Page 17 of Sold to the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #6)

Give her space. Don’t chase, don’t corner her. And most importantly, quit provoking her. Irina’s words reverberated in the walls of Fedya’s skull as he fixed the cufflinks of his shirt. You want her to trust you? Then you start by being patient. Don’t overwhelm her in a day.

He almost laughed out loud. What a load of bullshit.

Sure, maybe all of that would work if it were any other woman, but Maeve wasn’t any other woman.

She was a storm, a force that constantly slammed into him and snatched the air from his lungs.

She was the one who provoked him. She was the one who made him act out of character.

She was the one eliciting feelings from him that he didn’t think were possible.

And patience wasn’t his best attribute, so of course, he would erupt and say things to her he didn’t like.

She was brave and not afraid to speak to him like he were beneath her. If it were any other person who spoke to him the way she did, they’d be dead before they even hit the floor.

Regret . He hated the feel of it, the bitter taste of it at the back of his throat, the incessant reminder that he may have fucked up big time this time with the way he spoke to her. But he hated her more for being the kind of woman who could still make him feel it.

He had said some things to provoke her, dished out rules to her like she was a puppet, despite knowing she must have lived all of her life under her father’s rules.

Fedya was big on control, on the ability to keep his shit together, to keep himself grounded no matter the situation.

He could boast about it anywhere. But with Maeve, control was a fickle thing—a thing he was a slave to, a thing that he lost simply with a glare from her.

He had no control over his emotions around her, over the words that left his mouth, over his unintentional ways of hurting her.

They said hurtful things to each other every now and then, one provoking the other and vice versa.

But the attraction was palpable, undeniable, and Fedya knew it.

He felt it in the way her pulse pounded when he held her throat two days ago.

He saw it in the way her lashes fluttered when he stood too close.

He tasted it when he kissed her knuckles and felt goosebumps break out like hives on her skin.

It had been barely a week since he married her, since he brought her here and began cohabiting with her.

But it felt like much longer, much more intense than anything he’d ever felt.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d stared him down, feigning fearlessness even when cornered, the sharpness of her tongue, the arrogance.

She pushed him to the edge and then dared him to jump.

And there was something about it, about the way it made him feel, that always made him want her to do it again.

And now he was about to drive her to his family and introduce her to them as his fake girlfriend.

What he was about to do tonight was a risky thing. He wasn’t the type to lie to his family in the first place, but this was different. This was tricky, sticky, and he had to be smart about it, even if it cost the truth.

A girlfriend was unexpected, but not unwelcome if handled properly.

He was going to bring her in as an ordinary, unassuming woman.

There was no way anyone there would recognize her as Cormac’s daughter.

She was sheltered all of her life, and Fedya wondered just how many times she’d even been allowed to see the light of day.

Besides, the only thing they shared was the striking eye color.

She looked nothing like him, and anyone could have green eyes, so it wasn’t an issue.

They’d be fine tonight as long as her screws didn’t go loose. As long as she behaved and stayed by his side, they could walk in and out of there without any complications.

But Fedya was seriously starting to doubt the success of tonight’s event, considering she was already ruining it by spending an ungodly amount of hours just to get ready.

He heard his sister’s voice again. Give her space .

He’d done the exact opposite after fixing the door and changing the locks so she wouldn’t be able to lock him out again.

He’d been giving her ample space since that day, but it was starting to irritate him.

The longer he stared at his watch, the more he realized that she was wasting his time on purpose.

So, after knocking on her door three times and not getting a response, he didn’t think twice as he muttered a curse and barged in. His mouth was opened, about to say words that he couldn’t remember because they fled his brain the moment he laid his eyes on her.

Maeve stood in front of the mirror, fastening a cluster of earrings, seemingly unbothered and unaffected by his presence. Her reflection stared back at him in the glass, and his heartbeat quickened at the same time that his body hummed with desire.

She was wearing a black dress he didn’t remember buying.

Skin-tight and short, barely covering the curve of her thighs, held up by the thinnest of straps around her neck that looked like they could snap if she breathed too hard.

The neckline plunged, and the back was almost non-existent, exposing the delicate curve of her spine.

She hadn’t bothered with a bra either. Her long red hair had been curled and left loose, trailing over one shoulder with a few strands framing the sides of her face.

Thigh-high heels covered her feet, the tips sharp enough to gouge out a man’s eye.

“I’m starting to wonder who raised you, because I think it’s universal knowledge that it’s rude to barge into a woman’s room while she’s dressing,” she said, her voice nonchalant as she turned to look at him, a perfectly arched, dark brow raised.

There was makeup around her eyes, glittering and black, like tiny pieces of black ice shimmering around her eyelids. Her lips were blood red, full, and delectable.

Fedya’s grip on the doorknob tightened. The sight of her made him dizzy with want.

He wanted to rip the flimsy material off her, wanted to sit her down on the table where all of her makeup was littered and eat her out till she cried, wanted to bend her over before she could recover, and fuck her attitude out of her.

And then, then , his stomach twisted with the realization that he wouldn’t be the only one who saw her this way.

They were going to an event where there would be dozens and dozens of eyes on her, men like him, staring at what was his.

