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)
“How long am I expected to serve you? For months? Years?”
He did not let go.
“I haven’t decided that,” he mused lazily. “Your father owes us quite a bit of money.”
“I have an audition in the spring. I cannot miss it.”
“I will make sure you are there with bells on, little Mishka.”
I stared at him, my brow furrowed. He hadn’t answered me. But at least I knew I could attend my audition.
“What if I am hired? By the Moscow symphony?”
He sat back, still holding my wrist, but not as tightly.
“We will have to renegotiate the terms of your service. I will not stop you from playing.”
“You swear?”
“My word is my bond, Mishka. Do not ask me again.”
I stared searchingly into his eyes. Then nodded.
“I forgive you. As to your guest, that was not your fault. You bear no responsibility.”
“You are under my roof and my protection,” he said mildly, still absentmindedly stroking my skin. “I do not like others touching what belongs to me.”
“I do not belong to you,” I said swiftly, lifting my chin and snatching my wrist away. I immediately regretted it, missing the warmth of his touch, damn him. He rubbed his thumb against his lips, as if he knew.
“Ah, are you certain about that, little one?”
I narrowed my eyes.
“I belong to no one but myself.”
“I see. Thank you for forgiving me, Mishka.”
“Of course, Mr. Aslanov. May I get you more coffee?”
He stared at me thoughtfully, then shook his head. I returned to my spot until the meal was over. For the first time since I had arrived, Anton did not take his lunch at home. I was free to do what I liked.
I wandered the garden for a bit, then headed up to the music room.
The songs I played all sounded mournful, but I could not have told you why.
Chapter 17
Anton
“Pack your things tonight. We are going to New York tomorrow.”
“We?” The pretty little maid stammered. “New York?”
“Surely you have a passport, Mishka?” I asked. It was weeks since our kiss. Weeks since I had apologized. Weeks since she had treated me like anything but an employer.
She had stopped joining me for chess. I didn’t have the heart to force her after the first time she declined, saying that she was tired. After that, I had spent my evenings after dinner alone, drinking, and trying to forget.
If I was honest, watching her in her room was not truly an attempt to forget. It was an attempt to remember. It had felt intoxicating to hold her in my arms for those brief moments.
I would never forget it. Even if she never allowed me to touch her again, I would treasure the way she had felt against me body, the taste of her sweet lips, the smell of her hair, for the rest of my life.
I couldn’t imagine being with another woman, or even wanting one, ever again. Not even a passing attraction. It would be so empty and unsatisfying to tumble some model or socialite. I had no desire to respond to any of the women who were texting me on a daily basis. I blocked them, one by one, without a word.
My only thought was of Mishka. I wanted to be her man, her partner. I wanted to be worthy of her. I wanted to protect her. To guide her. To serve her.
And to make love to her again and again. To hold her in my arms every single night. To wake up with her every single morning.
For the rest of my goddamned life.
The only issue? She thought I was scum. A criminal. As she had put it on a phone call to her father ‘a very bad man’.
She did desire me, though. Whether she knew it or not. She might be too innocent to understand it, but I knew it was true. We had an incredibly potent spark. It was epic, legendary chemistry. Opposites did attract, after all.
She was an angel. And I was the devil.
Could she redeem me? Could I redeem myself? Or should I just unleash the monster inside me, taking what I wanted without thought of her tender heart, her innocence, her sensibilities, or the future.
What kind of future could I offer her, truly?
Either way, I had to do something. I had to take steps. I was losing my damned mind being near her all the time but unable to touch her. To taste her. To take her.
Dear God, I wanted to take her.
It was true that my travel plans were spur of the moment, but it was not an unnecessary trip. My brothers had been nagging me to go to Manhattan, as well as visiting our various homes and holdings. We often split up those duties. We had so many properties, shared and otherwise, not to mention our business holdings. But that wasn’t my motivation.