Page 44 of Mistaken
“Of course, Pakhan,” he smiled pleasantly, making his way through the crowd.
I took another drink, watching the guests thoughtfully. The Sokolovs weren’t here, which was surprising. They would have cut off any limb of King’s choice to secure an invitation to his annual party. Don Toscano had his arm around the waist of his wife and was speaking to his younger sons, Giovanni and Dario. Perhaps Dante was not in as much favor with his father as I’d assumed, or maybe his bodyguards didn’t fish him out of the harbor fast enough.
Shrugging, I turned to greet my wife, still surrounded by our guards. “Are you enjoying the party,?????????”
“It’s impressive to a degree that defies description,” she laughed, “but these guys, it’s like walking in my own self-contained electric fence.”
“Perhaps we can carve out enough space for a dance,” I said, putting my hand on her back to guide her to the glittering silver dance floor in the center of the cavernous room. I took her right hand, placing it on my shoulder and I clasped her left hand, linking our fingers. I could tolerate anyone’s hands on me only if I placed them there.
Ella…
Maksim danced? Of course, he did. And probably like a god. He turned me to face him, and I stepped back. This was the closest I’d been to him since our Christmas ice skating episode, and I was acutely aware of the heat of his hand, radiating through the silk bodice and onto my skin.
Pulling me tighter, he leaned in to whisper, “Relax.”
Even in heels, the top of my head only reached his chin, but he must have a lot of experience with shorter partners because he molded me against him in a way that was much more intimate than I was ready for, and when he spun me, his thickly muscled thigh slid in between mine.
I sucked in a nervous breath and was immediately sorry. How dare this heartless son of a bitch smell so good? Like expensive cologne, the stretched linen of his white shirt, pine, and something that was just… him. Something wild, and dark. Something barely tamed and it surrounded me, just like his long arms did.
“I can feel you pressed against me,” Maksim whispered, “your perfect breasts.”
“It- it’s the corset,” I babbled, “it’s like the fashion definition of catfishing because I look way bigger in this than a C cup.” My eyes closed in mortification.Smooth, Ella. Really smooth, there.
“Hmm.” I could feel his broad chest shake slightly, knowing he was laughing. “I know that they fit perfectly in my hands. How your stiff nipples peek between my fingers and I tug on them…” Maksim released a sigh that was more like a groan.
There is something about the sheer bulk of this man against me, solid, hard muscle and I’m sagging against him a little more than I should.Remember what he said to me,I scolded myself,forget all the other stuff, remember how he spoke to me! I”m not falling to my knees and-
He’s looking down at me, beneath those thick lashes of his, given unfairly to a man who will never fully appreciate them. There’s intent. Intent to kiss me, and I want to. I really want to, just let him submerge me in his bottomless pool of erotic mojo. Because damn…
Oh, thank god the song is ending and I pull away just a bit, clapping politely with everyone else as the band takes a break. Maksim seems unwilling to release me until I hear a low, cultured British accent behind us.
“Maksim Morozov, a pleasure to see you.”
We both turn and I’m looking at another tall man, leaner than the Russian next to me but just as superbly dressed. Like my husband, he had dark hair and icy blue eyes, but he had a polite smile.
“Thomas Williams, how are you?” They’re shaking hands.
“Let me introduce my bride, Ella Givens Morozov. Darling, this is Thomas and Lauren Williams.”
I’m smiling at Lauren, who is also tall, blonde, and very pretty. She’s smiling back at me, with a bit of curiosity. “Many wishes for a happy marriage, Ella.” She shakes my hand, not waiting for the men to handle niceties. “I don’t know Maksim well, but every rumor pointed to a man who was stubbornly planning to die single.”
Oh, Ilikeher. I can tell Lauren is pretty much in the same position I am. “No one is more surprised than me,” I agree sweetly, and I can see Maksim’s eyebrow rise threateningly.
Thomas is shaking my hand next, speaking with an impeccably cultured English accent. “A pleasure, Ella. Where did you two meet?”
He’s incredibly good-looking, this guy, and has charisma to burn. He must be dangerous, too. I’ll be he’s… what is it in England? British Mafia? I don’t know, but I realize he’s still waiting for my answer and I can’t remember the name of Maksim’s other club so I settled on, “At Maksim’s nightclub. He bought me a drink and the rest is history.”
“That’s so nice,” Lauren chimes in. “What made you fall for him?”
I can’t say ‘roofies,’ so I go with, “We both like to run,” smiling sweetly up at the Russian who’s squeezing my side, just slightly painfully.
“Oh, so do we!” She lights up and we chat about running paths through Central Park while the men have a low conversation. Thomas doesn’t look completely invested in whatever Maksim is saying, but he’s still listening.
“Hello, Beautiful People!” It’s Alexander King, up on stage and shouting cheerfully. “Everyone grab your favorite person - date or otherwise - and get ready for the countdown.”
“It’s midnight already?” Lauren looks up at the giant clock display.
“Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?” Not my most brilliant response, but now then we’re counting down with the rest of the guests.
