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“He had a habit of making me believe I’d made… certain decisions… when he was the one pulling my strings.”
“That’s not what’s happening here.”
At least, I don’t think.
She nods. “All I’m saying is, beware of men like Edward. Handsome, powerful, richer-than-God? That’s bad news. They’ll shower you with luxury—roses, clothes, jewelry, fancy meals in fancy restaurants. But they’re stingy when it comes to the things that really count. Men like that can be dangerous to the heart.” She points a finger at my chest. “Because they refuse to share theirs.”
I suppress a shiver rocking me from head to toe. “I understand what you’re saying, but trust me: I’m under no illusions as to what Ruslan and I are. We have sex. No feelings, no expectations, no nothing. Just sex. End of story.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Which is great—if you can keep your feelings out of it. The question is: can you?”
20
RUSLAN
There’s something about the symmetry of a boxing ring that centers me.
Which is exactly the reason I had a twenty-four foot diameter ring installed in the massive gym complex I designed for myself and my crew. It’s an exclusive membership. Price of entry? Lifelong fealty sealed with the mark of the Oryolov Bratva branded onto your skin.
I pull my gloves on and breathe in the scent of freshly-sanitized leather. They’re stitched with my initials on the side so the men know they’re off-limits.
What can I say? I’m a possessive bastard when it comes to my things.
Kirill is jumping in place inside the ring. He’s the only one I box against consistently because he’s the only one who offers me a challenge. We’re close to evenly matched. Fifteen years of beating each other to a pulp means he knows my weaknesses and I know his.
Makes the fight so much more interesting that way.
“Ready to eat canvas?”
I smirk. “It always amazes me how cocky you are, consideringIwon the last three rounds.”
“I have to throw you a bone every once in a while, don’t I?”
We start to circle one another. “You’re doing a lot of talking from that end of the ring,” I remark.
Kirill laughs as he moves towards me with his elbows tucked to his chest, fists over his chin. I know what to expect. He’s an impatient bastard, so he almost always throws the first punch.
As expected, he lunges toward me with a jab. I block it once, twice, three times before Kirill lets up. The moment he pulls his fists back, I swing a powerful uppercut.
“Fuck!” Kirill groans, crunching forward.
He reroutes himself quickly and charges forward again. I see the combination he’s planning before it even begins. Jab, jab, cross, big right hook designed to separate my head from my shoulders.
I meet them all—both jabs fly off my mitts, I swerve the cross, and then, before that hook can find my chin, I sink a huge left hand directly into his gut, centered on the liver.
Kirill lets out a huge grunt as he collapses back against the ropes, his chest rising and falling hard. I just smirk at him. “You were saying something about luck?”
His jaw flexes and he cracks his neck from side to side. “So… how was your lunch with Jessica yesterday?”
I suppress a smile. Given how well we knew each other’s boxing styles, sometimes the only way to win is to get inside each other’s heads.
“She was her usual nightmarish self,” I say as we resume.
“So you continue to see her… why? For those new tits she’s toting around? Heard Dr. Caviezel did a really great job with them.”
He launches another barrage of jabs. I block them all, then return fire, backing him up into the far corner of the ring. “The only part of that woman’s body that I’m interested in is the palm of her hand.” I throw another uppercut that Kirill manages to narrowly avoid.
“Pardon?”
