Page 10 of Under His Control (Silver Fox Daddies #27)

ANATOLY

“ M e?” I blink at her, raising a brow. “You want to know about me?”

She nods, arms crossed over her chest, defensive but determined.

“Yes. If I’m going to be marrying you, I want to know about you, as much as you’re willing to tell me. And I want the details of this whole legal arrangement, as well.”

I sit back slowly, studying her face. She’s serious.

“Then you want me to repeat myself,? solnishka ,”?I say, letting the Russian endearment roll off my tongue. Little sun. It fits; she’s brightened the room just by being in it.

Her cheeks flush prettily at the sound of it, but she holds my gaze and doesn’t back down. Good . I need her to be strong. I need her exactly as she is—sharp, stubborn, loyal.

“My parents, they weren’t sentimental. They were powerful, brutal, at times. But they believed in legacy—traditional legacy. They didn’t want their empire, their name, to die with us. They wanted sons who could lead. Protect. Build something that would outlive greed.”

I pause, watching her eyes soften with curiosity.

“They wanted Damas and me to settle down. To have families. To prove we could protect something more fragile than money or property. But they died before either of us married, and they knew I wouldn’t do it willingly. So they added a clause to their will. A condition.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Which is?”

“In order for me to retain full control over the Hospitium , I must marry. My wife must live with me for at least one year.” I smile without humor. “If I fail, the Hospitium and all its assets get sold off, as I’ve said.”

She blinks. “Wait. So you’d lose literally everything if you don’t marry?”

I nod once. “Everything. I’ve avoided it for as long as I could. Stalled. Negotiated. But the lawyers are done waiting and the clock’s run out.”

There’s silence for a beat. Then she asks, her voice quiet, “And your brother? He can’t take over?”

“He’d love to,” I say dryly. “But the will names me . My parents didn’t trust him with their life’s work. And for good reason.”

Taylor looks away, like she’s trying to process everything.

“Is this even legal?” she asks.

“It is, when the lawyers are paid enough to make it so. Plus, it is a binding, notarized document.” I swirl the wine in my glass, watching the dark liquid catch the light.

She stands and walks over to the windows. The sun backlights her body, the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the generous swell of her breasts. My palm itches with the urge to touch her, to test the softness hidden beneath that prim blouse.

If she were already my wife, I’d pin her against that glass and show her exactly how much I value her.

But first, I must finalize the deal.

I stand and refill her wine—one more inch of liquid courage—and join her by the window. She doesn’t turn, so I step beside her and hand her the glass.

“What choice do you really have?” I ask. “Your brother’s life for your signature. The Bratva won’t wait.”

Her teeth catch her lower lip, tugging with worry. I want that mouth on me, I want to feel the softness of her full lips on my cock.

“I’ll have my attorney draft a prenuptial agreement as well,” I tell her, turning my body so she has to look at me. “There will be a money transfer immediately with enough to satisfy the Smirnovs. More than enough, actually. They’ll be well compensated for their inconvenience.”

She clears her throat. “When can I expect to see the contract?”

“As soon as my lawyer can draft it. I can have it ready this afternoon, if you’d like.” I let a beat of silence pass. “So, Taylor Jenson, are you saying yes?”

Her gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth, down my chest, then back again. She takes a deep breath and straightens her spine.

“I’ll read the contract first,” she says, “then you’ll have my answer.”

A thrill of victory rises within me. She hasn’t flat-out refused. She’s thinking. Considering. That’s all I need to make her mine.

I lift my glass and she does the same. The crystal rims kiss with a soft clink .

“To contracts,” I murmur.

She lifts a brow. “To impossible bargains.”

I grin. “To solutions.”

We drink, the sexual tension between us now a living thing—hot, hungry, inevitable. But I keep my distance, for now. She needs to sign first. Then she’s mine to protect, mine to touch, mine to ruin in the most beautiful way.

“Expect an email from my attorney later today,” I say. “Read it carefully. If you have concerns, voice them. I want you confident in this arrangement. I’ll call Charles, tell him that you’ll be taking the day off. I want you to give it plenty of time and thought.”

She nods. “And Chris?”

“I’ll place a call to Ivan Smirnov the moment you leave this office, ordering him to pause whatever he has in mind for your brother. No harm will come to him, at least for now. Assuming he doesn’t do anything else idiotic.”

A faint, pained laugh escapes her. “That’s a dangerous assumption.”

“I have ways of encouraging good behavior. You’ll learn that about me soon enough.”

Her cheeks flush again. “I’m already starting to.”

I reach for her hand—small, warm, trembling—and lift it to my lips. I press a kiss to her knuckles, lingering just long enough to feel her shiver. Her pupils dilate, her breath hitches. I hope this small gesture will cause her to imagine my mouth on softer skin.

“Thank you for hearing me out,” she whispers.

“Thank you,” I counter, “for trusting me.” I release her hand and step back. “Now go.”

She blinks, then offers a shaky smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Anatoly,” I correct softly.

“Anatoly.” Hearing my name on her tongue is like a sweet caress.

“Oh, one more thing.” I step to my desk and pull a card from the side drawer, placing it into her hand. “The moment you make your decision, I expect to know. Text or call, no matter the hour.”

She glances down at the card before returning her eyes to mine.

Then she nods and turns toward the door.

I watch every sway of her hips as she walks away, the urge to follow, to press her against the wall and taste her, nearly overwhelming.

But discipline is a chain I forged long ago. So I let her walk away—for now.

The door closes behind her. I exhale sharply, adjusting my suit trousers to hide the evidence of my arousal. Business first. I reach for the phone and dial my attorney, my hand still tingling from her touch.

Once this contract is signed, everything will change. For her. For me. For the Hospitium .

But first, a brother’s salvation. Then I’ll turn my attention to showing my future wife exactly how mutually beneficial this marriage can be.