

He sounded like an imperious third world dictator and she had to work to suppress a nervous laugh. “Ah, Drake, I hateto break this to you, but I am not considered too thin here. If anything, I’ve been told I could stand to lose some weight.”

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