Page 7 of The Tsar’s Obsession (Bratva Sinners #1)

Just Play

Mia

“All I’m saying is, if he was truly interested, he’d make the effort. Pick up the phone. If he wanted to, he would.” Viv spoke about her last date in between stuffing her face with an almond croissant while I fiddled with my watch. Only two hours until it was five in the afternoon.

God, I had a big fucking problem. I spent the night tossing and turning, dozing in and out of disjointed dreams— he was in the dreams. What was happening to me?! This man’s hold on my attention was like a death grip, and I’d only seen him twice.

“Hey, how was that sales shindig with Ari? Did he corner you and stick his tongue down your throat yet?” Viv chuckled, and I realized I had completely forgotten to follow up with him after he disappeared.

“No, but he did try to parade me around like a love interest.” I was annoyed just thinking about it. He never responded to my text and wasn’t in the office all day either. That was strange; he was like a leech. Maybe he finally got the hint.

“Want to go for a drink later?” I proposed innocently, dying to tell Viv about my new client.

“Yes. Don’t bail on me like last time.”

Oh, I wouldn’t .

At quarter to five, I stepped out of my office into the dying heat of August only to be met with a black Rolls Royce SUV, an open door, and a man who was very obviously waiting for me.

No smile, just a serious expression on his face.

He was older, maybe in his late fifties.

His tailored black suit accentuated his fit physique, and his hair was cut short.

"Hello, Miss Tanner,” a thick Russian accent accosted my ears. "Please, get in car."

Momentarily stunned, I quickly calculated that Kirill must have been inside. My rule was strict: I didn’t join my clients in their car and always traveled alone. Never had I been in a situation where a client dictated the terms like this man!

"Oh, ugh, I'm okay, thank you. I have a car waiting." I made a weak attempt to shut this down, but the brute man in front of me didn’t even hesitate.

"No. Mr. Alekseev take you around tonight." Clearly his statement was not up for discussion, and he stretched out his hand, ready to help me step into Kirill’s territory once more. Making a split-second decision, I felt like I couldn’t refuse and climbed in.

There he was again, in his full position of confidence and dominance. Manspreading without shame, a lit cigarette lodged between his large fingers while his hand rested on his thick, muscular thigh.

He was silent; only his eyes acknowledged me as smoke escaped his nostrils. When did smoking become so sexy? I watched the clouds of the poisonous fog overtake the space in front of him and felt the urge to put my lips on that cigarette too.

"You know smoking is bad for your health, Mr. Alekseev." The playful words escaped me before I could stop them, all my professional conduct somehow taking a backseat to my impulses, which caught on fire every time I was in his vicinity.

That grin appeared again. "I do many bad things for my health. I have one life, and I want to get out of it what I want, Miss Tanner. Or is it Mrs .?"

This man pushed boundaries, again and again.

He led, I followed, but that’s not what I was used to.

I only texted clients when we became friends.

I only took on new clients after a discovery meeting.

I never traveled with a client. I didn’t discuss my personal life.

And holy shit, I never had a client who had the handle of a gun peeking out of his belt!

All my rules, all my principles, were ripped apart by this man.

I couldn’t predict any of his moves, I had no clue what to expect, and being in his presence inundated me with both positive and negative emotions.

Did I…did I want him?! God, it was painfully obvious—I had an undeniable physical attraction to him, but also… he made me a little scared.

That was new—I never got scared.

"Miss," I confirmed, barely audibly, but he wasn’t done with his musings.

"How difficult it is in English. Miss, Mrs., Ms. It gives away the woman's private life, don't you think? It's intruding, no?" Cigarette smoke billowed from his nostrils, adding another rule to the discarded pile. “In Russian, much better; no one knows if you're anyone else's."

What a weird way to phrase that, as if you belong to someone if you're with them.

"Why am I in your car, Kirill? We had an agreement to meet at the property." I finally managed to find some semblance of power.

"Plans change, Miss Tanner." He placed the emphasis on ‘miss’. “You must accompany me in my car; it’s safer for me and for you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but sometimes it's nice to be surprised."

Wow. I opened my mouth to protest, but the car pulled up to a stunning front entrance, and the door opened, signaling that it was my time to shine professionally.

