40

Sasha
After dinner at our favorite taco joint, my friends and I hit a club for dancing. I wear a tiny red dress and stilettos that I’d thrown in my giant purse. Out on the dance floor with my friends, I’m having the time of my life despite the sense of a ticking bomb about to go off.
Maxim hasn’t called or texted, which probably means he’s on his way or is already here. I have zero doubt he’ll catch up to me, which is why I intend to enjoy the hell out of myself until he does.
I’m tipsy, so it takes me a minute to notice that some asshole put his hands on my hips from behind. I’m about to tell him to step back when Maxim suddenly appears in front of me.
It only takes one glance to know he’s pissed. Not irritated, like he is going to throw me over his shoulder and carry me out, but lethally pissed.
I often forget, purposely, that my father’s men are killers.
I literally gulp.
“Get him off you, or his blood will be on your hands.” He speaks in Russian, so only I will understand.
I could elbow the guy away from me, but before the thought even forms, I arrive at a better solution. I surge forward and wrap my arms around the neck of the enemy. Maybe it’s the cocktails talking. Maybe it’s out of a sheer survival instinct. They say women don’t do flight or fight-we tend and befriend. Well, I’m bonding with my executioner.
It’s not a hug. I absolutely mold my body to his, gluing my hips against his legs, riding one of his thighs like a cowgirl on a bull, still undulating to the music. My breasts press against his ribs, my lips brush his neck.
He instantly bands one strong arm around me, his palm splaying at my lower back then dropping lower to cup my ass and help me ride his leg. After a few seconds, I sense the fury in him dissipate. His body softens against mine. He sways to the music. “That’s better,” he murmurs in English.
Thank fuck. I realize I’m trembling, and most of my intoxication has disappeared with the adrenaline. For a moment there, I thought it was me he wanted to throttle. But it wasn’t-it was the dickwad hitting on me.
At least, I hope so. I don’t sense the dangerous aggression in him anymore.
Knowing he’s dangerously possessive of me shouldn’t give me flutters of excitement, but it does. Part of me loves that he showed up to claim me. And I’m probably pushing my luck-I’m definitely pushing my luck, but considering how nice it is to be dancing with him, I don’t want to leave yet.
I’m sure he came to throw me back on a plane. I fully expect he’ll tie me to his bed when we return. Oh damn, that thought turns me on.
But it is so incredibly wonderful to be with my friends again. I feel more like myself than I have in a year. With my girlfriends, I can be myself and laugh and have fun.
“Maxim,” I begin, sounding breathless. “Can we, please… stay just a little longer?”
He circles his hips, taking mine on a ride around the park on his leg. I’m pretty sure my panties are soaked. I’m probably going to leave a wet spot on his leg. “Yes, we can stay,” he says, swaying us side to side. “I didn’t come all this way not to meet your American friends.”
I let out an exhale of disbelief. I didn’t expect him to be so accommodating.
But then he says, “I have all day tomorrow to punish you.”
I probably should be worried, and I am-a little. But mostly the flutter in my belly is from excitement. Maybe it’s because of the dark velvety purr in his voice when he mentions it.
I dare to lift my face to his and steal a peek at his expression. It’s hard to read. He stares down at me with an unfathomable dark gaze. Maybe a hint of indulgence.
I stand on my tiptoes and move my lips against his. It’s a tentative kiss. Not like my usual cock-tease shit. A real kiss-scary and sensual.
He doesn’t kiss me back, just lets me do my thing, which makes it even more excruciating. I’m used to being the one men try to kiss. The one refusing or accepting the kiss. Not the one putting herself out there, hoping the gesture will be received. The vulnerability of it stings.
I ease away, and he stares down at me. “Is that your apology?” he asks.
I nod.
He brushes my cheek with the backs of his knuckles. His other hand still has firm hold of my ass, like he’s showing every man here I belong to him. “It’s good,” he murmurs and lowers his mouth to mine in the same slow, exploratory way I kissed him. His lips slide over mine. He tastes like peppermint and vodka.
When I slide my tongue into his mouth, his dick lengthens against my belly.
“I have something for you,” he says when the kiss ends. He slips a hand into his pocket.
I don’t know what I expected-a pair of handcuffs? A ruler to slap my knuckles? A collar to attach a leash to?-but it’s a small ring box. He picks up my left hand and slides my father’s ring off my finger, then drops it loose into his pocket like it’s nothing more significant than a coin. I wait, the anticipation of the moment leaving me breathless.
I’m still trembling-whether it’s from my fear over his sudden appearance or the kiss or the ring he’s about to give me, I can’t be sure. He cracks open the box and takes out a big, beautiful ring.
Delicate but enormous, if that makes any sense. The center emerald is huge and beautiful, but the band is thin and covered in the same tiny diamonds that frame the emerald.
He slides it on my finger, and it fits perfectly. I’m not sure how he pulled that off. “Do you like it?”
I nod up at him. I think under different circumstances I might have pretended not to-I wouldn’t have wanted to give him that win. But he’s caught me by surprise. He showed up, as I expected, but didn’t make a scene or even throw a punch at the guy touching me. And instead of ranting and railing and exacting punishment, he produces a beautiful wedding ring.
