Page 65 of Brutal Promise

Because I know she loves it.

The table is perfect. I’ve been to enough fancy parties and fancy restaurants to know how to plate food so it looks pretty. As they say, we eat with our eyes first.

“Oh, I forgot the mother-of-pearl spoon.” I return to the galley and retrieve it from a serving utensil tray.

Izzy is watching me with an amused expression.

“What?” I ask, holding my breath. I’m not sure if her wrinkled brow means I did something good or if I fucked up. I’m on a tightrope, waiting for the verdict.

She chuckles. “My goodness, you put a ton of thought into this,” she exclaims as she slides into the leather booth.

“I did,” I concede and release my breath slowly. I join her in the booth and sink the tiny spoon into the caviar.

I can’t let anyone know how important she is to me. Although, I’m sure Kirill has an idea.

“This looks incredible. I know that’s caviar, but I’ve never tried it.” She gives the bowl of caviar a skeptical look.

“I hope you’ll like it. We eat it on crepes in Russia,” I explain, using the spoon to spread a dollop of caviar on top of the folded crepe. “Try it.” I set the delicacy on her white ceramic plate.

I stand to grab the champagne bottle and un-twist the bail around the cork.

“Is that safe to do on a plane?” She picks up the crepe and eyes me.

“No, I have to make sure I don’t hit a window.” I swipe my napkin from the table and drape it over the cork.

“What?” Her panic amuses me.

“Relax, I know what I’m doing, and you need to learn not to question me.”

“So I fit in,” she states as the crepe passes her lush lips.

“Yes. You might get the cold shoulder from the women in your circle because you’re not from Russia, and in all likelihood, you’re the product of an intercultural relationship. If you are Sicilian, that will cause suspicion and skepticism.” I pop the champagne, and it fizzes into the napkin.

“You think I’m part of the Moretti family?” She takes a bite of the crepe and chews it with satisfaction written on her face. Good. Enjoying our food is the first step to adapting to our culture.

“It makes sense, don’t you think?” I fill her champagne flute until the golden beverage is a few inches from the top. I pour one for myself and set the bottle in the ice bucket.

“What are we toasting?” She’s finished her crepe and is holding a strawberry.

“Well, we’ve been in forced proximity for days and haven’t harmed each other. That’s worth celebrating, isn’t it?”

She nibbles the strawberry, making her lips red and juicy. I want to fuck her mouth so bad that I lean over the table and take the strawberry out of her mouth with my teeth. I chew, swallow, and go back for more. This time, I cover her kissable lips with mine.

The taste of her mixed with the sweetness of the fruit and my raging hormones led to us ravaging each other. Is she just private jet horny, or is she truly into me?

I don’t care. She’s mine, and she doesn’t have a choice. No one will ever know what it’s like to sink their cock in her. I’ll erase the thought of any man who’s ever been with her.

Her fingers are in my hair, and she pulls me closer.

“Let’s grab the champagne and caviar and move this to the bedroom,” I suggest.

23

IZZY

Dmitry snags our champagne and swigs some out of the bottle as he leads the way to the bedroom.

All I hear is my heart pounding in my ears and the low hum of the plane as it makes its way across the sky. He reaches the bed before me and hands me my drink.

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