Page 13 of The Bratva's Arranged Virgin Bride
Chapter 8 - Nat
I spent so much time working out how to get Kolya all to myself, and I never once thought about what to do when I had him. Well, now I had him. Oh boy, did I have him. His big, muscular body was crowding in on me, his palms burning through my clothes at my waist.
Of course, I wanted to make him suffer, but except for lovely dreams about bashing him over the head like I did to Masha’s poor guard or slowly carving all his crimes into his flesh with a dull knife, I didn’t have much of a plan.
And it wasn’t like he’d sit still for all that.
The pure delight in his eyes when he recognized me walking down the aisle was what gave me the idea to seduce him and crush his heart, but up close like this, the idea shook me more than I wanted to admit. Once again, I feared he had the upper hand somehow. He was older, more experienced, which was what had been so damn attractive about him in the first place.
I’d always had a thing for older men. In Kolya’s case, much older. He was far closer to my father’s age than mine. I’d never actually been in a relationship with an older man, or with someone my own age, either, for that matter. My father helped make sure of that, and I’d also been so busy with studies and travel, it didn’t seem worth the bother. There was only that embarrassing crush I thought I had on my Renaissance art history professor, my first year in college. Nothing came of that, of course.
When Kolya burst into my life, all charm and experience and sex appeal, there was no way to resist. Especially when wealways had so much damn fun together. Ugh, I hated thinking about it now when he’d brought me to the lowest I’d ever been.
His experience was all in deception, and he had the morals of an alley cat. I wasn’t sure my plan wouldn’t backfire on me if I got too close. And I’d have to get close for it to work. He’d never fall for me, so I could shred his heart if I stayed aloof.
So, there I was, throwing myself at him and not hating it nearly as much as I should. His dark eyes blazed through me as he tugged me closer. Our bodies touched, just barely, but enough to set me on fire, turn my brain to mush, and make my hands curl around his rock-hard shoulders. My fingers dug into the fabric of his suit as I tilted my head back.
His head lowered, heavy eyelids closing over those dark eyes as he drew nearer. I felt my lips parting, my tongue dashing out to moisten them. My heart was in my throat, pounding hard enough to have me leaning against him for support. My breasts brushed his chest, and I let my eyes drift shut. Why wasn’t I mad anymore? Where was my anger, my good friend, rage?
The moment I felt the brush of his lips against mine, I somehow came to my senses and shoved away.
“Do you think you’re not going to have to work for it?” I asked. My voice was surprisingly steady and calm, almost as if I had planned it all along. And what a fantastic line, just like a femme fatale might utter. I was doing fine, I just had to believe in myself.
He didn’t have to know I was jelly inside, my knees quaking and barely holding me up. I turned away, making a quick sweep of what I could see of the house from the entry hall. It was a great beach house, with light wood and pale walls with turquoise, seafoam green, and navy blue abstract paintings that matched the throw pillows on the cool beige furniture. The backwall was mostly windows, so there was a clear, unfettered view of the Pacific.
I headed in that direction, passing a kitchen on my right and the lounge area on my left as I headed toward the deck out back. I hurried down the deck stairs, my high heels sinking into the sand. I kicked them off and kept going. My only objective was to put some space between us for a moment to catch my breath and regroup.
Before I was halfway to the water’s edge, he was at my side, his big hand closing over my wrist. There was war brewing in his eyes as he blocked my path.
“Are you trying to get away when you were the one who offered yourself as my bride?”
Oh great, he had to go and remind me that my father and uncles were going to kill me once they found out about what I did. How much time did I have before that happened? Then they’d probably kill Kolya too, maybe even slowly and painfully like I wanted, not that they’d let me watch or take part. It was like they believed I somehow had a deadly allergy to fun and had been keeping me far from it my whole life.
And honestly, Kolya was at fault here, too.
“How could you have done it if you knew who I was all along?” I demanded.
He snorted. “You were the one who barreled down the aisle and told me there was a change of plans,” he said. “Who was I to argue?”
I blinked, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Was he going to try to pretend?
“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “What you did to me in Milan.”
The piece of crap actually shrugged that muscular shoulder I was just clinging to a few moments before. Shrugged like taking everything from me meant nothing at all.
“I do that to everyone eventually,” he said, completely at ease with his perfidy. “Yes, even Bratva princesses get their allowances stolen if they’re silly enough to tangle with my plans.”
Oh yes, I remembered being happy enough to tangle with him and his plans at the time. My rage was back, and my current plan was unraveling fast the more he goaded me. I had to get it under control. I had to get myself under control.
“Of course.” I barely got the words out through my seething anger. He really had no clue. He certainly had no soul. What was left of my rational thought was screaming at me not to ask, but the words came out anyway. “What about the kiss?”
His brows raised, and he let go of my wrist, but his hand snaked around my waist, pulling me close. “Yes, what about it? Have I worked hard enough in chasing you out here? I’m ready to get this honeymoon started whenever you are.”
Oh God, he thought I meant the near kiss in the hallway. Let it go, just let it go. But I couldn’t. Near tears, I reminded him of another kiss. “The one in Milan.”
The one that stole my breath and my heart, with one touch of his lips. The one I couldn’t stop thinking about, even when I was plotting his painful demise.
The one he very clearly couldn’t even remember, if the blank look on his face was any answer. He stole so much more than money from me, and the pain nearly knocked me flat on the sand.
My phone dinged from the hidden pocket in my dress. And then dinged again. A few minutes ago, I had been wondering how much time I had before my scheme was discovered. None. I was out of time.
His hands left my waist to grip the sides of my arms. His heavy, lust-filled look was now one of concern. “Why are you suddenly so pale?” he asked.
My phone was blowing up. Masha and her guard must have been discovered and revived. Or they’d woken up screaming for my head. Or, maybe they could just be wondering where I was. The guard had clearly seen me before I knocked him over the head with that angel statue, but maybe he didn’t remember anything.
No, I didn’t really think so, and my hands trembled as I tugged away from Kolya’s grasp and took out my phone. My dwindling hope evaporated when a glance at the first message in the lineup told me I was currently at the top of Fokin’s most-wanted list. Along with Kolya, who must not have had his phone on him, or he would have known what made me turn so pale.
I looked up at him, still showing concern and confusion at my sudden change. As calmly as possible, I turned off my phone and put it back in my pocket, then gripped his arm.
“We have to leave,” I said. “The country. Now.”
