Page 8

8

TASH

I smooth down my casual denim skirt, feeling oddly self-conscious about showing up in casual wear. The cashmere sweater at least adds a touch of polish, but it’s nothing like my usual armor of vintage designer pieces.

Sofia’s new family mansion looms ahead as my Uber approaches the gates. The security guard waves me through since they know me well by now.

“Tash!” Sofia rushes down the front steps, her face lighting up. She’s also dressed down in a cream silk blouse and tailored pants. “Thank God you’re here. I need backup with all this testosterone.”

I laugh and pull her into a hug. “That bad already?”

“Nikolai and Alexi are arguing about soccer teams, and Dmitri’s been brooding in the study all morning.” She loops her arm through mine as we head inside. “Though he’ll probably emerge now that you’re here.”

My stomach does an unwelcome flip. “Sofia...”

“I know, I know. I’m not matchmaking. But you can’t deny there’s something there.”

The mansion’s interior wraps around us in warm woods and gleaming marble. Voices echo from the family room—male laughter and good-natured arguing in mixed Russian and English.

“There’s danger there,” I correct her, keeping my voice low. “And complications I don’t need.”

Sofia stops us in the hallway, her expression serious. “You’re family to me, Tash. That means you’re family to them too now, whether you like it or not.”

“That’s what worries me.” I squeeze her hand. “But let’s not get heavy. I smell food, and I’m starving.”

“Mrs. Petrova outdid herself today. Wait until you try her pelmeni.”

We round the corner into the bright kitchen, and I falter for just a moment as Dmitri looks up from his coffee, his dark eyes finding mine instantly. He’s in a black sweater that makes him look deceptively approachable, but I know better. There’s nothing casual about a predator, even when it’s at rest.

The kitchen fills with the aroma of Mrs. Petrova’s cooking as the brothers gravitate toward the food. I watch their dynamics play out.

“Touch that last pelmeni, and I’ll hack your Swiss accounts,” Alexi warns Dmitri, who raises an eyebrow and spears the dumpling anyway.

“You can try, little brother.” Dmitri’s tone has a sharpness of authority that makes even Alexi pause. “But we both know how that ended last time.”

“One time! That was one time I tried to get into your accounts.” Alexi sprawls in his chair, all loose limbs and restless energy. “And you changed all my passwords to ‘BigBrotherIsWatching.’ Real mature.”

Erik leans against the counter, eyes constantly scanning the room as his lips curve. The way he positions himself—slightly behind Dmitri but with clear sightlines to all entrances—speaks volumes about ingrained habits.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” Dmitri says, his tone lighter now. “Remember when you tried to buy that island?”

“It was a good investment opportunity!”

“It was a volcanic rock in the middle of nowhere.”

"With potential!"

“For erupting,” Erik adds quietly, making me snort.

Dmitri’s eyes flick to mine, and I see a flash of genuine amusement before his usual mask slides back into place. “Alexi’s ‘investment opportunities’ are why I have the final say on major purchases.”

“Boring.” Alexi turns to me. “Tash, back me up here. Big brother’s a control freak, right?”

“Don’t drag me into your sibling rivalry.” I hold up my hands. “I’m just here for Mrs. Petrova’s cooking.”

“Smart woman,” Erik mutters.

“Too smart,” Dmitri agrees, his gaze lingering on me. “Though that’s never stopped Alexi before.”

“Hey, I resent that! I’m a genius. Tell them, Erik.”

“You’re something,” Erik deadpans, making Dmitri chuckle.

The sound is rich and unexpected, gradually transforming his face into something younger and less guarded. These glimpses make him dangerous—they hint that beneath the power and control, there’s a man who remembers how to laugh with his brothers.

I can’t help smiling as I watch the brothers interact. Seeing Dmitri like this is surreal—relaxed, almost playful with his siblings. The man who terrorizes board meetings and makes seasoned CEOs sweat is fighting over the last dumpling with his tech genius brother.

“The island had a perfectly good helipad,” Alexi insists.

“Made of volcanic rock,” I point out, surprising myself by joining in. “Not exactly stable landing ground.”

Dmitri’s eyes gleam with approval. “Finally, someone with sense.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Alexi groans. “He’s insufferable enough already.”

“I think that ship sailed long ago,” I say dryly, earning a rare genuine smile from Dmitri that catches my breath.

Erik silently passes me a plate of pelmeni, and I notice how he’s positioned himself to keep an eye on the door and his brothers. I wonder why he would be so concerned, considering the mansion is well-guarded.

“You should have seen him when we were kids,” Alexi tells me. “Total hall monitor energy. ‘Alexi, don’t hack the school system.’ ‘Alexi, stop ordering tanks online.’”

“You tried to order tanks?” I ask, laughing despite myself.

"Only small ones!"

“They were T-72s,” Dmitri corrects. “And you were twelve.”

“See what I had to deal with?” Alexi appeals to me. “No vision, no sense of adventure.”

“Just common sense,” Erik states.

It’s strange but nice being included in their banter. For once, I’m not bristling at Dmitri’s presence or analyzing his every move for hidden threats. Here, surrounded by his brothers and Mrs. Petrova’s cooking, he seems almost... human.

