Page 20 of The Bratva King's Auctioned Bride

I had to get into an ice-cold shower immediately or risk taking my new bride right there and then in my idiot brother’s den of extravagance. The ancient Roman mansion had my mother’s decadent style stamped all over it. As ridiculous as it was, I would have reveled in peeling those sweats off of Mila’s perfect curves to unveil her porcelain skin against the jewel-toned bedding.

It was torture being so close to her in the car, especially when her head lolled over to drop onto my shoulder once she fell asleep. Her soft breathing, the rise and fall of her chest as she forgot how much she despised me in her sleep, was almost my undoing. I meant to tease her when she snapped that she would rather die than spend a honeymoon with me, but I’d only worked myself into a near frenzy at the soft feel of her skin. Not to mention that look in her eyes or the way her lips had fallen open, as if craving my tongue to slide between them.

Could it be possible that she wanted me as much as I wanted her?

Thankfully, I had plenty to keep me occupied in order to get Kolya’s place here in Rome ready, even though I’d forgotten the small matter of stocking the kitchen. As disdainful as I was of my younger brother, he’d been doing well for himself and had been renovating this old pile of rocks for the last few years. I didn’t like being beholden to him, but didn’t want to return to Moscow, where business would interfere with my time with Mila.

It was a last-minute whim to bring her to Rome and try to salvage my business. The look on her face when I told her, let me know I made the right decision. It was odd how much I enjoyedthe brief spark in her eyes. But why should I care that she looked… happy? Excited? I wasn’t sure, and I wanted to know her better, to be instantly aware of every emotion that lit up her gorgeous blue eyes.

No, what I really wanted was to make sure she was well taken care of until I could regain what I’d lost, nothing more. That meant going to this meeting where the artisans were looking forward to striking up a deal with Mila Fokin.

Mila Mikhailov. She was mine now.

When I was done with my cold shower and still not completely cured of my insatiable lust for her, I gave myself a good, stern slap across the cheeks as I put on my aftershave. She was a means to an end, that was all.

The grasp on my self-control was short-lived when I saw her again. She wore one of the outfits someone had scurried to stock the closet with while we drove through the night. The simple navy blue skirt and crisp white blouse would have been staid and boring on anyone else but my Mila. She made the outfit shine like she was on a red carpet, with the sunlight streaming through the windows seeking her out, but nowhere near rivaling her glow. Every curve of her waist and hips called to me to sink my fingers into her flesh, and her freshly brushed hair hung in glossy waves down her back.

Before I could cross the room to grip those golden, silky strands and crush her against me, claiming her mouth and every other inch of her, I strode out of the room.

“Let’s go before we’re late,” I said.

“I’m not the one who took a twenty-minute shower,” she sassed after me.

Keeping my head down to hide my smile, I made it to the car without turning back and sweeping her into my arms. We had no time to spare if we were going to make the meeting, and what I wanted to do with Mila couldn’t be rushed.

The factory wasn’t too far, and we were only a few minutes late.

“Mila Fokin,” she said, stepping in front of me and thrusting out her hand to the first person who greeted us.

“My darling, you forget,” I said. “It’s Mila Mikhailov now.” I turned to the receptionist with a wink, telling her in Italian that we were newlyweds.

Mila understood enough to give me a death glare that dissolved as she laughed along with the receptionist. It might not have been showing, but she still very much wanted me dead now that I’d squashed any hope of taking someone aside and asking for help.

Our apologies for being a bit late were brushed off, and we were plied with espresso and pastries before the presentation.

“This is so appreciated,” Mila said. “Since myhusbandforgot to fill the house with groceries before we arrived.”

We laughed and joked about married life for a few minutes and then followed along for a tour of the factory before getting down to business. I was ready to jump in and take over at the first misstep, but Mila didn’t make any. Not the slightest blunder, and to my shock, she ran the whole thing smoothly.

She wasn’t just informed about the company’s design process. She showed a passionate side that had everyone held in rapt attention. It was a side I wanted to see much more of. Inshort, I was impressed by how capable she was, and it threw me off yet again.

I couldn’t stand this woman, or so I had thought. Sure, I wanted to claim her lush body. No amount of enmity could mask how gorgeous she was, all rich curves and creamy skin. Any man would want her.

This was something else. Something more, and something that could prove dangerous. Ultimately, it didn’t matter at all because she was a means to an end. An end that was going to be much happier for me than it would be for her.

Chapter 16 - Mila

The whole way to the sculpture factory, I couldn’t make myself believe we were really going, certain this was a sick joke. Arkadi was so hard to read, for all I knew, he’d bring me to the dungeon I’d been fearing.

But we actually went.

We were barely inside when he immediately introduced himself as my husband. It was on the tip of my tongue to dispute it, maybe even plead for help now that I was with other people. However, they were well aware that Arkadi had been the owner of the quarry up until recently, and might have even thought he still was the way they fawned all over him. They seemed to assume he was the boss and I was his underling, and it pissed me off.

Screaming that I was a prisoner of the man they so clearly respected and were eager to do business with probably wouldn’t have gone over too well, so I bit my tongue and ate a pastry. After the tour, it was time to give my presentation, and my nerves faded into the background. Hard-fought professionalism kicked in despite everything seeming surreal. I’d gone over everything for days in advance, so I could have done it in my sleep, but I kept expecting Arkadi to swoop in and take over.

He never did, shocking the hell out of me by listening to everything as if he was actually interested, nodding, and even taking notes on his phone. Or texting with Nat to lie to her about my whereabouts. It was impossible to say, and unnerving to boot, so I was weak with relief when it was over.

Back in the car, I refused to ask what he thought. I was dying to get feedback, but would have eaten a living wasp beforeasking his opinion. Which was why I nearly fell out of the moving car when he turned and told me I did a great job.

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