He couldn’t, for the life of him, entertain the thought of them seeing her like this.

Staring at her skin, her back, her tits, her waist, the curve of her ass in that dress.

It made him sick, made his head spin, made his eyes twitch involuntarily.

Maeve frowned, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

His brain was short-circuiting. He was thirsty, but he wasn’t craving water. “What are you wearing?”

“What does it look like?”

“I didn’t buy you that.”

“Well, it was in one of the bags you gave me,” she said, twirling slightly to look at herself in the mirror. “I think it looks rather lovely on me.”

She’ll love what I’ve picked out for her. Fedya’s temple throbbed when he remembered his sister’s words. Of course, Irina did this. What other things had she thrown into those bags without his knowledge? What other tempting items had she packed?

“Change,” he said simply.

Maeve didn’t react. It looked like she was expecting him to say that. “You’re so predictable, Fedya. Why the hell would I do that? And you’d better not give me some caveman answer like ‘because I told you to’.”

He took a step forward, and his cock seemed to imitate him in his pants. “Maeve.”

She folded her arms across her chest, pushing her cleavage up in a way that made his throat feel narrow. “Why? If I’m playing fake online girlfriend, I at least have to look the part.”

“You’re not walking into a family event dressed like that.”

“You bought this dress, Fedya.”

“It’s not about the dress.”

“Then what is it about? Because from my point of view, you want me to take it off, which of course, I won’t be doing.”

And it really wasn’t. He didn’t have any real issue with the dress.

Not when his body was reacting magnanimously to the way the fabric clung to her like a second skin.

Her legs looked endless in those heels. Her collarbones begged for his attention.

And her eyes—infuriating, stubborn, smug—made him want to shut her up in so many creative ways, none of which had anything to do with words.

But she was his, and that was the problem, because everyone would look. And he didn’t like to share.

He slid his jacket off his body, walked towards her, and draped it over her shoulders without asking.

His jacket dwarfed her, hanging down to her mid-thigh, the scent of his cologne clinging to his collar.

He could smell her too, a rich, intoxicating lavender scent on her skin, roses in her hair.

She looked up at him, thrown by the sudden gesture.

“Everyone will be there,” he said, almost cracking his fingers in his attempt to stop them from touching her. “Generations of family members. I don’t want you to be embarrassed by anyone.”

She took a step forward, lifting her chin as the jacket settled onto her frame. “Show me off then.”

Fedya felt a knot in his throat as he stared at her mouth. “You’re not changing, fine. But you stay by my side. All night.”

“Why?” she laughed in his face. “What, are you afraid someone might flirt with me?”

“No one who cares for their life would do that.”

He saw something flicker in her eyes before she blinked it away. She snorted, leaning away and grabbing her tiny purse from the table. “Ooh. Scary.”

“There are a few things you must know,” Fedya said, surprised his voice was even audible, considering how difficult he found it to speak while she looked like that.

“I have three brothers. The oldest is Ilya, followed by Kostya and Viktor. I’m the youngest of them.

And then my sister, Irina. She’s the last of us.

You will meet my cousins and their families as well.

Viktor and I are the closest, so he will be more suspicious than the rest. Whatever we’re doing has to be believable.

You play your part right so no one suspects a thing. ”

“Whatever we’re doing?”

The space between them was little to non-existent.

He was standing so close to her that he could see the beauty spot under her left eyelid.

“What that means is we have to act natural. The way a typical fresh couple would act.” His hands gripped her arms, trailing upwards to her shoulders.

He felt her muscles tense at his touch. “That means when I touch you, you do the opposite of what you’re doing right now.

You lean into me, you accept it, you want more.

You don’t act like I’m a stranger, like you’re repulsed by it. ”

His hand ghosted over her face, his thumb pressing against her bottom lip, catching some lipstick on his skin.

Her mouth parted a little too willingly for him, and his cock stirred in his pants.

“It means when I kiss you, you kiss me back because we’re putting on a show and we need people to believe it. ”

Maeve’s voice sounded a little breathy when she spoke. “You don’t have to kiss me for people to believe—”

“I will kiss you, Maeve.”

She cleared her throat and inhaled a sharp breath. “Fine. But no tongue.”

“I will kiss how I want to kiss you.”

Maeve scoffed. “Excuse me?”

His thumb pressed deeper into her bottom lip, grazing her teeth. His voice had gone two decibels lower. “I will kiss you exactly the way a woman ought to be kissed. I will kiss you like you are mine.” His thumb left her mouth. “Because you are.”

She was speechless, a pleasant surprise on his part.

He glanced at her hand as she slid her purse over her shoulder.

The light in the room caught the ring on her finger.

It was perfect there, made for her, and as much as he hated it, as much as it sickened him to no end, she’d have to take it off to make their ruse more believable.

Maeve followed his gaze to her hand, and her cheeks bloomed like flowers in spring. “Can’t believe I almost forgot about this,” she muttered to herself, but Fedya’s ears picked up her words as she tugged the ring off her finger.

“Can’t have them thinking we’re married, can we?” she said, forcing a sarcastic smile as she peeped at his empty ring finger. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

And then she walked past him, taking his senses with her.