Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Almost as much as the backbone she had shown when she stood up to me.
I cleared my throat, unable to hide my grin at the fetching picture she presented.
She jumped, turned, and her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. She curtsied, awkwardly adorable, but I barely noticed. I was getting the full picture of her in that get up from the front.
Gone was the gangly school girl urchin. This was a woman, young, fresh, and prettier than anyone had the right to be.
It was almost too much for my brain to handle. I blinked, then shook my head. She was staring at me curiously, having no idea of her effect on me.
Or anyone with eyeballs.
“Good evening, sir. May I pull out your chair?”
“No, Mishka. I can handle my own chair,” I said, a smile twisting my lips. I pulled out my chair and sat, pulling the napkin onto my lap. I noticed it had been folded in a new way. I wondered if that was her doing. But I decided not to say a word. I simply watched her.
“Wine?”
“I prefer vodka.”
She curtsied again, to hide her confusion. I could get used to this, I realized. Though I felt a bit like a cad. I was no better than a lecherous old man, wanting to pinch the serving girl’s bottom.
That particular feeling was more than a little bit foreign.
I had never once in my life felt guilty for ogling a woman, or having the upper hand in sexual negotiations. But at this moment? I did.
The girl was frightened, out of her element, and determined not to show it. She was brave as hell, and damned if I didn’t admire her for it. She was a study in delicious contrasts and I made an oath to myself to learn every single little thing about her.
Mishka was not just pure, unbelievably beautiful, and apparently an exceedingly skilled violist, she was courageous, too. And compassionate. Nurturing. As a woman should be, from what I had seen in books and movies. I could see her loving nature from the way she cared for her father. It made me want her to care for me, too. Not just want me, though I craved her in a shockingly primal way. Not to fear or respect me.
I wanted her to care for me. More than a little.
It was a thought, no, a feeling, I had not felt since I was a boy. I wasn’t sure that I liked it.
The last time I had felt this way, I’d wanted my father to care. Anyone to care, really. But it was the longing for a mother that had been painfully intense.
I knew now that she was alive and well, not dead as we had been told. That she had agreed to my father’s demands to abandon me. All three of our mothers had done the same.
I had a constantly updating file on her and her new life, living in a big villa in Greece that overlooked the sea. She had eventually married. She lived with a husband and other children, though they were much younger than me. She looked happy, and very beautiful of course, though I sometimes saw a wistful look in her eyes when she stared out at the ocean. I sometimes wondered if that look was for me.
Our father had forbidden any mention of these women, and I knew that he would be furious if we tried to contact them, or vice versa.
But even if I did… even if that wistful look was for a lost son, it would be hard to forgive the betrayal. What kind of woman would give her child up for a large sum of money? What kind of woman would give her flesh and blood to a monster?
Clearly there were women. Three of them, in fact.
I suspected my brothers also had files. We had spoken of our mothers in hushed tones when we were children, dreaming of what they looked like, or how they might cook for us, or tuck us in before bed if they were only alive. It had taken years for us to realize that all three of us being motherless sons was a stretch. That it wasn’t real. That we had been abandoned.
We never spoke of them now.
That this mere slip of a girl would rouse similar emotions made me clench my jaw in annoyance. I was not a little boy. I was a man, and I would take what I wanted.
I let my eyes slide cruelly over her body, without a hint of emotion. I let her see me do it. I might want her very badly, but I would not allow myself to care.
I could not allow myself to care.
She flushed and nearly stumbled. I watched pitilessly as she moved quickly to pour me a glass, bending over the bar. I stared hungrily at her curves.