"Exactly."
Fyodor is quiet for a moment, and I picture him shaking his head and already thinking worst-case scenario. "Tomorrow," he says finally. "There's a charity event at the Mariinsky Theater. A dinner with lots of high-profile guests, lots of press. If we show up with Ana on your arm, every power player in the city will know about it by midnight."
"Can you get us in?"
"Already working on it. I'll have the details to you by morning."
"Good." I drain the rest of my whiskey and set the glass aside. "Anything else?"
"Just one thing." Fyodor's voice shifts, taking on a more cautious tone. "Yuri wants to know how the asset is performing."
As if Vivika's a piece of equipment to be maintained. I feel a flicker of irritation but push it down, keeping my voice neutral. "You didn't tell him about the bank run?"
"Not my place, Brother."
"Then tell him she's flawless," I say, and I leave it at that. Because she is flawless, and I'm learning more and more that her flawlessness is the exact quality I've been waiting for in a woman my whole life.
The line goes dead, and I stand and walk back to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to watch her sleep again. She's shifted in the time I was on the phone, curling onto her side with one hand tucked beneath her cheek like a child. The blanket has slipped farther, revealing the curve of her hip beneath those black lacy panties, and I feel the familiar heat stir in my groin at the sight.
Patience.
I force myself to use restraint. I want to climb into that bed with her and make my presence known, but I sit in the chair and stare at her instead.
My life has been full of one trial after another. Things I've battled. Things I've had to conquer before I could be acceptable.
And now this.
Vivika Razhkova is an angel sent by God himself to save me. I have no doubt about it. The luxury of her presence cannot be wasted, not a single second of it. I just have to figure out how to convince her that staying here is her only option after this.
After all, if she likes the power of knowing she's helping women, there are plenty of philanthropic deeds she can do with my money and power. And if that's all it takes to make her legs open and her eyes roll back in her head, it's a small price.
Because she is mine now. And no one, not even my uncle Yuri, can take her from me.
10
VIVIKA
Iwake to the warmth of another body pressed against my naked back and I don't remember taking my clothes off.
My eyes fly open and my heart slams against my ribs as I try to orient myself. Where am I and how did I get here? The room is unfamiliar. The sheets smell like a man's cologne, and there's an arm draped across my waist with so many tattoos, I can barely tell what color it is. It startles me even when I realize it's Lev and remember that we're in his house, not his uncle’s place anymore. But the details of how I got naked, and how I got in this bed with him, are foggy.
I start to slide toward the edge of the bed, moving slowly so I don't wake him, but a strong hand closes around my hip and pulls me back against a hard chest.
"Going somewhere?" Lev's voice is rough with sleep, his breath warm against the back of my neck. I feel the stubble of his chin scrape along my vertebrae, then a nip of his teeth on my skin, and feel mortified. Did I fuck him and I don’t remember?
I go rigid in his arms as the events of last night come flooding back in fragments—the bank, the drive to his townhouse. We drank whiskey by the fire. And I remember flirting with him when that drink kicked in mysteriously fast.
Then… nothing. A blank space where memories should be, filled with nothing but darkness and the vague sensation of being carried.
"I…" My voice comes out hoarse. "What happened?"
His hand moves from my hip, sliding up my side in a slow exploration that makes my skin prickle with awareness. He doesn't touch my tits, and when his hand glides downward over my hip, I feel the elastic of my panties there. So I'm not totally nude.
"Did we…" I swallow hard, forcing the words out. "Did we have sex?" The way it leaks out is almost conspiratorial because I feel ashamed of myself.
"No." His hand continues its journey, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip beneath my ribs. "You were drunk. I don't fuck women who can't remember it in the morning."
Relief floods me, followed immediately by confusion. I can feel him pressed against my backside, hard as a rock and prodding at my backside. He's had me in his bed all night, almost completely naked, and he did nothing to me?