“The tank thing explains so much about you,” I tell Alexi, who clutches his chest in mock offense.

“ Et tu , Tash? We are supposed to be friends!”

“We are. That’s why I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

“Another voice of reason,” Dmitri says. “We could use more of those around here.”

Our eyes meet across the kitchen island, and the playful atmosphere shifts into something heavier. The memory of our kiss at the gallery floods back—the heat of his mouth, his hands gripping my waist. I tear my gaze away, focusing on the steaming plate of pelmeni before me.

“These are amazing,” I say to break the tension, though my voice comes out slightly breathless.

We settle around the large kitchen table, and Dmitri takes the seat directly across from me. Each time I glance up, I catch him watching me with that intense focus that makes my heart skip.

This version of him—relaxed in his sweater, trading barbs with his brothers—is dangerously appealing. It humanizes him in a way that makes my usual defenses feel paper-thin.

“Have more of the mushroom ones,” he suggests, his voice low and intimate despite the bustling kitchen. “They’re your favorite, aren’t they?”

The fact that he’s noticed and cataloged this small detail about me sends an unwanted thrill down my spine. I spear one with my fork, aware of his eyes tracking the movement.

“Show off,” Alexi mutters, but there’s amusement in his tone. “Some of us can’t memorize everyone’s preferences like a creepy database.”

“Not everyone’s preferences,” Dmitri corrects, his gaze still fixed on me. “Just the important ones.”

I take a bite to avoid responding, but the way he looks at me makes it hard to swallow. The comfortable family meal suddenly feels charged with electricity. Every accidental brush of his foot against mine under the table sends sparks shooting through my body.

This is exactly what I was afraid of—how easily he can affect me, how natural it feels to be here among his family. The dangerous man who cornered me in my office is still there, but now I see other layers. These other facets make him even more irresistible.

I turn to Sofia, desperate for a distraction from Dmitri’s intense stare. “Did you hear about Caroline Mitchell’s disaster of a gallery opening?”

Sofia’s eyes light up with gossip. “Oh God, when she hung that Rothko knockoff thinking it was real? I almost died of secondhand embarrassment.”

“The authentication paperwork was apparently ‘in transit,’” I say, making air quotes. “Amateur hour. You always verify before hanging.”

“Speaking of verification nightmares,” Sofia leans closer, lowering her voice, “Janet from Sotheby’s told me the Berkowitz collection might be mostly forgeries.”

“No way.” I grab a piece of bread, genuinely distracted now. “The whole collection? Even the Monets?”

“Especially the Monets. They found some modern pigments that shouldn’t exist in early Impressionist works.”

“That explains why Marcus was so cagey about letting anyone examine them up close.” I shake my head. “He’s going to lose his certification over this.”

“Good,” Sofia sniffs. “He’s been cutting corners for years. Remember that ‘recovered’ Degas he tried to push through last spring?”

“The one with historically inaccurate ballet shoes? That was painful to watch.” I sip some water. “Though not as painful as watching Rebecca try to network at the Met gala.”

Sofia stifles a laugh. “She cornered poor Thomas Getty for forty-five minutes talking about her revolutionary new gallery concept.”

“You mean her Instagram-worthy wall colors and overpriced coffee bar?” I roll my eyes. “Because that’s never been done before.”

The familiar rhythm of art world gossip helps steady my nerves. However, I still feel Dmitri’s presence like a physical weight across the table.

“You should check out the library,” Sofia suggests as we clear the dishes. “We’ve got first editions that would make you drool.”

“Trying to get rid of me already?” I tease, but the thought of rare books is tempting.

“Please, you know me better. I just can’t stand watching you pretend not to look at our extensive collection whenever you visit.”

She’s right—I’ve been eyeing those shelves since my first visit. “Fine, you win. Point me in the right direction?”

“Down the hall, third door on the left. You can’t miss it.”

The library is amazing—floor-to-ceiling shelves, leather-bound volumes, and that intoxicating old book smell. My fingers trail along the spines as I browse, discovering treasures that would make any collector envious.

I don’t hear him enter, but do feel Dmitri’s presence fill the room. My body tenses, recognizing him before I even turn around.

“Find anything interesting?” His voice is low, intimate in the quiet space.

I try to step back, but I’m already against the shelves. He moves closer, one hand bracing against the books beside my head.

"Dmitri—"

His mouth captures mine, cutting off whatever protest I was about to make. The kiss is hungry and demanding, nothing like the controlled man I’m used to seeing. His body presses against mine, pinning me to the shelves, and I can feel how much he wants me.

I should push him away. Instead, my hands fist in his sweater, pulling him closer as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. He groans, the sound vibrating against my skin as his free hand grips my hip.

The hard length of him pushes against my stomach, making me gasp. His kisses grow more urgent, devouring like he’s been holding back for too long.

I gasp as Dmitri’s lips leave mine to trail down my neck. His grip on my hip tightens possessively, sending shivers through my body. The shelves press into my back as he holds me in place.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he breathes against my skin with a thicker accent than usual. “How you challenge me in meetings, how you hold your ground.” His teeth graze my pulse point. “Such fire, such defiance.”

