I was a complete night owl, stalking the grounds of my cousin’s mansion well after midnight to burn off all the energy that built up from sitting at my computer all day. Sometimes Katie called me their resident ghost.
“Since you were informed at lunch time when dinner would be served,” he said, taking a step into the room. “You should have taken a nap.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” I said, resolve flying out the window with every step closer he came.
“You’re wide awake,” he told me. “You’ll be having dinner with me.”
“I had so much borscht for lunch,” I answered, planting my feet to keep from taking a step back.
He was in one of his immaculate suits, but his tie was loosened, the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt open at the collar. My eyes flew to his tanned throat, that hint of chest, then back up to his face, set in stony lines. He was that much closer now, and the green stripes in his tie brought out the emerald hue of his eyes.
Very serious eyes. Pissed off, even. Well, so was I. I clenched my hands at my sides. He noticed and chuckled, taking the final steps to stand right in front of me, so close I had to look up to maintain eye contact.
“You don’t have to eat,” he said, completely reasonably, but somehow still making me shiver.
Before I could think of any new, ridiculous, and useless argument, his hands were on my backside. I squeaked, cut off when he hauled me over his shoulder. My arms went flying as my face bounced off his broad back.
“Varvara’s going to be pissed off if her meal has to sit in the oven much longer,” he said, beginning to stomp out of the room.
“I don’t care,” I grunted, unable to breathe with his rock-hard shoulder digging into my stomach.
“You should,” he said. “Dinner at eight means dinner at eight.”
His arm, which was wrapped around the backs of my thighs, loosened, and he slid me down his big body. I blinked at how close his face was to mine on the way down, but my feet never touched the floor. Instead, he only shifted me to a more comfortable and only slightly less embarrassing position, cradled in his arms like a baby.
“Don’t want any of my guys checking out your ass,” he said, one of his hands giving that body part a suggestive squeeze.
I popped him in the shoulder with my wispy fist. His laughter rumbled from his chest as he held me tighter.
The fact that I didn’t hate it only put me in a worse mood.
Chapter 12 - Gavril
Lilia was spitting mad as I carried her down to her place at the table, and it was adorable. All the mixed feelings I had been fighting were back in force, pushing against using her to bring down her own family. She’d never forgive me for that.
But of course, I didn’t care.
Still, I could enjoy the feel of her soft body in my arms and laugh at her attempt to punch me when I got a little too friendly. She was irresistible; there was no denying that. It was good to see her full of fire instead of trembling with anxiety. Perhaps the little mouse had turned into a lioness. She was certainly trying.
I dumped her in her chair, and Varvara hissed from her post behind the counter. I doubted that ten extra minutes would destroy the salad she had prepared. The greens looked crisp and fresh, and the perfectly seasoned strips of steak on top were juicy and hot. My cook still acted like I had committed an act of treason, and she didn’t seem amused at my undignified entrance with Lilia cradled in my arms.
It was apparent my bride, who seemed to have a stubborn streak, was hungry. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the salad, her nose twitching as the aroma wafted up to her. Her tongue darted out as I took a bite and made a fuss about how delicious it was.
I smiled at her and told her to wait until dessert. She resolutely looked away, maintaining the silence she started once she realized there was no escaping my grasp and she’d be joining me for dinner.
There was a flash of regret in her eyes when the cook took her untouched plate away, and renewed distress when it was replaced with a tender, golden piece of chicken and a side of roasted yams.
“If I pretend not to look, will you go ahead and eat?” I asked. “You can keep your pride and not go hungry.”
“I’m not hungry,” she insisted, but her stomach growled and gave her away.
I did her the favor of not laughing, and with a sigh, she picked up her fork, though she still refused to utter another word.
Was she worth all this trouble? Wasn’t she just another headache? I realized with a jolt that the splitting tension headache that started when I had to shoot Luigi’s newest underling, and had only grown worse as the day progressed, was gone. Completely gone, and I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had disappeared, but I thought it was as soon as I swung Lilia into my arms.
Giving Lilia back wasn’t just something that made my temper flare, something that everything in me fought against; it wasn’t the best move. The perfect pawn had inadvertently fallen into my possession and was now sitting across from me, ruthlessly ignoring me, and I wasn’t giving her up until it suited me. And if that day never came?
Never mind. Until I had a solid plan, she was mine.
