Page 55 of Thorns of Lust
This woman could wear rags and she’d still look stunning. Like fucking royalty.
Her hair was tangled, reminding me of spun gold. Her face was pale, dark shadows under her pale blue eyes and those rosebud lips tempted to be kissed. Fuck kiss, those lips were meant to be devoured. Ravaged. Bruised.
It fucking hurt to watch her; she was so beautiful.
“Okay, so you didn’t send him,” she stated as she brought her hands to the laptop. They hovered over the keyboard, her brows furrowed. “You say I have something that belongs to you, and I’m telling you, I don’t have it.” Then those pale Arctic blues darted back to me. “And let’s not forget you’re trespassing on my property.”
A muscle in my jaw tightened. Nobody ever fucking talked back to me.
“You have it,” I told her with a dark warning in my voice. “You just need to find it. Or remember where it is.”
Unbeknownst to her, I’d had my most trusted men watch her. I didn’t trust families of the underworld not to do something stupid. She was a liability, the only human that currently had the identity of every member of our organizations at her fingertips. A list of all illegitimate children hidden in plain sight.
That chip contained evidence to lock up almost every member of our organization.
Her eyes flashed and those pale blues narrowed to slits. “So I put it in a safe place?”
“Probably.”
She shrugged. “Well, that’s helpful. I know exactly where it is then,” she remarked sarcastically. “Besides, since it ismine, what makes you think I’d give it to you or share it with you?”
She stared at me, the expression on her face annoyed. The fire that I knew the Nikolaevs had, especially Tatiana, was a backbone and despite it all, I was happy to see it. All the reports I’d been getting so far indicated she was falling deeper into depression.
My eyes narrowed. “Because you know what’s good for you, Tatiana. What’s good for your family.”
She tensed and lightning flashed in her gaze. “Don’t you dare threaten my family,” she hissed. “You might be the Pakhan but that won’t matter if you hurt any of them. I’ll murder you.”
So she did remember me. The fire burned like blue flames in her eyes. A sardonic feeling pulled in my chest, mocking my obsession. From the moment I spotted her, the block of ice in my chest turned into something else. A fire that burned hotter than a volcano.
“Then let’s help each other,” I drawled. “And there won’t be any need for murders. So how about a truce?” I offered.
She eyed me suspiciously. Maybe she’d prefer to murder me. Personally, I’d prefer to bend her over that desk and make her scream my name. Feel her pussy clenching around my cock. Hear her moans. The memory hit me like the high of a drug, tempting me to take her. Make her mine already.
I clenched my teeth, keeping the carnal hunger from my expression. It wasn’t time yet.
Our gazes held. Time lagged.
She kept secrets behind those Nikolaev eyes. I had a few of my own.
“I don’t know if I want a truce with someone who’s breaking into my company,” she said, leaning back into the chair like she was reigning over her kingdom. Little did she know, the ship had sailed on this little kingdom. I steered the boat and controlled the winds.
“It’s just a shell, Tatiana,” I remarked, keeping my voice nonchalant. “A real company needs customers.” Her brows furrowed, surprise crossing her expression. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know you have no customers?”
“How do you know there are no customers?” she questioned, keeping her tone cautious.
Smart woman. Not that I doubted it. Her brothers had probably taught her to answer questions with her own questions when she had no answers.
“Because they all brought their business to me.”
“I thought you owned malls and shit,” she noted. “Your malls do have some really nice stores. It’s almost like shopping in Italy.” Then as if she realized she complimented me, she added, “Almost but not quite.”
A sardonic breath left me. This woman wassomething. My malls carried all luxury brands and trended the latest fashions that were the best of Italian couture. My connection with Marchetti ensured that.
“Well, pray tell what’s needed to make it just like shopping in Italy,” I challenged her.
Her lips curved into a small smile. “Well, the ambiance,” she noted. “When you step into one of your malls, the ambiance is typical American. When you shop in Italy, gelato, Italian music and vibrancy is what captures you.”
She had a point. Now why didn’t my mall manager think of that? I paid him big bucks to make it happen, so fucking typical. I’d have to fix that.
