Page 4 of Nurse for the Russian Mafia

In my reveries, he delights in nibbling and kissing all the curves and gradations that make me who I am. He slides his hands over my hips, smoothing in and out with the shape of me, and then tugs at my underwear. I have to close my legs, hard, because my center is pulsing. I’m just so inexperienced I wouldn’t even know what to do if I indulged myself and stroked my hand down to my pleasure center.

Anyway, that’s not what I want. I want him to touch me.

I scream in my mind. It’s never going to happen, girlfriend!

If high school taught me one thing, it’s that men as handsome as Alexander will never be interested in women like me. I’ll have to content myself with my Kindle and my imagination. And fine, that’s not a bad life. Actually, it’s much richer and more fulfilling than many people’s existences. But, I have to admit, it would be oh-so-sweet to be ravished by the Russian.

Even if he is my dad’s best friend.

Oh. God.

I just realized something. What if he comes over to check in with Dad? What the heck am I going to say to him?

I laugh at myself a moment later. I’m just filling my mind with silly concerns, because, honestly, it doesn’t matter. I’m like the girl in high school standing at the edge of the ‘cool’ table, trying to get the football players and the cheerleaders to notice her. If Alexander does come over here, it’ll probably be with a thirty year old socialite on his arm.

I’m too young, too bookish, too unique for him.

But the age doesn’t matter to me, not even remotely. The steel in his hair just makes him even more alluring. The knowledge of his forty-two years in his hard emerald eyes just makes me want him more. Age is just a number, except when it comes to douchebag boys my age who think fart jokes are just hilaaarious and delight in casual sex as if that makes them impressive in some way. News flash … It doesn’t!

Then, suddenly, a savage pounding at the front door jolts me from my introspection. I leap to my feet and run into the hallway, and then down the stairs.

But my dad is there first. He opens the door and then takes a step back, letting out a long, huffing breath. “Oh, wow,” he says, just staring for a moment. “Alexander, what a surprise. And you’re hurt? Jesus, come in, man. Come in.”

Alexander stalks into the house, but he barely looks at my father. He’s wearing a skin-tight shirt that is too close-fitting to button all the way up, his bare pectorals proclaiming his power, the muscles tightening as he drinks me in with his gaze.

Why is he staring at me like that?

Is it lust?

Have I done something to make him angry?

I can’t tell.

“What happened?” my dad asks. In his cashmere sweater and his tan chinos, with his reading glasses propped on his forehead, he could pass for ten or fifteen years older than Alexander. But they’re the same age. And they’re best friends.

Remind me why I let myself fantasize over this man again…

“A fight,” Alexander growls. “I won.”

“Clearly,” Dad mutters. “Well, you remember Samantha, I’m sure. She’s just started working at the ER. I know it’s tough for you to go to the hospital, Alex. But she can take a look at you. Do you need to stay here?”

Alexander nods slowly. “That would be good. But first, old friend, I have to tell you something.”

We’re all standing in the living room now, next to the old family portrait of me and Dad and Mom. Seeing Alexander contained in this family setting is like seeing a bear crammed into a cage. He looks too big, somehow, like any moment he could just smash through the wall with his giant, capable-looking hands.

“Yes?” Dad prompts.

Alexander turns to me. “It’s about your daughter. We met again earlier tonight, and something happened. I know this will be hard for you to hear, Virgil. But I’ve come to realize that my empire is not complete without a—”

“Without a what?” my dad interrupts angrily.

Suddenly, I understand what’s happening. Even if it’s crazily difficult to believe, I can’t let it happen. I can’t let him just blurt it out to Dad like this. Because if I’m not imagining this attraction, if it’s really two-way, then I get to decide when I tell my dad.

I have to think of something, quickly, before Alexander makes living under the same roof as Dad much, much more difficult.

But what?

Chapter Four

Samantha

I heard a story once about a nurse who worked so hard on her shift that she felt a bit strange when she got home. She started seeing things that weren’t there. It turned out she was dehydrated and overworked.

As I stare at Alexander, the only man I’ve ever crushed on, I wonder if that’s what’s happening to me.

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