Page 5

There was no way this was happening. I simply couldn’t believe any of it was real. What had started out as a somewhat ordinary day had turned completely upside down. I was tumbling down a rabbit hole with no end in sight and speeding down the highway in Mr. Fokin’s car.

No, Nik. I was supposed to call him Nik. And I was supposed to make some mobster kingpin believe we were married. That had to be the reason for the kiss.

That kiss. Oh my God. If my mind hadn’t already been reeling from the fact that my boss was essentially kidnapping me, the kiss would have had it in enough of a whirlwind. I could still feel his hands blazing a path up my back, the warm caress against my neck as his tongue gently swept my lips.

It certainly wasn’t anything like the fumbling brush of lips from my senior prom date, who ended up leaving me before the after party once I made it clear I wasn’t doing more than dance. I never gave Kevin another thought after that and was much too busy working my way through culinary school and the endless part-time jobs to fund it, to go on any dates.

Here in LA, I had to keep a watchful eye out for weirdos, and my coworkers were all off limits even if they’d been my type. I was basically planning on being single until all my debts were paid off, so well into middle age.

And I was still single, damn it. Nik had only said we were married to get Arkadi off my back. But then, that kiss. Which I still couldn’t stop thinking about, even though I was being kidnapped and taken to some compound.

Who had a compound? Cult leaders?

He completely refused to stop and let me out or take me home. All I could do was go silent and plot my escape as soon as we got to the damn compound. I mean, how hard could it be? It would be a real shame to lose my job, but maybe my parents were right, and I wasn’t cut out for the big time.

I was so pissed off I could have spit right in Nik’s eye, but as we rolled through the first set of gates in his exclusive neighborhood, I got sidetracked, gawking at the few houses we rolled past. Beyond their private gates and long, winding paths, I caught glimpses of some pretty amazing mansions.

It shouldn’t have been shocking to me since he owned one of the most popular and upscale restaurants in Beverly Hills, but I was still stunned by how rich Nik must have actually been. He kept driving, and the houses got further apart, until we came to the end of the line and had to pass through another set of gates.

An armed guard waved him through, and I tried to get a grip on my panic. Surely the other guard had a gun or two, and was more discreet about it. My stomach rolled over as I saw yet another guard near some manicured shrubs, and still another at the huge, carved double doors. How many were out of sight, ready to pounce? My plot to jump out and run didn’t seem so feasible now. I was at least half a mile from the nearest neighbor and on the wrong side of a gate with a veritable army.

I snuck a peek at Nik’s profile as he maneuvered the car up to the front of the massive mansion, which was fully lit after midnight. His already razor-sharp jaw was set in a tight line, and his eyes were steely as he stared straight ahead.

Was this the same man who so carefully checked me over to make sure I was okay after an unruly customer made me uncomfortable?

Nope, no way. Once I was inside his doors, what happened then?

“I’m not getting out,” I said, surprised I sounded like I meant it. I nodded firmly and gripped the sides of the seat. I’d sit here until he came to his senses, which I knew he would, and take me back to my car.

“Fine with me,” he said, actually smirking as he got out.

So, he was just going to leave me there? Did he expect me to be groveling at the door in a few minutes?

Oops, no, he didn’t expect that at all, because he hauled my door open, leaned in and scooped me up like I was a wayward puppy who didn’t want to leave the dog park. I flailed my legs and then my arms, which he quickly got under control with a strong embrace. I was stuck to him like glue, trapped in what might as well have been iron bands.

“Let me go,” I demanded, my voice muffled against his chest. I took a deep breath to scream, furious at his rumbling chuckle above me.

The guard at the door kept his eyes straight ahead as we passed him. I kept kicking and shouting all through a long hallway decked out in modern art, and past several rooms I couldn’t get a good look at since he kept mashing my face into his chest with his forearms. A bit of one of his tattoos flashed past my eyes. A dragon breathing fire.

I’d give him a dragon, all right. If I could ever get my feet back on the ground he was going to be sorry he ever hired me.

Nik put me down and snapped on bright overhead lights, revealing a kitchen that could have been in any magazine spread. I blinked, temporarily calmed by the sight of the gorgeous copper pots hanging neatly over a wide marble island. Now I was in familiar territory and instantly felt safer, ready to grab one of the pots to smash over his head, or one of the knives in the nearby butcher block if it came to that.

The second he let me go, I hauled back and punched him as hard as I could in the gut. He barely made the slightest exhale and my hand reverberated up to the elbow like I’d hit a brick wall.

