Page 135 of Dirty Grovel

No way am I risking my child in the process, either.

Her eyes narrow. “Oleg, this is important.”

I’m starting to think that there might be a volcano of equal power spewing inside the pint-sized warrior princess standing in front of me.

“You haven’t even heard my whole plan yet.”

“I don’t need to,” I snap coldly. “It’s a no. And that’s final.”

I try to move around her but she steps right in my way. “Oh, no, you don’t just get to walk away from me, Oleg. And you most definitely do not get to veto this plan. When it comes to you and me, we’re a democracy.”

“You want a democracy? Fine. It’s a fucking democracy. But the only vote that counts is mine.”

She slaps her palm against my chest and walks me back to the chair at my desk. “If this is going to work between us, you’re going to have to pay better attention,” she informs me, hercheeks brightening. “I’m not going to be the traditional Bratva wife, Oleg. I’m not going to be a yes woman. Or a doormat. Or a dumb, pretty accessory that you tote out when it suits you. I have a voice and if you’re not going to listen, I will scream until you do.”

Who the fuckisthis woman?

She looks like Sutton. She sounds like Sutton. She’s even dressed like Sutton.

But the woman standing in front of me can’t possibly be the same one who blushes every time I pay her a compliment.

She leans forward, giving me a bird’s eye view of her cleavage. Her hand lands right on my crotch and my semi becomes a raging hard-on.

“Ready to listen?” she practically purrs.

Dear God. Have I unleashed this diabolical siren? Or has she been lying in wait all along, waiting for the perfect time to strike?

“Fine,” I rumble. “Go ahead.”

She releases me and takes a seat on my table. Her dress hikes up, the slit falling open a little further, offering me up a peek of bare thigh.

“This is my plan: We go for a classic, old-fashioned set-up.” The moment I open my mouth; she holds up her hand to stop me. “We set the stage at a crowded public space. A restaurant. A rest stop. A mall. We stage an exchange. Box trucks positioned strategically. You and your men will be on the scene, just out of sight, lying in wait. While I will be playing the part of the ditzy ex. A.k.a., the bait.”

I’m preparing to shoot down her plan. Poke holes in the strategy. Laugh at the sheer impracticality of the whole thing.

Except I can’t.

Because her plan actually has a chance of working.

It’s simple. Straightforward.Clean.

Still, there has to be something legitimate to pull apart. Something specific.

Because there’s no way Sutton will accept a genericit’s riskycritique. And I can’t, in good faith, deliver one, either.

“Well?” she presses. “It’s good, isn’t it? The whole thing will be orchestrated down to the last millisecond if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” I huff. “If we’re doing this in a public place, there will be too many factors we can’t control.”

“If we suggest any other place, he’ll be suspicious,” Sutton points out. “He’ll suspect a trap. But if I suggest a public venue, he’s going to assume I’m doing it for my own safety. He’ll come running like a bee to honey.”

“Fucking hell,” I groan, staring at my fiancée with new eyes. “Do you know what you’re proposing? What you’rereallyproposing?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tell me again. I want a play by play of this plan of yours.”

I don’t ask because I’m unclear on the details.

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