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I force myself toward the drinks trolley, getting another drink to distract myself. Mikhail forcing himself on her wasn’t a lie. I’d pulled the bastard off her myself, and part of me wishes I’d made good on my threat to kill him. Instead, I’d sent him scurrying back to the manor with my threat ringing in his big ears.
Whiskey in hand, I turn back to Aleksander who has moved to the large oak desk. “You think she was lying?”
“I know she was.” Aleksander scoffs. “Girls like that will do anything to get out of something they don’t like. Mara saw right through her.”
Ah. Mara Orlova.
Aleksander’s wife and Alena’s mother, although I’m certain Mara doesn’t have a single motherly bone in her body. The urge to jump to Alena’s defense rises, but I can’t. Doing so would reveal that I was there, and if Alena hasn’t told anyone that detail, I won’t either. Still, it surprises me that Aleksander doesn’t believe his daughter. If Mara said such a thing, he would burn down families to get his revenge, but that mercy seemingly doesn’t extend to his daughter.
“Maybe it’s a hint to how badly she doesn’t want to get married.”
“I don’t care what she wants.” Aleksander’s gaze hardens when he glances up at me, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the old, hardened Aleksander. The one who would have crushed the Irish long before they could approach the Petrovs for any kind of deal. “We are at war, and while I am eternally grateful for your work, Kristof, you can’t do it forever. This arrangement with the Kuznetsovs, we need it.”
He’s half right. We need something, but lifting a sadistic family like them to a higher rank is not the answer.
Our discussion comes to an end when the sleek black phone on the desk bursts into life. Aleksander answers immediately and waves his hand at me—my cue to leave. Abandoning the glass, I leave the study in search of a real drink.
Suddenly, out in the hall, something small and solid crashes into my side as I move. It’s not enough to knock me, but the impact draws a noise of surprise from my throat and I reach out to catch whoever was running.
My worn fingers find soft, warm skin, and when I glance down, a pair of large, warm brown eyes blink up at me, framed by pale skin and long, platinum-blonde hair.
Alena Orlova.
My heart punches to a stop in my chest, and a jolt of tension snaps through my body. Everything with Aleksander is instantly forgotten as my world narrows to a point. Nothing exists but Alena. Her cheeks are flushed rosy, and she clutches a worn-looking book in her hands. Her rosy, full lips part in shock.
“Kristof! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you!”
Before I can respond, she pulls away from me and pushes some loose strands of hair away from her face.
“Sorry!” she calls, and then she resumes her run down the hall, vanishing around the corner to the left. My chest relaxes only when she’s gone from sight and I can breathe again.
Fuck.
I need a drink.
One interaction, and every single rule I have vanishes from my mind. One touch, and all sense leaves me. If I were a stronger man, I would never come here. I would keep my distance and let time turn my obsession into dust.
I head in the opposite direction, away from the study and toward one of the ballrooms where a large, sleek black bar greets me, filled to the brim with alcohol. Making a beeline for the Vodka, my thoughts linger on Alena’s beautiful eyes. As stunning and warm as they were, they were a little duller than the last time I saw her, like a flame has been snuffed out. Given her predicament, I can’t blame her.
Nastja’s words ring in my ears as I drink. Keep it together.
“Kristof? I thought I saw your gaudy car in the driveway.”
“Fuck you.” Glancing up, a warm curl of distaste moves through my chest as Mara Orlova approaches. She’s wrapped in a figure-hugging black dress that pushes her small tits up to her chin, where her poker-straight black hair pours over her shoulder like liquid.
“Is that any way to treat the lady of the house?” Mara settles on a stool next to me, draping one leg over the other and angling herself toward me.
“You insulted my car,” I state flatly. “My response is deserved.”
“Perhaps.” She brushes my arm, walking two fingers up to my shoulder before I shrug her off. She laughs then, a tinkling sound that grates right through me. “Ooh, touchy?”
“Can I help you with something?” Turning to face her, I drink slowly and focus on the sharp burn of the Vodka as Mara shakes her head softly.
“It’s all business with you, isn’t it? It would do you good to loosen up, Kristof. The health benefits are… wild.” The tip of her tongue touches her upper lip when she smirks. “After all, with everything you have done for us, I think you deserve some downtime.”
Her flirting is never this obvious, this obnoxious, but I know better than to rise to it. Whatever she’s looking for, she won’t find it here with me, and I’m not foolish enough to fall for her games.
“I’m sure there’s a guard who can satisfy you,” I remark coldly, pushing up from the bar. “Or your own husband.”