“Damn it,” I hissed under my breath, rubbing my wrist.

“Hey,” he said softly, taking my hand and looking over the knuckles. “You need this to cook.”

“Oh, now you’re acting reasonable?” I asked. Probably a mistake to goad my virtual kidnapper, but my arm hurt now on top of being pissed.

“I’m always reasonable,” he said, heading toward the counter on the other side of the island.

I eyed the knives, and he only laughed, pulling them out of my reach unless I lunged over the island. I still had the pots and pans overhead though, and scowled at his back. How hard was his head? I’d have to be standing on the counter to get a good swing. This was beginning to seem impossible.

“You call this reasonable?”

He smiled as he started up the espresso maker of my dreams. “Of course. You like steamed milk, right?”

I didn’t bother asking how he knew that. And the coffee was already starting to smell delicious, so I begrudgingly nodded.

“Will you call me a ride to my own place after I drink that?” I asked.

He sat down at the little table in the corner, taking a slow sip of his coffee before nodding for me to have a seat across from him. His blue eyes pierced me with their seriousness, tinged with anger. Like in the restaurant, I didn’t think it was directed at me.

“Why do you call this place a compound?” I asked. My imagination had conjured up a big concrete warehouse with underground tunnels.

His chin lifted toward the back of the mansion. “I have a few other buildings at the back of the lot. Mostly for the security staff, but… other things too.”

What other things? My mind screamed for answers, but I was tongue-tied.

He gestured toward my cup again, and I slowly sat down. The silence stretched between us, and I finally took a sip. The rich scent was just too much to resist. My own coffee maker at home had come with the efficiency apartment, and it was about twenty years old, producing a weak concoction that could barely be called coffee when it was drinkable at all. With a sigh, I set the steaming cup down and lifted my eyes to see a hint of a warm smile on his face.

It was gone as soon as our eyes met and he ran a hand through his golden locks, rumpling them up in a way that would have been adorable if I wasn’t glitching out over my predicament.

Yes, even though all that, I couldn’t help but recognize that my boss, and possible kidnapper, was utterly gorgeous.

“Just tell me why I’m here, please,” I said.

He briefly closed his eyes, long lashes resting for a moment against his tanned skin. Furrows appeared between his brows before he opened his eyes to pin me with a long look.

“Arkadi Mikhailov and I have a long history. He can’t stand me, and that’s probably understating it,” he said.

“I’m sorry to cause trouble, then,” I said. “I didn’t know who he was, or I would have said I was too busy to go out and greet him.”

He huffed impatiently. “I’m not reprimanding you as your boss, Emerson.”

The rough sound of my name gave me a little shiver. He’d called me by name before, but he somehow seemed to mean it this time. I wasn’t making sense to myself. None of this made sense. Then it hit me that he’d been concerned about my hand after I punched him, saying I needed it for cooking.

“Am I fired?” I asked. It was probably the least of my worries, considering I didn’t seem to be free to go, but I loved that job, loved Khoroshiy, and needed every penny of my paycheck if I wanted to stay in LA.

“No, you’re not fired. Is that really the issue right now?” he asked.

“I don’t know what the issue is,” I wailed.

“Listen to me, then.” He waited until I looked up from the foam at the top of my coffee and once again became pinned in place by his deep blue eyes. They were now completely unreadable.

“Arkadi is dangerous. Extremely dangerous. He runs a rival organization and has wanted what is mine for nearly ten years. He’s a ruthless killer, who’ll stop at nothing once he’s set his mind to something. Or someone. I can tell you right now that you’re that someone.”

A killer? Not just a creep? It was too much, and I put my face in my hands. “Well, what am I supposed to do about it, then?”

Maybe going back home was the best option. Even with news of a killer being after me, that wasn’t what I wanted. But what other option did I have?

“What am I supposed to do?” I repeated.

He pulled my hands away from my face and tipped my chin up with a fingertip, so I had to look at him. He scowled at the look of sheer despair on my face and then smiled.

Smiled.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” he said. As if he hadn’t just warned me, there was a killer after me. “Now that you’re my wife, you’ll be fine.”

My jaw nearly hit the table. I shoved backward, shaking my head. “But I’m not your wife,” I reminded him. “Mr. Fokin, you do understand I’m not really your wife, right?”

Was this incredibly rich, powerful, and handsome man downright crazy?

“It’s Nik,” he told me. “And no, you’re not my wife.” Another smile froze me in place. “Yet. But you will be.”