The Mafia Obsession

7

ROMAN

“It’s late, so I will walk you through the house tomorrow.” I wheel myself toward the sofa. “It would be best if you don’t roam around alone until I introduce you to everyone.”

“Okay.” Nina nods. “So, what now?”

“I’ll call the kitchen to bring us some food since we didn’t eat anything. Do you want something specific?”

“I’m not hungry, but it wouldn’t hurt to let the staff walk in on us. It’ll make the gossip pick up pace.”

Doing a show for the staff wasn’t in my plan for tonight. I assumed she would want to go to bed to get away from me as soon as we arrived, but now I’m curious what she has in mind. It’s slightly disturbing—the way she acts is so casual, like this whole situation is completely normal. There is nothing normal about having been pressured to move in with a stranger and pose as his wife. She must really love her father to agree to this sham and be so invested.

While I’m calling the kitchen, Nina starts taking the pins from her hair, and I watch the long black strands fall down her back one by one, like a waterfall of inky silk. I wonder if her hair is as soft as it looks.

“When do you expect the maid to arrive?” Nina asks as she takes out the last pin.

“Any second.”

“Okay then, let’s start.” She gets up from the sofa and comes to stand before me.

Leaning in, she starts undoing the buttons on my shirt, her face the embodiment of calm, but I notice that her hands are shaking slightly. A normal reaction, at last. When she’s done with my shirt, she c***s her head like she’s thinking about something and then looks me in the eyes.

“Can I hop on?”

I narrow my eyes. “Where?”

“In your lap? Will it hurt your leg?”

She wants to climb into my lap? I can’t stop staring at her. “It won’t hurt my leg.”

Nina nods, pulls her dress up with one hand, and places the other on my shoulder. Then she bites her bottom lip, obviously confused on where to go from there. I lean in, grab her around the waist and hoist her up to deposit her across my thighs. She yelps, her arms going around my neck and her eyes widen.

“And now what?” I ask, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Now we wait for the maid to catch us cuddling.”

“But we are not doing that, are we? You are just sitting in my lap.” Reaching with my hand, I move the long black strand of hair that has fallen over her face, then holding her at the nape, lean in and place a kiss on her slender neck. With my other hand I find the slit of her dress and hear her sharp intake of breath when I start moving my fingers up her naked thigh.

A knock comes from the door.

“Enter!” I bark over Nina’s shoulder and then resume trailing kisses along her neck.

“Pakhan, Varya said to bring—” Valentina’s voice cuts in the middle of the sentence.

“Leave the tray in the kitchen and be gone.” My words are sharp, as if Valentina is interrupting something real. My body seems to think so.

The girl hurries to leave the food and then literally runs off, banging the door behind her.

As soon as Valentina is gone, Nina lets go of my neck, and hastily hops off my lap. Good. If she stayed there any longer she’d probably notice my hard d**k straining against the material of my pants.

“So, that went well, I guess,” she says and passes her hands through her hair, only making it more tangled.

“A lovely performance indeed.”

“Well, I’d better go to bed now.” She starts toward the door of her room but stops midway. “Can I borrow a shirt or something?” She throws the question over her shoulder. “I don’t want to sleep in Oscar de la Renta.”

The idea of her in my clothes does something to my insides, and I imagine grabbing her and taking her to my bed. I don’t like that at all. This is a business deal and nothing else. “I’ll bring you something. We can send someone to get your stuff tomorrow, leave your keys in the kitchen.”

NINA

After a quick shower, I put on a gray T-shirt Roman left on the door handle for me, get in the large four-poster bed and snuggle under the duvet. I checked the time on my phone before getting into bed. It’s well after midnight, but I can’t sleep. Being in a strange house is just a part of the reason. A much larger part is sleeping a couple of dozen yards away. Just thinking about him is messing with my already fried brain.

Roman’s chest is fully covered with ink. I saw it when I unbuttoned his shirt, but there wasn’t enough time for me to pay much attention to the designs. I wish I did, because this need to reveal at least some of his secrets is eating me from the inside. The Russian Pakhan is an enigma, and the complete opposite of the straightforward funny guys—ones who can make me laugh—I’m usually attracted to. I like a carefree spirit, someone who is easy to talk to and even easier to leave—a man who won’t demand me to open up. Getting tangled up with the Pakhan any more than strictly necessary for this plan to work is not wise.

I close my eyes and the image of Roman gripping my thigh while his sinful lips trail a line of kisses down my neck fills my mind. As if on its own accord, my hand slides down my stomach and stops between my legs. I place a finger at my core, press lightly, and groan. No. I should not be pleasuring myself while thinking of a man who threatened to kill me. It’s so wrong. Quickly, I remove my hand, tuck both under the pillow, and try to ignore the ache between my legs. I am not doing this.

For hours I lay awake in bed, clutching the pillow with my fingers, waiting for my traitorous body to calm itself. It doesn’t. In fact, it only gets worse until I can’t take it anymore, so I finally succumb to my need and slide my hand back down between my legs. I come in a matter of seconds, with my face buried in the pillow and a name of a killer on my lips.