A thoughtful, expensive gift that I will actually enjoy wearing. It suits me, and, honestly, I love it.
“What is this?” Ashley grabs my hand and holds it up for the others to see. They squeal and gather up tightly around us.
“Is that your wedding ring?” Kayla demands.
“Is this Maxim?” Sheri asks at the same time.
“Will you join us in a toast?” Maxim asks. He’s so damn suave-so slick. I sort of hate him for it because I’ve fallen victim to his charm in the past. But I also love it because he turned it on for my friends who matter very much to me. It’s not that I need them to like him-I already filled them in on the whole medieval arranged marriage tale-but I want them to see what I’m up against.
Maybe I wouldn’t mind if they liked him.
He leads us off the dance floor. Of course our booth has been taken, but Maxim lifts a hundred dollar bill held between his knuckles and a cocktail waitress instantly finds us. The same one who took forty-five minutes to make it to our table when we were sitting there before.
“A bottle of Moet and six glasses.”
The waitress creams her panties over him. Or maybe it’s just his money, but either way, she beams brighter than a thousand watt bulb and invites us to a corner of the bar where she uncorks and delivers the champagne in a chiller with ice. She starts to pour, but Maxim smoothly takes over, lifting his chin with his sexy-sauve grin to dismiss her.
She bats her lashes and disappears, telling him to just call her if he needs anything else. He catches her arm, and she leans back in as he asks for something else, and I grit my teeth. Maybe I’m as possessive as Maxim.
“To my beautiful bride,” Maxim says after he pours the champagne into the six glasses and hands them out.
“Congratulations to you both,” Kayla says.
“To you both,” the others agree.
“Na Zdorovie,” I say, reminding my friends of the Russian version of cheers.
“Nostrovia!” they all chant back-even Kimberly. The others must’ve taught it to her, which makes me smile-my presence was honored and remembered.
Maxim catches my eye, and my belly flutters. “Na Zdorovie.” He clinks my glass. He drains his glass and uses it to gesture to us. “Tell me-how do you all know each other? You are all actresses?”
Kayla smiles. “I am.” She tosses an arm around my shoulder. “We were in theatre together all four years. And we met these two doing promotions our junior year.” She indicates Sheri and Ashley. “We all lived together senior year. And this one is our replacement-Sasha.” She lifts her chin at Kimberly. “She’s our new roommate and also works for the promotion company.”
“There’s no replacing Sasha,” I say, spilling a few drops of my champagne as I hold my arms up for them to admire my figure. “No offense, of course.” I wink at Kimberly, even though I’m certain she knows I’m kidding.
“What promotions?” Maxim looks puzzled.
“We dressed up in skimpy costumes to promote new products at launches.” I shrug. “Like for new alcohol or energy drinks or meal replacement bars. It paid cash and was good fun.”
“I’ll bet you had fun.” This time I’m sure I detect indulgence in Maxim’s gaze. “A round of shots?”
Why is he being so nice to me?
It puts me on edge, waiting for the hammer to drop.
“Hell, yes!” my friends shout, and Maxim lifts another hundred dollar bill in the air to get us instant service.
“Six shots of Cazador tequila. With salt and lime.”
“Tequila!” my friends cheer. Their happiness is infectious. It makes me relax and forget my anxieties over Maxim.
It costs more than the hundred dollar bill, and he pulls out his wallet for another. While he’s talking to the cocktail waitress, Ashley mouths the words, he’s hot.
I steal a glance, irrationally proud that my friends think so.
He is hot. He’s in a crisp designer button-down, open at the collar, looking California-perfect. Like he’d known he’d be coming to a posh nightclub. But this is how he always dresses-at least in the week since we’ve been married.
“I like him,” Kayla says out loud, leaning forward over the bar conspiratorially.
“I like him for you,” Sheri concurs, pointing at me. She waggles her brows. “Make him work. I’ll bet he’s good.”
Maxim’s attention returns, and my friends all grin mischievously. He takes it all in with a smirk. “I’ll bet you ladies get into all kinds of trouble.” His gaze slides sideways, and he suddenly tugs my hand. “Come on, a table opened up.”
We launch into action to claim a perfect circular booth like the one we had before. Another group tries to move in at the same time but Maxim turns to face them, blocking them with his body.
“No way, buddy.” One of the guys in their group starts to give him shit. “We’ve been waiting for this table.”
I loop my arm through his and speak to the guy. “Don’t fuck with the Russian,” I say, letting my accent come out thickly. “He will clean the floor with you.”
Maxim doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just stares at the guy with an intensity that could cut glass.
“Come on.” The women with the would-be hero tug him away.
I slide into the booth with my friends, and Maxim takes the end seat, our protector.
“You do love drama, don’t you, caxapok?” He appears unruffled.
The criticism hits a little too close to home-it was what my father always accused me of-needing attention. Being a drama queen. “What?”
“Nothing. Just know when you get involved like that, you double the chances of me hurting someone.”
“How’s that?”