Page 13 of Disgraced (Russian Sinners 3)

Her eyes widened, her breathing slightly hitched.

“I usually don’t even kiss on the first date,” she admitted in a soft voice. “But sure, why not?”

I realized immediately my mistake but fuck. How could I say no to that? The question was whether I should take her back to her hotel, not to my house. It was a simple language miscommunication but the devil on my shoulder applauded me while my feeble angel scolded me.

I wasn’t called a Russian Sinner for nothing, though usually it had nothing to do with charming women into my bed. Regardless, the devil won as we walked towards my car and I helped her in. Truthfully, it wasn’t a big deal. We are practically engaged. She just didn’t know it. Right?

As I roared my car to life, I pondered her words.

I usually don’t kiss on the first date.

I really liked that. And going forward, she would only be kissing me. She was already waking up possessive instincts within me. It had nothing to do with love, and I knew from her words to her father that she wanted love. I didn’t think I was capable of loving a woman anymore. But I could make her happy, make us both happy.

It took all of ten minutes and we were gliding up in the lift, taking us to my penthouse. As we entered, she kicked off her sandals, and it was quite a sight to see her roaming my place barefoot. As if she’d been here a thousand times. Her eyes traveled the place slowly taking it all in.

The floorplan was open. A large kitchen in the far-right corner, from which you could see the entire dining room and living room, as well as enjoy the view of St. Petersburg and River Neva. In the dark of the night, the whole city was lit up and shimmered in the darkness.

Walking over to the large ceiling to floor window stretching through the whole living room, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Nice place,” she commented softly.

“Thank you.” I wondered what went through her head. It was almost as the place displeased her.

“What business are you in exactly?” she asked, never wavering from the window.

If her eyes were on me, I was sure she’d notice me wince at that question. I decided the best thing was to keep as close as possible to the truth in this case.

“I own a few casinos across Europe.” Truth was, I owned several in the States too but left that minor detail out. If she asked for the name, she might connect me to her father. After all, it was how I came to own them; her father needed a bailout.

“Hmmm,” was all she replied.

I strode over to her and stopped two feet from her, her back still facing me. It interested me to know what she was thinking, what went through her mind. I didn’t want secrets between us but couldn’t afford to lose her before she gave us a chance.

“Is that bad?” I asked her and she whipped around.

“I didn’t hear you,” she replied, in a slightly hitched voice. Raising her eyes to meet my gaze, I noticed her pulse racing. I wished her thoughts were an open book to me. I wanted to know if she was excited, nervous or worried. “No, I guess it is not bad,” she answered my question.

She was so small compared to me but definitely not timid. Her open personality made her seem taller, bigger.

“Are you nervous?” I wanted to reach out and touch her but didn’t want to push it. Self-admittedly, she didn’t usually do this so it was smart to take it slow.

She gave me a small smile. “Yes,” she answered. “I think so. Maybe a little bit.”

“Don’t be nervous.” I wanted to assure her there was nothing to be worried about. She would never have to fear me. “We can just hang out, watch a movie; whatever you want.”

She took a deep breath and then nodded. I guess she was trying to calm her nerves. She was unlike any woman that I usually had.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” I didn’t want her drunk but maybe it would help settle her nerves.

“Maybe just a half a glass, please.”

She stared out the window, as I went into the kitchen and prepared her glass of wine. Even as I moved around the kitchen, I noticed her every move, her every glance my way. Her eyes roamed across my penthouse, absorbing it all. It almost seemed she was trying to learn something about me by studying every object, every picture.

The nagging feeling inside my fucked up brain kept telling me to be honest with her, to tell her I was the man that her father arranged her marriage to.

But the fear of rejection was hard to overcome. After all, it had been ingrained into me since I was that little boy in the orphanage. My parents rejected me. It was obvious they wanted nothing to do with me. The final nail in the coffin was Irina. She abandoned me for an old, stinking, and disgusting man. Her hunger and lust for power and money overrode everything I found important… family, love, and being faithful.

No, I couldn’t tell her I was her intended husband. It would send her running away from me. I would spend time with her, woo her so when she learned who I was, she’d stay with me. I didn’t want to lose her. I couldn’t lose another person.

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