Page 64 of Sweet Obsession
Chapter 9
MISHA
When I got word that Chernov and his brothers had arrived, I was in the east wing living room, just down the stairs. I expected Luna to stay in her room, hidden, quiet, safe. But she didn’t. She came down barefoot, wearing one of my shirts and a pair of bum shorts, her legs bare and golden, her hair falling in loose waves down her back.
A fucking vision. My jaw locked.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I growled, low and sharp.
She blinked at me, pretending innocence. “It’s my house too, isn’t it?”
“Go change.”
Her brows lifted. “Why? You embarrassed of me, dorogoy?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. She could already see the tension rippling under my skin. She left with a shrug, hips swaying deliberately as she disappeared up the stairs.
The front gates opened minutes later.
Chernov entered first, flanked by his younger brothers, Lev and Alexei. All of them dressed like wolves pretending to be men. Sharp coats. Sharp smiles. Eyes that took inventory the moment they crossed the threshold.
“Petrov,” Chernov greeted smoothly. “Beautiful estate. And I hear congratulations are in order.”
He didn’t need to say her name. It was implied in the tilt of his mouth. The glance he cast toward the stairs.
Before I could respond, she came back.
Luna.
Changed?
No.
Worse.
She’d stayed in the same damn outfit, but now her hair was up and she wore one of my rings on her finger.
She walked in like smoke and honey, barefoot, all legs and lethal calm. Then, like she owned the place, she slid beside me, draping one arm across my chest. Leaned in. Kissed the corner of my mouth.
Not a chaste kiss. A possessive one. The kind that made Chernov’s smile strain at the edges.
“Gentlemen,” she said softly. “Welcome to our home.”
My hand slid around her waist, gripping hard. Possessive. Real.
She pressed into me even more, letting her cheek rest against my shoulder as if we were lovers, not enemies.
Lev couldn’t stop staring at her legs.
I didn’t like that.
Chernov’s fingers twitched against his glass, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his molars crack.
The room was tense. Thick with unspoken war.
Chernov finally dropped into the chair across from me, letting the cigar burn between his fingers untouched.
“We want in on the Volograd pipeline,” he said. “Full distribution rights for the southern corridor. In exchange, we’ll offer port access in Odessa. All of them.”
