Page 32 of Sold to the Russian
He saw something flicker in her eyes before she blinked it away. She snorted, leaning away and grabbing her tiny purse from the table. “Ooh. Scary.”
“There are a few things you must know,” Fedya said, surprised his voice was even audible, considering how difficult he found it to speak while she looked like that. “I have three brothers. The oldest is Ilya, followed by Kostya and Viktor. I’m the youngest of them. And then my sister, Irina. She’s the last of us. You will meet my cousins and their families as well. Viktorand I are the closest, so he will be more suspicious than the rest. Whatever we’re doing has to be believable. You play your part right so no one suspects a thing.”
“Whatever we’re doing?”
The space between them was little to non-existent. He was standing so close to her that he could see the beauty spot under her left eyelid. “What that means is we have to act natural. The way a typical fresh couple would act.” His hands gripped her arms, trailing upwards to her shoulders. He felt her muscles tense at his touch. “That means when I touch you, you do the opposite of what you’re doing right now. You lean into me, you accept it, you want more. You don’t act like I’m a stranger, like you’re repulsed by it.”
His hand ghosted over her face, his thumb pressing against her bottom lip, catching some lipstick on his skin. Her mouth parted a little too willingly for him, and his cock stirred in his pants. “It means when I kiss you, you kiss me back because we’re putting on a show and we need people to believe it.”
Maeve’s voice sounded a little breathy when she spoke. “You don’t have to kiss me for people to believe—”
“I will kiss you, Maeve.”
She cleared her throat and inhaled a sharp breath. “Fine. But no tongue.”
“I will kiss how I want to kiss you.”
Maeve scoffed. “Excuse me?”
His thumb pressed deeper into her bottom lip, grazing her teeth. His voice had gone two decibels lower. “I will kiss you exactly the way a woman ought to be kissed. I will kiss you like you are mine.” His thumb left her mouth. “Because you are.”
She was speechless, a pleasant surprise on his part. He glanced at her hand as she slid her purse over her shoulder. The light in the room caught the ring on her finger. It was perfect there, made for her, and as much as he hated it, as much as it sickened him to no end, she’d have to take it off to make their ruse more believable.
Maeve followed his gaze to her hand, and her cheeks bloomed like flowers in spring. “Can’t believe I almost forgot about this,” she muttered to herself, but Fedya’s ears picked up her words as she tugged the ring off her finger.
“Can’t have them thinking we’re married, can we?” she said, forcing a sarcastic smile as she peeped at his empty ring finger. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
And then she walked past him, taking his senses with her.
Chapter 10 - Maeve
She had never seen anything like it.
There was never a time in Maeve’s life when she imagined herself in the Nikolai estate. There was never any need to. Thoughts like that were useless and extravagant because they would never, ever happen.
But here she was. Alive and breathing in the infamous estate, walking into a gathering of the infamous family. The estate was dripping in wealth and gilded legacy. Lights were already glowing golden, cars lining the circular driveway like chess pieces. It was vast and intimidating. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen.
Inside, crystal chandeliers glittered above floors so polished that she could see her reflection in them. Murmurs and laughter, the clinking of glasses, and melodious jazz filled the air. As unreal as everything looked, she had never felt more out of place in her life than she did here.
Fedya was a solid anchor right next to her, the heat of his palm never leaving the small of her back as he guided her forward. And weirdly enough, his touch, his maddeningly calm presence, gave her a semblance of peace—a connection she knew she couldn’t have here.
Eyes—dozens of them—pressed against her skin like pins, digging into her flesh with every click of her heels against the floor. Turning, watching, judging. There was no surprise there; she was a stranger after all. She posed as a random woman, not a daughter of any powerful family, so of course, they’d stare at her like she was a weed.
She couldn’t bear the thought of what the scene would look like if they knew who she really was. She wondered what itmust have been like for Fedya, how he must have felt—knowing who he truly was, regardless of his disguises—walking into the lion’s den that was The Grotto. How he must have known or at least been prepared for things to go sideways, for his cover to be blown. Fedya was a dangerous man, yes, but so was her father. So were the other men in that bar staring at the strange arms dealer as if they wanted to pounce on him. There was no way he would have walked out of that bar alive if his identity had been revealed to everyone there.
And the realization that her father had known who he was all this time, that he saw through Fedya’s mask and still gave her away to him for his own selfishness and greed, made her anger return. And so, even with the dozens of eyes assessing her as Fedya led her to his siblings, she didn’t cower. She couldn’t exactly say where she’d gotten the faux confidence from, but there was a huge chance it had everything to do with the warm, solid hand against her back.
Her fingers itched to tug down the hem of her short dress, but she resisted the impulse. Resisted the urge to feel regret about her outfit choice. Sure, she’d picked it out to annoy Fedya, but also it was a hot dress and she couldn’t pass up the opportunity. If her life was falling apart at the seams, then she might as well look good while it happened.
All the horror stories she’d heard about the Bratva clung to her subconscious. She imagined one of the guests abruptly pulling out a gun and shooting her in the face. Or maybe it was the old man she just passed that would swing out a dagger and bury it into her spine.
“Smile,” Fedya murmured under his breath, his fingers curling around her waist.
Maeve tried to ignore how frustratingly good his touch felt. “I am.”
“Try looking like you actually like me.”
“That might be the hardest task I’ve ever been given.”