I try to steady my breathing but fail miserably as he continues his assault on my senses. The scent of his cologne mixed with the leather from the books, surrounds me.

“Every time you walk into a room,” he whispers roughly in my ear, “I want to show everyone exactly who you belong to.” His thumb traces circles on my hip. “Want to mark you as mine, so there’s no question.”

The possessiveness in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it sends heat coursing through my veins. His other hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head to give him better access to my neck.

“Tell me you don’t feel this, too,” he demands softly. “Tell me that I’m imagining how perfectly we fit together.”

I can’t form words, can barely think straight with his lips moving against my skin. The predator I’ve been trying to avoid has me exactly where he wants me, and the scariest part is how right it feels.

“The things I want to do to you, kukolka ,” he breathes against my ear. “The ways I want to break that perfect control of yours.”

“No—don’t—” I protest, even as my body sings in response to his wicked words. My pulse flutters under his lips as his teeth nip gently.

“You like the sound of that, don’t you?” he growls in my ear, making my skin flush. “Admit it.”

“I—” My breath hitches as he grazes the sensitive skin below my ear with his teeth. “I don’t—we can’t?—”

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Admit it, and I’ll make you come so hard.”

“You—” I swallow, my body betraying me as heat pools between my thighs. “You know I do.”

His grip tightens on my hip, his kiss becoming more urgent and hungrier. “Then show me how much you want me to consume you.”

My cheeks flame, but a part of me longs to give in, to let go of my tight control in the face of his overwhelming dominance.

“I won’t stop there, Natasha,” he whispers, each word a hot brand against my skin. “After I make you come with just my mouth, I’ll bend you over and fuck you so hard you feel it for days.”

My knees nearly buckle at the image he paints. “Dmitri?—”

“Tell me you want it,” he demands, his tongue swirling on my earlobe. “Tell me you want my cock inside you, claiming you.”

“I want it,” I whisper, shocking myself with my honesty. But it’s the raw, aching truth I’ve been trying to deny.

The victory in his eyes sends a thrill through me before he claims my mouth again. Heat courses through my veins, making my head spin as his kiss steals the last of my resistance.

I arch into him as his hand glides up my thigh. His touch is possessive and confident. He knows exactly what he does to me, the effect he has.

Dmitri’s clever fingers find the damp heat between my legs, and I let out a strangled moan as he strokes me. My head falls back against the shelves as pleasure sparks within me.

“That’s it, kukolka . Let me hear you.” His voice is rough with desire as his fingers circle my clit. “You’ll be begging me soon enough.”

A strangled sob escapes me as his thumb applies pressure, sending lightning through my body. I’m so wet, aching for release, for him. The steady thrum of pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each sweep of his fingers.

My hands clutch his shoulders. “Oh fuck, Dmitri—please?—”

“Not yet.” His mouth finds the pulse point in my neck, his teeth scraping gently as his fingers work magic. “I want to feel you fall apart, Natasha.”

My hips buck involuntarily as I teeter on the edge, his wicked words and skilled touch pushing me closer. “Dmitri, I can’t—I’m too close?—”

“Let go,” he orders, and I do.

My world explodes in a rush of sensation. My cry is muffled by his mouth as his name tears from my throat. My body shudders through the climax, his fingers never slowing until I’m boneless.

For a moment, I can’t think or do anything but feel. Somewhere in the distance, I hear footsteps approaching and voices, but I can’t seem to form words or move away from the shelves.

Dmitri straightens, his eyes heavy-lidded as he gazes down at me. His thumb brushes my bottom lip, still swollen from his kisses. “You have the most gorgeous mouth, Natasha.”

Embarrassment floods me at the thought of Sofia’s staff finding us like this. “We can’t—someone’s coming?—”

“Mmm, yes.” His gaze turns stormy. “Let them see what you look like when you’ve been thoroughly kissed. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

“Dmitri, don’t?—”

Sofia’s voice drifts closer, saving me from his dangerous words.

I watch him step back, his face instantly transforming into that controlled mask I hate. Not a hair out of place, not a single sign of what just happened between us. Only the heat in his eyes betrays him.

My fingers grip the bookshelf behind me as I try to steady myself. The sound of Sofia’s heels clicking on hardwood grows closer.

Without a word, without even a backward glance, Dmitri straightens his already perfect cuffs and walks away. He just... walks away. Like I’m not standing here with my skin still tingling from his touch, my body aching for more.

“Bastard,” I whisper. The cool air hits my flushed skin as I smooth my dress with unsteady hands.

I hate him. I hate how he can affect me like this and then just leave. I hate how my body still hums from his touch and can still taste him on my lips. Most of all, I hate how desperately I want him to return and finish what he started.

The worst part is knowing he planned this, which leaves me wanting, frustrated, and thinking of him. It’s another calculated move in whatever game he’s playing.

My reflection in the window shows exactly what he’s done to me—lips swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with lingering desire. I look thoroughly debauched, and he looks... perfect. Untouchable.

God, I want to mess up that perfect control of his. Want to make him feel as undone as I do right now. The thought sends another wave of heat through me, and I press my thighs together, cursing him silently.