Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
My anger slowly fades, because there’s Karine, standing on the sidewalk all alone, looking so fucking radiant my heart staggers in my chest.
My god. The girl is beautiful.
Anton says something else, but I don’t hear him anymore.
All I can do is stare.
She’s in a black dress. It clings to her athletic, toned body. Her hair is down and in ringlet curls. It’s thick and dark. I remember how silky it felt in my fist. She’s wearing makeup, just a hint of it making her pouty lips look fuller and her eyes dark and smoky. She’s got on heels, and her legs look fucking fantastic, like they might never end.
I push open the door and step out.
Our eyes meet. For a moment, she doesn’t move. I don’t go toward her. The draw between us is hard to deny—I know she feels it too. This girl, her petite little body, her fiery fucking attitude, she drives me fucking crazy, but I made up my mind the moment I first saw her standing naked in my study that she will be mine.
No, no, that’s wrong.
She’s already mine, she just doesn’t know it yet.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, because it’s true.
A little blush colors her cheeks. “Thanks. You look nice too.”
I help her into the car. She buckles herself and stays on her side. Anton’s glaring at me in the mirror and I stare back at him as I slide the divider up.
Let the bastard stew in his disapproval. This isn’t about what he wants.
This is about what I need.
“I just want to make some things clear,” she says as the car starts moving. “I’m not staying out late. I’m not drinking too much. And when it’s over, I want you to drop me off back in front of the Stove and Smoke.”
“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind about how this evening will go.”
She narrows her eyes. “You know I don’t want to be here. You’re practically forcing me.”
“I don’t think I am, malishka.”
“Stop calling me that. What’s it even mean, anyway?”
“Baby girl.”
She snorts and looks out the window again. “Yeah, I figured. I know your type, okay? I’m just telling you straight up, we’re having dinner, and I’m going home. That’s the end of it.”
“I appreciate you being up front about how you feel.”
She gives me a strange look but shakes her head and goes back to ignoring me.
The ice doesn’t thaw on the car ride over. She’s completely frozen, and it’s going to take a little time and a bit of finesse to warm her up.
Which I don’t mind. Some men are aggressive and short-sighted. All they think about is what they can have right now.
But I’ve been successfully running a criminal organization for a decade now. I took over when I was twenty-eight from my father, God rest his soul, and I’ve been growing and refining our operations ever since.
I learned the value of waiting a long time ago.
Anton drops us off at The Golden Palace, one of only two Russian restaurants in the city. We’re right on the edge of Rittenhouse Square, and more than a few passing men stare at Karine as she steps onto the sidewalk.
Jealousy flares, but I push it back. Can I blame them for looking at a beautiful woman?
Isn’t that the point of tonight as well?
To bring her out and be seen with her?
But still, the animal inside of me wants to make sure my claim is staked.
I take her arm and lead her into the restaurant. She gives me an annoyed look but says nothing as the hostess instantly takes us back to the best table in the house. We sit across from each other and we’re given water and wine. I thought about making this a traditional meal and showering her in quality vodka, but I can be a good American when I choose.
She looks around. The place is decorated in creams and golds like a tsarist palace. Even the chairs ooze wealth and power. An enormous chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the floor is covered in patterned red carpet. The waitress returns with fine caviar, which Karine doesn’t touch.
“Tell me about yourself,” I instruct her.
She swirls her wine. “There’s not much to say.”
“Try anyway. Where did you go to school? Where did you grow up? What was your family like when you were young?”
“Do you actually care?”
“Very much.”
Reluctantly, she talks about living in her current house her entire life. She went to local public school, got good grades, but never went to college. “That was for Luka, not for me,” she says, shrugging slightly, but she can’t quite mask the bitterness in her tone.
“Did you want to go to college?”
“I applied and got into Temple, actually.” She seems surprised and looks down at her glass. She laughs slightly. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”