Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“This way please. Mr. Tsarnov is waiting outside for you,” she says, walking towards the French doors.
Stunned by the beauty of his home, I follow wordlessly. The amount of outdoor space he has is shocking by this city’s standards.
“Hello,” Konstantin says softly. He is leaning against the railing.
“Hello,” I say standing awkwardly on the gold-marble floors. I hear the woman withdrawing quietly back into the house.
“Come and have a drink,” he invites.
I walk over to a low table where a bottle of champagne is sitting in an ice bucket. He pours us a glass each.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, a slight frown on his forehead.
I clutch my purse and try to sound normal. “Yes. Yes, everything is fine. I didn’t know we wouldn’t be alone.”
He looks at me quizzically. “My housekeeper is leaving. She only stayed to cook our meal.”
I sigh internally with relief. There is no way I can slip into his office if she is in the kitchen as I would have to pass the kitchen to get to his office. I put my purse on the low table.
“Oh, I see,” I murmur.
As if on cue his housekeeper appears at the edge of the terrace. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll be going now, Mr. T.”
“Yes, you can go now. Goodnight, Mary.”
I take a gulp of champagne and wander over to the railing. The river views are breathtaking. I turn back and find him watching me. A light breeze ruffles his hair. I stare at him. My heart feels heavy. I don’t want to betray him, not even for a day, but I have no choice. I cannot risk those criminals hurting my sister or my mother.
What else can I do? I’ll make the exchange today, then I’ll keep him occupied all night and tomorrow I will arrange for the painting to be moved, before any damage can be done. Even so, I feel horribly guilty.
“What’s the matter, Raine?” His voice is soft, but insistent.
“I’m just a little nervous, I guess. Everything we did before felt like a dream. This feels real.”
He walks to me and pulls me towards him, molding my body to his. “No, it still feels like a dream,” he whispers.
I nearly cry. I feel terrible. I’m going to betray him. “Oh, Konstantin,” I gasp.
Then he kisses me. God, he tastes so good. The glass of champagne in my hand falls to the ground and shatters, but I don’t hear it. Neither of us stops. I kiss him back with a desperation that is shocking. Almost as if I want to be sucked into him and disappear. Become part of him so I don’t need to betray him. He moves his mouth away and begins to kiss my neck. I moan softly.
“Fuck, you’re like a drug,” he mutters. Then he scoops me into his arms and carries me to his bedroom.
It is a relief. It is a relief to stop thinking. To stop feeling like I sold out the only man who’s shown me nothing but kindness for thirty pieces of silver.
Raine
I sit on a stool in his shirt and watch as he stirs the pot of Bolognese sauce Mary prepared earlier in a kitchen that is equipped for serious cooking. It has a Sub-Zero fridge, a vented Wolf 48-inch dual fuel stove, two dishwashers, warming drawers, a pot filler and a butler’s pantry.
“I never thought of you as a Bolognese person,” I tease.
“What are you talking about? It may not be Russian cuisine but nonetheless I love Bolognese. Don’t forget I was poor longer than I’ve been rich. I used to live in a tiny room and all I had was an electric hot plate. Spaghetti Bolognese was a treat. Every Saturday was Bolognese night.”
“I can’t imagine you as a nerd or poor.”
He sticks some spaghetti into the boiling water. “You don’t have to imagine it. I have pictures.”
“Let’s have a look then.”
“I have to dig them out from the spare room upstairs.”
“Oh please. Can I see them now?”
His eyebrows rise. “Now?”
“Yes, I’d absolutely love to see them. The spaghetti needs at least ten minutes. Come on.”
“All right,” he says, as he moves away from the stove.
As soon as I hear him reach the top of the stairs I fly in my bare feet to the terrace and grab my purse. My heart is racing so hard in my chest I can hear my blood rushing in my ears. I run to his office. Please, please, don’t let the door be locked, I pray silently.
The door isn’t.
I see the painting instantly. My hands are shaking, but switching it over is easy. As quickly as I came in, I leave and run back out to the terrace. I put my purse back on the table and run back to the kitchen where I take my place at the kitchen island once more. I flick my hair and adjust my shirt and try to control my quick breathing.