Page 17 of Mistaken
My eyes closed. How did that gigantic Slavic thug move silently like that? It was creepy.
“Hello, brother,” Yuri said pleasantly, “we were admiring the Michelangelo sketches.”
Maksim grunted, “Marco Bianchi is here with his idiot son. Will you give him the specifics of the shipments for next month?”
“Of course, Pakhan,” and Yuri was gone before I could ask him to get me more crab puffs.
Hands in his tux pockets, Maksim strolled around me in a circle. “I knew you’d be beautiful in this dress.” It reminded me of our surreal conversation about fashion when he’d been holding that red-hot poker at the lodge and I shuddered.
He frowned, “Are you cold?” Pulling off his jacket, he settled it around my shoulders. He cupped my head with his gigantic hands, fingers stroking my hair. “I think the only thing that could make you more beautiful…” he drawled, “would be to have your hair down.”
Deftly, he removed my hair pins until the heavy weight of it cascaded over my shoulders. I gave a nearly silent sigh of relief as his fingers gently rubbed my scalp. This man… he could crush my skull between those monstrous mitts of his, but his fingertips were gentle, precise as he took away the strain from the hairstyle, and the evening.
“There,” Maksim finished his massage, hands still holding my head, fingers deep into my hair. “Now, you are perfect.”
I barely held in an unladylike snort. “That is not a word anyone has used to describe me. However, I do clean up rather nicely.”
He did that elegant arching of the brow thing that looked so hot on him. “They’re fools.” His mouth was on mine before I could think of a retort, his hands moving my head where he wanted me for the kiss. Such a kiss… His tongue parted my lips, leisurely exploring my mouth, swallowing my little, surprised moans. Tilting my head up, he sucked my tongue into his mouth and I slumped against him.
No one this crazy should be such an amazing kisser,I thought, vaguely disgruntled. One hand was sliding down my back, over the curve of my ass, and pulling me against him, absently moving his hips against my stomach, back and forth, back and forth…
“I want to fuck your cunt with my tongue, the way I do in your mouth,” Maksim said, his Russian accent getting thicker, like syrup pouring over me. His mouth closed over my chin, then my throat, the place where my neck met my shoulder, adding in a sharp little bite and chuckling when I yelped. “You’re sweet, aren’t you? I can almost smell you…”
There was a very noticeable bulge pressing against my abdomen and it was big enough for me to question whether it was his dick, or his gun. Maksim pushed his hips against me harder, whispering filth, and whatever it was only got harder.
“Oh!” said someone loudly, a woman’s voice, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Maksim gave a growl I felt clear down to my toenails and reluctantly pulled back, straightening the neckline of my dress. “Katya,” he greeted ominously, “how are you?”
I turned to look at the intruder, my lipstick smeared and hair sticking out in all directions. And, she was gorgeous.
“Of course,” I sighed, just under my breath.
Katya slinked closer, hips swaying in her fire engine red dress, her gorgeous auburn hair up in some elaborate style that I could never replicate, even with the help of six stylists and freedom from the laws of gravity. The lack of the laws of gravity also applied to her breasts, large and barely holding up her strapless gown.
“I heard the silliest thing,” she tinkled in a voice like a fairy’s, “that you were engaged? New York’s most handsome, elusive bachelor…” Now her voice was getting deep and scary, “Engaged?”
Maksim squeezed me more tightly against him and lifted my left hand. “I am happy to say that’s true. Ella darling, meet Katya Sokolov. Her father and I do business together.”
She was rubbing her lips together furiously, not even glancing in my direction. “This is a joke, Maksim. You and my father are making the announcement of our engagement next week!”
The sly bastard looked genuinely shocked. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. Your father and I have never discussed an engagement. And now, as you can see, I am taken.”
Katya’s flawless skin was turning the color of her dress, “But it was understood! My fath-”
Now, the Pakhan emerged, and his grip on my waist was approaching uncomfortable. “Your conversation is not appropriate, Katya.” His cold voice should have given her frostbite. “If you’ll excuse us, I’m taking my fiancée home.”
There was a moment as we passed her, where I thought she was going to leap on me, and her hands tightened into fists. Maksim turned me slightly so that he shielded me during our exit and I was deeply grateful until a thought occurred to me as we waited for the limo to be brought up.
“You knew she was there, didn’t you?” I looked up at him, his gaze still scanning the crowd. “When you were rubbing up on me and talking dirty?” He didn’t answer me, only helping me into the car. I angrily scooted over as far as I could, looking out the other window.
He was taunting her by being halfway to having sex with me when she “caught” us. I’m going to be lucky if I live long enough to see my wedding dress, much less walk down the aisle in it.
Chapter 8 - Speak of the Devil and He Shall Appear
In which Maksim’s idea of conflict resolution is not the same as Ella’s
Maksim…
