Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Why couldn’t I fall for a guy like him? He said whatever was on his mind, was easygoing, and acted like I hung the moon.
The opposite of Sevastyan.
If I were with Filip, I wouldn’t have felt the just-in-case need to brush up on the finer points of BDSM, studying everything from corporal punishment to orgasm denial to dom/sub rituals.
Sevastyan had talked about obedience and discipline; was he interested in the lifestyle, the equipment, the paraphernalia?
Punishment bars and floggers, handcuffs and canes, nipple clamps and ball gags.
Recalling the way Sevastyan had slapped my ass, I’d watched online videos featuring grown women stretched over men’s laps, spanked like they were wayward creatures in need of correction.
I’d been indignant and outraged!
I’d pictured Sevastyan forcing me across his lap for a similar chastisement; he’d once threatened to do exactly that. And as soon as I’d finished masturbating, I’d been indignant and outraged all over again!
Until I’d masturbated a second time. But that had been before I’d conceded defeat.
“What are you thinking of?” he asked me, his gaze riveted to my face.
I realized my breaths had shallowed, my cheeks heating.
He put his hand on my wrist, touching me with that live-wire grip. His brows drew together, until I could almost imagine he was about to kiss me.
Despite everything, I wanted him to—
Yuri exited Paxán’s office.
I abruptly stepped back, tucking my hair behind my ears, resisting the urge to whistle. As the man passed, I tried not to notice the AK-47 strapped to his back. Even after a week here, I was still uneasy seeing guns everywhere. When the brigadiers took tea breaks, they would casually lay their weapons down beside their cups.
I kept telling myself, Roll with it, roll with it.
Sevastyan gave Yuri a chin jerk in greeting. Carry on. While the brigadiers revered Paxán, they seemed to uniformly fear Sevastyan. I’d overheard them talking about “the Siberian” in hushed tones.
Once Sevastyan and I were alone again, sanity resumed. I didn’t need to be kissing a man who’d ruthlessly cut me out of his life. Didn’t need to reward his shitty treatment of me.
Jess had an m.o. for dealing with badly behaving males—she called it ABC: Always Be Crazier. I was thinking my m.o. might be kill ’em with kindness.
When Sevastyan opened his mouth to speak, I gave his arm a brisk pat. “Good talk, buddy! We should do this in another week or so.” I strode off, leaving him looking confounded.
F ifteen minutes later, Paxán and I were sitting in the pavilion at a table topped with tea, delicacies, and our chessboard. A fire in the pavilion hearth crackled, warming us. As usual, Sevastyan worked some distance away, fielding phone calls, his watchful eyes scanning for a threat.
The two of us sipped and snacked, wading deeper into our game. “Do you know who is a master player?” Paxán eyed our pieces. “Aleksandr.”
“Is he?” I made my tone as uninterested as possible, even as my gaze flicked over to Sevastyan.
He was embroiled in a heated conversation, had begun striding outside into the drizzle. He made his way down to the nearby boathouse—which really should be called a “yacht house” considering the sixty-foot beauty housed inside.
I knew sub-nothing about boats, but I was pretty sure this one had been the villain’s yacht in Casino Royale. Paxán had promised to take me out once the weather—and danger—broke, said we could motor all the way to the Gulf of Finland.
“You should play Aleksandr sometime.”
I gave a shrug. Pass. I was trying to get over my fascination with him, not fuel it.
Yet when Sevastyan’s words floated up, dimly echoing from the boathouse, I frowned. “Is he speaking . . . Italian?”
“Ah, yes,” Paxán said proudly. “He speaks four languages fluently. He’s a—what do you call it?—a self-learner?”
I nodded. The bruiser boxer, the feared enforcer, the professional hit man, was an autodidact. Fascination fueled once more. Damn it.
“If only I could interest him in the workings of clocks.” Paxán had begun teaching me, and I’d geeked out, finding it addictive. “So have you given some thought to making this your full-time home?” He’d yet to exert any pressure on me, although I could tell how much he longed for me to stay.
In a dry tone, I said, “Gee. Maybe if you’d give me some gifts, you know, spoil me a little.” I’d received countless pieces of priceless jewelry, another closetful of clothes, a red Aston Martin Vanquish that Filip had salivated over, and even my own thoroughbred, an exquisite dapple-gray mare named Alizay. I only awaited a sunny day to take her out.
In a matching tone, he said, “Next you’ll be saying the Fabergé egg was too much.”
With a laugh, I held up my thumb against my forefinger. “Just a touch.”
He chuckled with me. “I can’t help it. I have all this money and years to make up for. The birthday presents alone . . .” He tilted his head. “Sometimes I wish you were more interested in being rich.”
The present that I’d adored above all the rest had been the least expensive: a framed portrait of my mother, Elena. How I wished I’d been able to know her!
She’d had strawberry blond hair, sparkling green eyes, and a coy smile. I might resemble my grandmother, but I saw similarities to Elena as well.
When I’d gushed over the thoughtfulness of the gift, Paxán had informed me that the idea had been Sevastyan’s, which had surprised me.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything, but at heart, I’m a farm girl. I like the simple life. Besides, you are the draw here—not the gifts.” I hadn’t gotten around to telling him that I wanted him to change his will back. The topic was morbid, and I got the sense that it would crush his feelings.
“But Berezka is pleasant, no?”
I gazed out over the surreal landscape. A green lawn sprawled to the edge of the river. Light drops of rain splashed the surface with notes like music. Otters frolicked in the current. Each day, Paxán would point out local species of animals. “Look! It’s a stoat,” he’d say. Or a shrew, or a raccoon dog, or a great crested grebe.