Nik is here.
Nik is here.
And it’s bad. Bad on every level.
This is the Commission. He’s the enemy.
Rival family.
Yet here he is, looming in my room, looking as lethal as he does magnetic.
“And you’re not here to kill me?” I ask.
His mouth curves, infuriatingly beautiful. “Not at the moment.”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch, voice quieter, probing. “Did you know who I was when you came to Ahren every week?”
“I really didn’t know. It wasn’t a plant. What I told you about the dare was true. Everything I told you was the truth.”
“You knew I was Russian. That it was a Russian club.”
“Yes,” I admit. “But I thought it was… funny.”
“Funny?” He raises an eyebrow, incredulous, though the tension in his jaw betrays the faintest trace of amusement.
“At first, yes.” I shrug, trying to hide how much I’m shaking, “I often do things I know my dad wouldn’t like because I’m oppositional that way.”
“And you really had no idea who I was?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. I only figured it out a couple of days ago.” I pause, words tumbling out in a rush, compelled to explain. “We were watching your game at my father’s house. I kept thinking,that body, that way he moves… I know that posture… that intensity.And then it clicked. I can’t believe I never figured it out before, actually.”
He leans back slightly, running both hands over his face, rubbing at his temples. He looks so tired.
“You called me Ana,” I say. “You didn’t know who I was?”
“No. I didn’t. I recognized the scent, that’s all. Ana has that distinctive scent.” He lets out a breath, “I never saw your face at the time, of course. But I’ve seen photos recently. Of you. Leanna Campisi.”
This statement does not help my anxiety in the slightest. Nothing good can come from the second-in-command of a rival family being briefed on who I am, what I look like.
Still, I can’t help it, I’m reveling in the sight of him. The raw masculinity of him. That dark hair, those darker eyes. The rough stubble that shadows his jaw. The regal line of his nose. He’s objectively gorgeous and enigmatic.
His body hums with power and strength. Broad shoulders. A chest so chiseled I can see its outline beneath his Reaper's t-shirt.
My mouth literally waters for him.
Even knowing who he is, I can’t stop my body from reacting the way it has for all of those weeks.
This is Nikolai Ivanov, heir to the Barkov family.
My father warned me that he likes to torture men for sport, that he’s ruthless and loves to inflict pain. There is a darkness to him, I know that from our interactions.
ButmyNik and this Nikolai… are two different people.
Aren’t they?
He stares at me, no emotion on his face.
Here we are, people who have done incredibly intimate things with each other. Shared moments that stripped us bare in every possible way.
