She's beautiful, yes. Dark hair, dark eyes, a body that would make saints reconsider their vows. But I've seen beautiful women before. Worked with them, protected them, fucked a few when the situation allowed.
This is different.
Maybe it's the way she interacts with me. Bold. Unafraid. Saying things most people wouldn't dare, pushing boundaries I've spent years establishing as untouchable.
In Arthur Ainsley's office, she told me I was using the fig leaf position. Said it made me look insecure. Intimidated.
She was wrong.
I wasn't intimidated by her. I was hard. Instantly, painfully hard from the moment she walked into that office in her wet red bikini, water dripping down her throat, pooling in her cleavage, that sheer white cover-up clinging to every curve like a second skin designed specifically to torture men.
The response was immediate. Primal. My cock thickening behind my clasped hands while I stood there trying to maintain professional composure, hoping nobody noticed the situation I was desperately trying to conceal.
I wanted to walk over there. Peel that wet fabric off her skin. Taste the chlorine on her neck. Feel her gasp against my mouth.
Instead, I stood by the door with my hands positioned strategically, pulse hammering, while she dismantled me with a single observation about body language.
She saw right through me. Read my attempt at control as weakness, called it out in front of everyone, and I couldn't do a fucking thing about it because she was absolutely right.
That mouth of hers is going to be a problem.
Those lips. Full. The way she smiles like she knows exactly what she's doing to every man in the room and enjoys watching us struggle.
The fantasy hits before I can stop it: her on her knees, those dark eyes looking up at me while I fist my hand in her hair and guide that smart mouth exactly where I need it. Watch her lips stretch around my cock. Feel her tongue—
"You good?"
Alexei's voice cuts through the fantasy like a blade. I look up to find him sliding into the booth beside me, grinning in that feral way that means he's caught me thinking about something I shouldn't.
"Fine." The word comes out rougher than I intended.
"You look like you're about to murder someone." His grin widens. "Or fuck them. Hard to tell which."
Maksim glances between us, one eyebrow raised.
My twin. The chaos to my control. The fire to my ice. Thirty-seven years of reading each other's tells, and he knows exactly where my mind just went.
Alexei turns his attention to Maksim. "Weren't you supposed to be having lunch with the future Mrs. Severyn?"
"Long story." Maksim sets down his fork, leans back against the leather booth. The low amber light turns him remote, unreachable, the Pakhan in full command. "How did your meeting with the Albanians go?"
Alexei's grin fades into something more serious. He reaches for the vodka bottle on the table, pours himself two fingers. "They weren't happy. Ramiz Krasniqi looked like he wanted to put a bullet in my head and dance on my corpse."
"But they agreed?" Maksim's voice carries that particular edge that means he's calculating, strategizing, already three moves ahead.
"Reluctantly." Alexei tosses back the vodka, grimaces. "They'll give Arthur Ainsley more time to pay his debts. Whether they actually honor that agreement remains to be seen."
"Your assessment?" I ask.
Alexei shrugs, that restless energy humming beneath his skin even when he's sitting still. "With the Krasniqi family, it could go either way. I'll keep monitoring. Watch for signs they're planning something stupid."
"Good." Maksim nods once. Decisive. Final.
"One more thing." Alexei leans forward, elbows on the table. The muted jazz in the background shifts to something slower, darker. "The Albanians were in a particularly foul mood because one of their warehouses got hit last night. Someone broke in, took several hundred thousand dollars worth of contraband, and got out clean. No witnesses. No footage. Nothing."
The implications click into place immediately. The Albanians operate with brutal efficiency, but they're not invincible. Someone bold enough to steal from them is either extremely skilled or extremely stupid.
Probably both.
