Molotov Obsession

Chapter 5

5

NIKOLAI

As I step out of the room, I can hear her saying goodbye to my son, her voice sweet and bright, and the painful thudding in my chest intensifies, anger mixing with the strongest lust I’ve ever felt.

Six months.

Six months, and I haven’t gotten so much as a smile out of the boy. Alina has, though, and now so has this girl, this total stranger.

Slava laughed with her.

He showed her his favorite book.

He let her touch his shirt.

And the entire time I watched her with my son, all I could think about was how she’d look spread out naked underneath me, her sun-streaked hair freed from the tight bun confining it and her big brown eyes trained on me as I bury myself in her silky flesh, over and over again.

If I needed further proof that I’m unfit to be a father, here it is, in spades.

“Sit, please,” I tell Chloe when we’re back in my office. Despite my best efforts, my voice is tight, the roiling cauldron of emotions inside me too powerful to be contained. I want to grab the girl and f**k her on the spot, and at the same time, I want to shake her and demand she tell me how she worked her magic on Slava so quickly… why my son responded to her within minutes while I’ve been unable to get more than a few words out of him for months.

She sits down in the same chair as before, perching on the edge of the seat as delicately as a butterfly on a flower. Her eyes are locked inquisitively on my face, her expression perfectly composed, and if not for her small hands knotting together on the table, I would’ve thought she’s as cool as she appears. But she’s nervous, this pretty mystery of a girl, nervous and more than a little desperate.

I don’t know why that is, but I’m going to find out.

“What did you think of my son?” I ask, my tone smoothing out as I lean back in my chair. Now that we’re away from Slava, the strange tightness I often get in my ribcage around him is easing, the irrational anger and jealousy fading until it’s only a faint pulse at the back of my mind.

So what if the boy likes this stranger better?

That means she might actually be able to do the job I’m about to hire her for.

I don’t know when exactly I reached this decision, at what point I decided my fascination with Chloe Emmons justifies the danger she might pose to my family. Maybe it was when she was glibly lying about why she stopped using social media, or as she was fearlessly holding my gaze after vowing to devote herself to the job. Or maybe it was when I came out of the house and those soft brown eyes landed on me for the first time, making every hair on my body stand on end with scorching awareness.

Attraction is too weak a word to describe the pull I feel toward her. My hands are literally twitching with the urge to touch her, to trail my fingers over her finely molded jaw and see if her bronzed skin is as baby soft as it appears. In pictures, she was bright and pretty, her radiance shining off the page. In person, she’s all that and more, her smile full of unselfconscious warmth, her unflinching gaze speaking of both vulnerability and strength.

And underneath it all is desperation. I can see it, feel it… smell it. Fear, hopelessness—it has a scent, like blood. And like blood, it calls to the darkest parts of me, to the beast that I’ve been keeping carefully leashed. Worse yet, this inconvenient attraction isn’t one-sided.

Chloe Emmons is drawn to me.

Masked by her bright, friendly smile is a purely feminine interest, a response as primal as my reaction to her. When I shook her hand, I felt a tremor run over her skin, saw her lips part on a shallow exhale as her delicate fingers twitched in my grip.

No, the girl is not indifferent to me at all, and that makes her fair game.

“I thought Slava was very bright,” she answers, and my gaze falls to the tempting shape of her mouth. Her upper lip is a bit fuller than the lower, giving the impression of a slight overbite when she’s not smiling. “I’m not sure why he refuses to learn English from you, but I’m confident I’ll be able to teach him,” she continues as I ponder if that small imperfection makes her features more or less appealing. More, I decide as she explains the teaching methods she intends to use. Definitely more, because all I can think about is how much I want to taste the plush softness of those lips and feel them on my body.

With effort, I refocus on her words.

“—and so we’ll start with the—”

“What’s your take on corporal discipline for children?” I interrupt, leaning forward. I’ve heard enough to know that she’s capable of doing the job. There’s only one other thing I need to know now. “Do you believe in spanking and such?”

She gives me an appalled look. “Of course not! That’s the last thing—No, I would never condone that.” Her eyes narrow fiercely as she leans in, slender hands balling into fists on the table. “Do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

She visibly relaxes, and I conceal a satisfied smile. For a second there, she looked like she was going to punch me with those tiny fists. And that reaction wasn’t faked; every muscle in her body tensed at once, as if she’d been about to launch herself into battle. The mere possibility of my son getting spanked made her forget whatever is behind her desperation and ready to rip into me like a mama bear.

That’s not the reaction of a woman who’d ever hurt a child. Whatever danger Chloe Emmons poses, it’s not one of violent tendencies—at least none that would be directed at Slava.

The jury is still out about the true cause of her mother’s death.

It’s probably yet another sign that I’m unfit to be a parent, but a part of me is looking forward to the trouble she might bring. It’s quiet here, in this remote corner of Idaho—beautiful and way too f*****g quiet. The life I left behind is nothing like the one I’ve been leading for the past six months, and I can’t deny that I miss the adrenaline rush of being at the helm of one of the most powerful families in Russia.

This girl with her intriguing lies and porn-doll mouth won’t replace that for me, but one way or another, she’ll provide some entertainment.

Leaning back, I lace my fingers over my ribcage and smile at her. “So, Chloe… when can you begin?”