Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Did Valentin know her?”
“He was a baby when she passed. I’ve been here for that boy for a very long time.”
“You’re protective.” I sit up straighter and put down my teacup. “That’s why you don’t want me moving in here.”
“He has a lot of pressure on him. This will be a distraction.” She shakes her head as if she’s annoyed with herself for talking this much and walks to the door. “If there will be anything else?”
“I’m not going to hurt him,” I blurt out and feel silly as soon as the words leave my mouth. How could I hurt a man like Valentin? He’s enormous and impenetrable, the master of his Bratva, a king and a god among normal human beings. What could I do to a man like that?
But Nikkita seems to accept my statement with grace. “I hope not,” she says before disappearing into the hall.
I’m left alone again. I finish my tea, fuss over my new room, and spend the day thinking about what I just learned.
He grew up with a difficult father and his mother died when he was young. That probably explains some things about him. Valentin’s difficult, but he’s not without mercy. He’s vicious, but he isn’t cruel. I’m afraid of him and I want him in equal measure.
It’s late when he finally gets home that evening. I’m sitting in the library skimming through old books when he appears in the doorway, his wide shoulders blotting out the hall light behind him.
“You moved,” he says darkly and I snap my book shut.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, trying to sound sweet and calm, even though my heart’s racing.
Valentin does not look happy.
And somehow it only makes him look even more sexy. That lucky bastard.
“Come with me.” He turns and walks away. I hesitate a second, wondering if that’s the sort of command I could ignore, but decide not to push my luck. I trail after him, up the steps, and down the hall to my new room.
I expect him to command me to move my things back in with him.
Instead, there are bags and boxes piled on the bed.
“Try them on,” he says, walking over to the small table. He barely sits in the chair, but a fresh tea service has been set up for him already.
I drift to the bags. Chanel, Prada, Versace, Fendi, Louis Vuitton, Bottega Veneta. It’s a treasure trove of designer clothing and must’ve cost an absolute fortune, considering how much there is.
“What did you do?” I ask him, opening a Fendi box. It’s a simple but elegant navy blue cocktail dress with a plunging neckline and a long skirt. “What is all this?”
“Try it on,” he says again, his eyes not leaving me as he sips his tea.
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I’m not asking.” His cup clatters on a plate. “You displeased me by moving your things into here, but if you want to throw a fit, you can throw a fit. However, you will apologize by trying these on.”
I laugh. I can’t help myself. What a psychotic thing to say. He thinks I’m going to play dress-up for him like I’m some doll?
Except, yeah, that’s exactly what he wants.
“And if I say no?” I ask him, eyebrows arched in defiance.
“Then I will drag you back to my room, spank your ass until it’s raw, and have my men put all your things back. And you will still try on the clothes I bought for you.”
Heat fills my cheeks, and a part of me wants to move forward with the whole spanking option.
Instead, I start to carry the dress to the en-suite bathroom, but he clucks his tongue.
“In front of me,” he orders.
It’s weird at first. I mean, he’s seen me naked plenty, but there’s something intimate about stripping and dressing again. This is how I would behave around a real husband, but that isn’t at all what Valentin is to me.
He’s something else. Something much worse.
I put on dress after dress. There are shoes, boots, sandals, slacks and jackets, mostly formal wear, but there are a few leisure outfits too. There are bras and underwear, lacy and sexy as hell, the sort of high-end lingerie I never in a million years would buy for myself. That’s the hardest of all to try on, but I can tell he likes it.
Outfit after outfit, he sits and he watches. He makes no comment; there’s no approval or disapproval in his gaze.
Only a steady, unwavering attention.
Backed by a hunger radiating from him in heavy waves.
By the time I’m finished, the bed is a mess of opened boxes, upturned shopping bags, and clothes in disorganized piles. I’m not sure what to make of it, but I start to pull my jeans back on, only wearing a lazy gray bralette on top.