Page 61 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
“Would you do that for me?” she repeats. “Send Ivana away?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” My voice is thick with emotion. “I would do anything for you.”
“Anything?”
And because I’m still trying to figure out the emotions swirling around inside my chest, I do what I’ve been wanting to do since I got here. I kiss her. Any moment spent not touching Cartier is a moment wasted, and I’m making up for lost time.
I crush her chilled lips with mine. I fill her mouth with my tongue. I hold her tightly, sharing my warmth with her. And when she whimpers against me, I resist the urge to fuck her in the snow, shielded from prying eyes by our thick fur coats.
“Anything.” I’m loathe to let her go.
When we step back inside the house, we stop being two people in a snowy wilderness and become Cartier and Andrej again. The Bratva underboss and the daughter of a rival family. The captor and the captive.
I wish I could erase the past like words on a whiteboard.
Start over.
Do this the right way, the way she deserves.
What’s the point of money and power if I can’t make things right for the only person who ever made me feel truly alive?
“Let’s do this then.” She breathes against my lips, her breath shrouding us in a fine white mist. “Because I have a date with a book in the library.”
We find Ivana in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug of steaming black coffee in her hands. She doesn’t react to our presence. In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never seen any displays of emotion or affection from her. The black clothes and green flicks on her eyelids are more than her look; they’re an integral part of her persona.
“Why did you warn Cartier to stay away from me?”
I still don’t know exactly what was said, but I can make an educated guess.
Her expression doesn’t alter. Her gaze flits between the two of us and finally settles on me. “You were distracted. The Pakhan needs you to be focused.”
“It was for my benefit then?”
Cartier leans against me, protective suddenly.
“Don’t take it personally.” Ivana shoots a steely glance in Cartier’s direction. “I stand by what I said though.”
“That I don’t know anything about him?” Cartier juts her chin defiantly. “Or that he’ll hurt me?”
“Both.” Ivana shrugs.
“Well, thank you for your concern.” Cartier’s voice is strong and clear. “But I’m a big girl. I can make my own mistakes. And learn from them.”
Ivana sips her coffee and lowers her eyes. It’s probably about as close as she’ll ever come to backing down. “Maybe you don’t need me here then. I’ll go.”
She sets her mug down on the counter, but before she can unwrap her fingers from around the steaming heat, Cartier says, “No. You should stay.”
Their eyes meet. Something passes between them—mutual respect, or perhaps simply understanding—and Ivana nods once.
“Fine. I’ll stay.”
She doesn’t look at me before she leaves the room.
Cartier fills two mugs with coffee and adds cream and sugar. When she turns around to face me, the concern on her face has been smoothed out. She smiles. Problem resolved.
“If you want me, you’ll find me in the library. It’s what snow-days are for.”
I accept the coffee that she slides my way across the counter. “I can think of other ways to keep warm.”
