Page 50 of Beautiful Deception

“Whoops,” she says, barely holding back her laugh. “I am so sorry. My hand slipped.”

The red wine is seeping right through my shirt, showcasing my bra.

“I should go change,” I mumble, practically running from the room.

“You need to be more careful,” I hear Viktor tell Natasha but I don’t stay around to listen to her response.

“What did you do now?” Mrs. Green asks as I run past her. Her eyes fall on my stained shirt. “God, child. You’re a mess.”

I hurry to my room and find a new shirt to wear. I slip my old shirt off but before I can put my new one on, I hear a creak behind me.

When I whirl around, I come face to face with Viktor, standing in my doorway.

I gasp and cover my chest with my clean shirt.

“I apologize,” he says, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s never been in my room before. That’s a line that can never be crossed. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“I’m ok,” I whisper. “It was just a stain. I’ll soak the shirt, then wash it. It should come out.”

“Of course. If it doesn’t work, I can always take it to the cleaners. They’re great at getting stains out.”

“That’s a little expensive.” I can’t waste my money on the cleaners. I need as much as I can get to afford my own place one day.

His lips twitch. “I can pay for it. I pay for everything else. Money is of no concern for me.”

“Right.” A blush forms on my cheeks. “Right.”

“Natasha said it was an accident.”

“I assume it was. She’s not a bad person, you know,” I lie. This is just to save myself. I cannot have Natasha trying to kill me.

“I know. But I think she’s a little jealous.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be in my room then.”

“You’re right,” he says, his voice gruff. “I shouldn’t be.” Yet, he doesn’t make any move to leave.

I feel my arms moving of their own accord and I drop the shirt to the ground, exposing my bra-cladded chest to him.

Viktor’s eyes soak me in and I let him. This really shouldn’t be happening. It’s wrong on all kinds of levels.

But it’s also wrong that I’m lying to him about who I really am. It’s wrong that he belongs to the Bratva. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong. So many wrongs that I don’t even care about this moment being wrong.

Because it feels right.

“You should put your shirt on,” he says.

“Ok.” But I don’t make a move to pick it up.

“I should go back out there. Leave you to change.”

“You should.”

“Fuck.” He runs his hand down his face. “What are you doing to me, Inessa?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

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