Page 6 of The Bratva’s Innocent Sold Bride (Fokin Bratva #9)

I grumbled all the way to my own room, slamming myself in. I was too lenient with Gordon. All that time spent researching, coming up with the ultimate plan to take his daughter to make him suffer, and once I laid eyes on CJ, it all went out the window.

Oh, I was taking her all right, but not to do all the things I threatened. There’d be no selling CJ to the highest bidder, no sending her to Russia to never be seen again. She had to be mine.

There was just something I saw in the depths of her green eyes, more golden brown when she was pretending she wasn’t scared of me.

I liked that, too. Shaking down to her shoes and still sticking her chin up at me.

I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and assure her everything would be fine, but I still had to teach her father a lesson.

Don’t mess with Mat Fokin. And here I was tucking her in the only guest room I’d gotten around to furnishing instead of chaining her in the wine cellar and sending pictures to Gordon to prove she was suffering. There was something about that woman that wouldn’t let me do it.

She was mine.

And it didn’t matter that I’d changed the plan. I could still make Gordon go through the humiliation of a big society wedding, all while knowing his only daughter was scrubbing my floors. Speaking of that…

I got on the phone and made the odd request, ordering the packages delivered by morning.

Since I was too keyed up to sleep while knowing that my woman was just down the hall, I spent some time digging into Taurus Ingenuity, glad to have a break from thinking about the faceless Anatoli Ovinko, who still eluded me.

Gordon hadn’t been lying. His flagship company was in dire straits.

If I sold his stocks now, it would cause a massive disruption, and I wouldn’t get as much satisfaction out of watching it slowly dissolve to the point he’d have to publicly admit his failure.

The next morning, my packages were waiting for me, and I unwrapped one of them, holding it up and admiring it. My family considered me to be levelheaded and somewhat serious, but I could have fun. This was going to be fun.

Knocking on CJ’s door, I opened it without waiting for an answer. She was asleep on top of the covers, curled up in a ball. Her shoes lay at the side of the bed, but she was fully dressed.

When she saw me, she jumped up, blinking and trying to glare. She cast her eyes around wildly, slowly coming to the realization of where she was.

“Good morning,” I said. She didn’t answer. “I’ve ordered you some clothes until you can arrange for your own things to arrive. For now, you’ll only need to wear this.”

I handed her the French maid costume—short, low-cut, black, and frilly. After she saw what it was, she fully woke up.

“I’m not playing your games,” she spat, tossing the costume at my chest.

I let it fall to the floor, only glancing at it before settling my eyes on her. She swallowed but didn’t back down. “This is no game,” I told her. “Pick it up.”

She only continued to glare at me, refusing to move. I reached for her, yanking her close, her lush curves pressed hard against me. She thrashed, finally going completely still, shooting daggers at me. I pushed her away, stepping out of the room.

“Pick it up and put it on. I’ll expect to see you in the kitchen in twenty minutes.”

I should have made it ten, no, five. I was being soft again. Her fire drove me wild.

She took half an hour before she sauntered into the kitchen, but she was wearing the costume.

It clung to her body, revealing so much creamy skin that I sucked in a silent breath.

Her chestnut hair was in a ponytail, and the silly lace hat was perched on her head at an angle, but it was there.

She gave me a look of utter loathing, but all I could do was smile.

“Things don’t have to be difficult,” I said.

“No, I didn’t think so,” she snapped. “I’m sure cleaning’s very easy. You think I’ve never mopped a floor before?”

“Have you?” I asked, honestly interested in every facet of her life.

She scowled at me and began filling up a bucket, adding soap, rustling around in the pantry for a mop. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. This had never happened to me before, and it was a curious sensation. Not one I wanted to end.

And God, she was sexy, pushing that mop, leaning over to pick up a small bit of something now and then. When she noticed I was watching, her cheeks flamed bright red, but she didn’t falter.

I had been messaging with my cousin Mila, who could whip up a wedding in a matter of weeks and swore she enjoyed doing it. She answered me, eager to meet the woman who stole my heart and promising she could make my timeline work.

The next time CJ snuck a peek at me, I waved for her to take a break.

She sat down on the edge of the chair across from me and accepted a cup of coffee as if she were at gunpoint.

Then her eyes fluttered shut as she sipped, and everything in me tightened.

She was gorgeous, enjoying that coffee, licking her lower lip so as not to waste a single drop.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” I asked. She slammed the cup down, but looked regretful about it. “My cousin will be arriving tomorrow to plan the wedding,” I told her. “You have two weeks, and if you don’t act like a besotted bride around her, there will be trouble.”

She jumped up, nearly toppling the chair. Her breasts heaved over the top of the tight costume, and she tugged the tiny skirt down as she got in my face.

“You can’t really mean to go through with this,” she said. “No one could be so—”

“Careful,” I muttered.

“Oh, what? You’ll murder my father because I call you a mean name?”

I looked her up and down, this foolish little spitfire. “You’re not sweet at all, are you?”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, dripping sarcasm.

I laughed. On the contrary, I was delighted. I loved her when she was shy and sweet, and when she was full of hellfire. I couldn’t wait to find out what else she had in store.

Sputtering at my amusement, she spun around and kicked the bucket of sudsy water over, splashing through it as she stomped out of the kitchen.

I watched the ruffles on her short skirt flounce, revealing a hint of her cute little ass, and actually considered letting her get away with it.

A couple more days of this, and that was all.

There had to be consequences for my bride-to-be, and I hurried after her, catching up to her before she got to her room.

She took a deep breath, probably to tell me where I could go, but it escaped from her lungs in a rush as I crushed her to my chest. My arm snaked around her waist, my other hand moving to lightly grip the back of her neck.

She went still in my arms, only her chest rising and falling against the black lace.

Tugging her hair, her chin tipped up, and I claimed her mouth.

It felt like coming home. Warm and wet as I teased my tongue between her smooth lips.

She raked her hands up my chest, first shoving at me, then gripping my shirt.

Her body was soft, melting against me after standing stiff in my arms. Was that a sigh I felt against my mouth?

Before I was lost, I pushed away, arranging my face into a sneer. “You will serve me, one way or another,” I said, pulling her closer, my hand traveling lower down her back. “Now, would you like to finish in the kitchen or continue this here?”

Her eyes flew wide as she wrenched out of my loose grip. Muttering curses the whole way, she scurried back to the kitchen to finish her chores.