Page 19 of Brutal Monster
I turn to the window again, unwilling to let him read my expression. "It's always business. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy certain aspects of the arrangement."
He chuckles. "If you say so."
After he leaves, I pour myself two fingers of vodka. The burn doesn't come close to matching the fire Inez ignited in me. I check my watch. Almost noon. Is she awake yet? Hungover? Regretting that kiss or, like me, reliving it?
My phone buzzes with a text. Inez's name lights up the screen.
About last night...
I stare at those three words, feeling like a teenager instead of the head of the Zhukov organization. Three dots appear, disappear, appear again as she types. Finally:
We should talk. Dinner tonight? My place. 8pm.
My pulse quickens. Inez's place. Where I left her wanting more.
I type back:
I'll bring the vodka.
Setting down the phone, I walk to the shower. As hot water pounds my shoulders, I close my eyes and see Inez again—fierce, beautiful, dangerous. Tonight, she'll be sober. Tonight, if she asks me to stay, I will.
And God help anyone who tries to come between us.
The elevator to Inez's penthouse feels too slow. I tap my foot impatiently, bottle of premium vodka in one hand, my other hand adjusting my tie. The mirrored walls reflect a man trying too hard to appear casual. I look away.
When the doors finally open, her front door is ajar, and I step directly into her foyer. No security checkpoint tonight—she's expecting me. The space is all sleek lines and modern art, bathed in the amber glow of Mexico City's lights through floor-to-ceilingwindows. The view is breathtaking. But not as stunning as the woman who steps into view.
"Vanya." Inez wears slim black pants and a silk blouse the color of blood. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders—a departure from her usual severe styles. "You're punctual."
"A Russian virtue." I hold up the vodka. "As promised."
She takes the bottle, examining the label with approval. "Dinner's almost ready."
I follow her into the kitchen, watching the confident sway of her hips. The space smells of garlic and spice—something authentically Mexican. She's cooking for me herself. Not using staff. Interesting.
"I didn't know you cooked," I say, leaning against the counter.
"There's a lot you don't know about me." She pours two glasses of vodka, hands me one. "Yet."
The "yet" hangs between us, loaded with promise. I take a sip, letting the liquid burn a path down my throat. Inez does the same, her eyes never leaving mine.
"About last night," she begins, setting her glass down. "I want to apologize."
"For kissing me?" I keep my voice neutral.
"For putting you in that position." She turns back to the stove, stirring something that sizzles. "I'd had too much tequila. The stress with my stepbrothers... I wasn't thinking clearly."
I step closer, close enough to smell her perfume—something expensive with notes of jasmine. "Is that what you believe? That it was just the tequila?"
Her shoulders tense. "What else would it be?"
"The truth."
She laughs, a sharp sound with no humor. "The truth is complicated."
"No." I take the wooden spoon from her hand and set it down. "The truth is simple. You wanted me. You still do."
"Vanya." Her voice carries a warning, but she doesn't move away when I turn her to face me. "This alliance is business."