Three apartments and two hours later, we ended up in the same place we met.

Kirill was so close, I could smell the slight hint of vetiver on him.

It was rich and warm, mixing in with nicotine, making him smell good.

Too good, in fact. Better than anyone I’d ever smelled before. Ugh, fucking get it together .

As discreetly as possible, I assessed his clothes and judged .

His white button-down shirt and black chinos were tailored just for him.

Those black Van Cleef cufflinks gave him a subdued and elegant look.

Elegant, simple, effortless—impeccable, like he had a whole team of fashion stylists at his disposal.

I’d never cared about any of that before, but all of him interested me.

Kirill stepped away from me for the first time once we reached the terrace, giving me a chance to calm my racing heart and appreciate the shimmering pool in the dying sun.

With confident steps in his exorbitantly priced shoes, Kirill approached the stone banister to take in the city view. “It’s nice.” He turned around to face me and leaned back on the ledge. “You’ve shown me everything I asked for. You know how to listen. I like that.”

Every room he stepped into was filled with his presence; he was the one in control, always. But this time, he was out of his depth. His words dripped with such authority, like I was his servant, and he could command.

Fuck. That.

As if throwing me a challenge, he withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, slowly wedging one between his lips, never looking away from me. The lighter flicked, and once again, he was doing whatever the hell he wanted.

"I'm sure you know you can't smoke here," I piped up in annoyance.

"Oh, really?" His eyebrows raised in fake surprise, the first puff of smoke already leaving his nostrils. "Then make me stop," he added with a smirk and shrugged his shoulders.

I wasn’t about to take this shit lying down. No one else would dare speak to me like that. Who the hell did this guy think he was?!

But fuck, he had me right where he wanted me, dragging me into his trap once again. I approached slowly, my shoulders straight and my head held high. He needed to experience the same energy he was giving.

Holding his surprised gaze without doubt, I plucked the cigarette right out of his mouth. I didn’t smoke, but I took the longest drag and blew the smoke right in his face, standing a little too close for comfort.

This man riled me up. He shook me awake, both terrifying me and making me addicted to the sensation. That feeling of being alive, not sleeping? I missed it.

My mind became all fuzzy around him, and my next words were fueled with his contagious confidence. “I do listen well.” I pointed the cigarette at him. “But maybe you need a lesson in that. Our appointment is over.”

Shocked. He was fucking shocked, and I fucking thrived on it. I wanted more. I wanted to poke the bear harder. Not looking away from him, I tossed the cigarette right behind him and over the ledge, brazenly breaking all the rules that I knew about.

I turned away, ignoring the disbelief in his eyes. But after only one step, his strong hand grasped my wrist, and he yanked me back to him so forcefully that my face collided with his chest.

I opened my eyes, and the outline of my lipstick stared back at me from his white shirt. I couldn’t breathe. The air knocked out of my lungs, I dared to look up and saw his heated gaze on me, his hand holding onto me tight.

Fuck, my big problem was growing by the second. Getting a taste of this was dangerous. My body right up against his, I huffed out short little breaths, trying to survive and ignore the tingling that overtook all of me.

"I think you forget who the client is and who works for him.

" He almost whispered and leaned in, daring me to respond back and burning me with his glare.

Like a meek little animal, I stared up at him and breathed him in, realizing I was making no effort to pull back.

No, this felt so good; this felt so delicious.

I wanted more.

There was sin in his eyes. Dark, enticing, beautiful sin. And I wanted it. I wanted to taste it, fill my soul with it. This felt like a déjà vu, like I had already lived through this once, but somewhere, I lost the sensation.

He was so menacing, so strong, so commanding.

A challenge. I liked that. I was so tired of flaky, boring men who always did what I expected.

Kirill was not boring, no. No…behind his green eyes and devious smirk was a whole world of trouble that I wanted to get tangled up in.

I wanted to be bound by my wrists and ankles in this trouble.

I wanted to drown in it; feel it crush my bones.

I wanted to feel . To burn in the fire I saw in his eyes.

But then a thought rushed through my head at the speed of light—was I strong enough to bring him down to his knees?