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)
The men started talking about business, sports, and current events. I served them drinks, and then dinner, careful not to get too close to any of them, particularly Sergei. His hands brushed the skin of my bare leg when I bent forward to bring him his entree. I nearly jumped, just barely managing not to drop the plate onto the crisp white tablecloth.
No one spoke. I practically ran back to the serving table. I was suddenly on the verge of tears, longing for escape. I found a reason to leave the room, just for a moment. We were low on wine! I curtsied blindly and hurried from the room. As I left, I heard Sergei ask who I was.
“She is a tribute. From one of our business arrangements.”
It was true. I was here as payment. But hearing him say it that was like a knife to the gut. I knew I was a possession to be used. A bargain made with the devil himself to save my father. But these past weeks, I thought we had become something else. Maybe even friends.
Tears smeared my vision. I ran away, not towards the kitchens, but towards Anton’s study, and the forgotten hallway where no one ever went.
I slid to my knees and hid behind a credenza holding a table lamp and a vase of fresh flowers. How they appeared daily throughout the house, I had no idea. There must be servants cleaning and arranging greenery well before I awoke.
Thankfully, there was no one nearby at the moment. I tried to calm myself but the tears kept coming. A damn had burst inside me, leaving no room for control. Eventually, after long minutes gulping air and trying to be quiet, the tears started to slow.
The soft thud of footsteps approached. I hastily brushed my tears away, hoping beyond hope that the footsteps would disappear. Head in the other direction. Simply leave me alone.
“You can come out, little Mishka. I sent the bad men away.”
I nearly groaned. I was so embarrassed. Not only had he caught me crying, but I had abandoned my post. Barely ten minutes had passed since I left the dining room. I was just starting to regain control of myself. I was sure that my face was swollen and red from crying.
I pressed the backs of my hands into my cheeks.
“I am waiting.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. Then I forced myself to stand. He walked towards me, until he was standing directly in front of me.
I heard him curse under his breath.
“He touched you.”
I lifted my eyes, and then looked away.
“Where?”
I lifted my eyes to him again, shocked at his question.
“My… my leg.”
“Where on your leg? Show me,” he said in a tone that left no room for interpretation.
I simply stared. He cursed again and stepped closer, cupping my cheek.
“This is my fault. My responsibility. I am sorry, Mishka.”
It was the last thing on earth I expected him to say.
“Do you understand me?” He was still holding my cheek, staring into my eyes. Then he smiled tenderly. “Blink if you understand me.”
I let out a surprised laugh. I saw him instantly relax. We both did.
I blinked.
“Ah, Mishka. What am I going to do with you?”
He dropped his hand from my face before I could react, but only to take my hand in his. I’d felt a shock at his first touch. A spark. This time it was more like the steady heat of his fireplace when it warmed my bare legs late in the evening.
He led me to the door of his study, not bothering to hide it when he entered the code into the keypad. I looked away until I heard the lock turn with a satisfying click. He tugged me forward, leading me to the leather couch that spanned the center of the room.
“Sit,” he ordered.
I sat.
And then he did something so strange that my heart seemed to stop in my chest. He knelt. My employer. My master. My owner. One of the most feared men in Russia, not to mention the world, knelt before me.
“You’ll ruin your pants,” I said breathlessly.
He smiled.
“I don’t care.”
He turned his attention to my leg, staring intently at my lower limbs as if he had never seen a woman’s legs before. Anyone’s legs, really.
“Show me.”
My mouth dropped open. I knew what he was asking. But how could I show him that his guest had brushed his fingertips along my thigh?
He sighed. Then reached out to touch me. His touch was lighter than a feather, or a butterfly wing. But I could feel it.
I could feel it everywhere.
“Here?” He asked, giving me an inquiring look.
I shook my head, and his fingers slid down my calf. My heart started thudding in my chest.
“Here?”
Again, I shook my head as his fingers rose up the back of my leg to the side.