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)
At the desk, I scanned screen after screen as he made his way downstairs. My eyes widened when I saw the monitor that covered the parking area. Our guard was laid out on the ground. At least he looked like he was still breathing.
In the kitchen, I spied a black-haired man as tall as Sevastyan, flexing the fingers of his right hand. One guy had knocked out that big guard with a fist?
Could he be the mysterious Maksim? He dressed as well as Sevastyan did, maybe even more conservatively. Despite decking somebody, he’d managed to keep his dark suit crisp and flawless.
In the color screen, I could see that his eyes were a piercing blue. And for some reason, this stranger looked familiar to me.
He helped himself to a bottle of vodka and snagged shot glasses, as if he was just waiting for Sevastyan to join him. Yet he set out three glasses. So where was the third guy?
Sevastyan entered the room. Despite looking like he was about to blow, he’d stowed his gun, tucking it into his waistband at the small of his back.
Amazingly, the other man had no fear of him. He smirked as he made some comment, his bearing aggressive.
Could he not see how close Sevastyan was to violence? It was simmering right beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
After another exchange—were they speaking Russian?—Sevastyan inhaled and exhaled, as if for control.
I had to hear what they were saying! I took off my pointy heels, carrying them with me as I sneaked out of the room. I crept down the steps, then paused outside the kitchen doorway. Now I was a peek-freak—and an eavesdropper?
If he would have talked to me, I wouldn’t be forced to stoop to this!
“Answer me!” Sevastyan demanded in Russian. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The man replied in the same, “This is the welcome I get? After all the work I’ve done to help your fiancée, you won’t even let me meet her?”
Fiancée? Why would Sevastyan have told him we were engaged? And what had this man been working on for me?
“You haven’t been helping because you’re honorable, Maksim. You only wanted something to occupy your disturbed mind.”
A puff of breath escaped me. Maksim. In the flesh.
“A game maker at rest is a dangerous man,” Maksim said in a tone of agreement. “As the old bastard always told us, ‘Life grows long without schemes.’ In any case, you’re one to talk—you’re playing a treacherous game right now.”
What game? Was he talking about sorting out syndicate business? Outside looking in.
“When I asked for your assistance,” Sevastyan said, “I told you not to view this as an opportunity for more. You agreed.”
“You assume we want more from you, Roman?” Roman?? “Don’t flatter yourself. I merely want to meet the woman who’s at long last brought my big brother to his knees.”
I sagged against the wall. Maksim was Sevastyan’s brother?
I could see it. Both men had coal-black hair and towering, muscular frames. Though Maksim’s eyes were blue to Sevastyan’s gold, and Sevastyan’s nose had been broken, the rest of their features bore a resemblance.
But that wasn’t why he looked so familiar. Finally I remembered. I’d seen his picture online, when reading about another Sevastyan family—the mega-rich, connected Sevastyans.
This man was Maksimilian Sevastyan, the politician.
Hadn’t I read about three brothers? I cast my mind back to that article. I believed the youngest one was named Dmitri and was a CEO of some company. There’d been no information on the eldest, other than his name. Roman Sevastyan.
The same name that was on his fake passport. Except it wasn’t fake. His real name was Roman. And he’d been born into wealth and privilege.
No wonder his manners were impeccable. No wonder he’d seemed like a born rider.
What else hadn’t he told me about? I gazed up at the ceiling. The better question: What had he told me about?
And the meager crumbs of information that I’d worked so hard to get weren’t even true! When I’d asked him if he had any family—and specifically any siblings—he’d answered none. He didn’t have just one; he had two.
Somehow he’d gone from an affluent, respected family to the slums. If he’d been on the streets, it hadn’t been for long before Paxán found him.
Unless that was all a lie. Maybe he’d scammed Paxán. Who the hell knew?
Remembering my boasts, I felt my cheeks burn. My instincts with men are untouchable. I can figure out men easily—
“Get the fuck out, Maks. I won’t ask you again.”
“You took her to the club last week, but won’t even schedule a dinner with me?”
I put my hand over my mouth. Sevastyan’s brother knew about Le Libertin? Had he seen me?
And why in the hell would Sevastyan take me to a sex club his brother also frequented? How . . . ick!
“Don’t look so surprised,” Maksim told him. “I know everything you do. You forget—I’m in the business of information. Now, call my sister-in-law down to meet me, or I’ll force my way up.”
Sister-in-law! I needed to put a stop to this insanity. I slipped on my shoes, smoothed my hair, then entered the kitchen.
Sevastyan shot forward, inserting himself between Maksim and me. “Natalie, go upstairs. Now.”
My feet were rooted to the spot. “You told me you didn’t have any family left. And no siblings.”
Maksim tsked, sidling around Sevastyan. “Roman has two brothers. I am Maksim, the more handsome one. And you, Natalie Porter, are even lovelier than I expected. Evidently I need to schedule a trip to Nebraska.” He held out his hand, so I offered mine. He turned my hand to place a startling kiss on the pulse point at my wrist, glancing up with his penetrating blue eyes. “It’s a pleasure.”
Sevastyan didn’t like that at all. So joke him. I smiled back at Maksim. “Very nice to meet you.”
Sevastyan snatched my hand, using it to drag me back. “You will wait for me in our room.”
Dismissing me? He wasn’t even going to act guilty about the fact that he’d lied to me and been busted?