Page 209 of In Love with a Ruthless Man

Preparing our coffee was done under a minute, and I turned around to face him, two mugs of steaming hot coffee in hand—-

Oh.

Sergei stood in the center of my living room, his profile painting an elegant picture in his three-piece suit. He seemed to be studying the framed artworks on my walls, and with his broad back turned towards me, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to stare at him.

His intimidating height made every square foot of my already-cramped home feel even more suffocating than usual, and with him topping six feet by several inches, I couldn’t help feeling like my apartment’s low ceiling could cave down on us any moment.

I stared at him hard, searching vainly for any sign of imperfection, but there was none. This man was...perfect. So why was he here?

As if sensing my silent scrutiny, he turned towards me, and my fingers tightened involuntarily around the mugs as I was treated to the full display of the billionaire’s powerfully muscular form. Despite the formality of his clothes, the air about him somehow felt both savage and worldly—-

What was this type of man doing in my apartment again,I asked myself with a gulp.

In the silent ride home, I had secretly looked Sergei Grachyov up on my phone, thinking that his name was familiar because I might have come across it in my line of work. I was thinking Russian Mafia connections or maybe someone involved in a major Ponzi scam, but instead he turned out to be something more intimidating and completely foreign.

First of all, he was a billionaire – alegitimatebillionaire, and not the kind that I dealt with and worked hard to put behind bars.

He was a billionaire who could have any woman he wanted, and yet—-

What was this guy doing in my apartment again?

I stared at him, unsophisticatedly frustrated.

He stared back at me, elegantly amused.

“Fredericka.”

I nearly jumped, his gentle tone taking me by surprise. “Y-yes?” I tried not to let my mind dwell on the way his strong Russian accent wrapped so sexily around every syllable of my name.

“May I have my coffee while you stare at me?”

Oh.

Shit.

“I wasn’t staring at you,” I lied – I mean, muttered.

Chuckling, he came forward, and I hastened to place his mug and mine on opposite sides of the table before taking the seat next to the fridge. It was the plastic foldable type, something I had gotten for free from Craigslist, the only kind that could fit in the open layout of my apartment.

Sergei reached for the mug, still on his feet, and took a sip. “It’s good.”

I said doubtfully, “Thanks.” Instant was good as far as I was concerned, but I doubt it could compare to the kind of coffee he was used to drinking. “You can, uh, sit down, you know.” I gestured to the chair across me, but the billionaire took the seat next to me instead.

Our knees knocked under the table, the contact equivalent of having a dynamite explode in my chest.

GAH!

I swung my legs away from him and pretended not to notice him smirking.

Start acting like an adult, Fredericka Spears.

“Everything alright?” the billionaire asked in a lazily amused tone.

“Stop asking me that,” I muttered. He had to know I wasn’t okay, had to know that the sheer palpable heat of his presence was making me feel all sorts of crazy things. It was unbelievable, the way he strongly resembled Julian Alexeyev in appearance but made me feel so differently at the same time.

With the professor, I daydreamed about holding hands, of spending forever in a world of rainbows and roses.

But with this man—-

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