Page 10 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"Careful? You?" Luca's eyebrows rise. "Who are you and what have you done with Emil Nikitin?"

"Fuck off." But there's no heat in it. He's right. Careful isn't usually my style. I identify what I want and I take it. But something about Kiera makes me want to slow down, to do this right.

Maybe it's because she doesn't know who I am. She looked at me like I was just a man. Not a Pakhan. Not a killer. Just someone who could help her.

I want to keep that look in her eyes a little longer.

“But first," I say, "find out everything you can about the man who showed up Saturday night at the club. The one bothering Kiera."

5

KIERA

Ican't stop staring at the newspaper.

It's spread across my desk at work, the engagement announcement section folded open to reveal my face smiling up at me. Except I don't remember smiling like that. I don't remember posing for this photo at all. The picture shows me looking radiant, almost glowing, my short red hair perfectly styled, my blue eyes bright with what appears to be joy. Next to me is Emil Nikitin, his gray-threaded hair and scruffy beard making him look distinguished and dangerous all at once. His hand rests possessively on my lower back in the photo, and even in print, I can see the intensity in his dark eyes.

The text beneath reads, "Emil Nikitin and Kiera Walker are pleased to announce their engagement. Wedding date to be announced."

My phone buzzes for what has to be the twentieth time this morning. I glance at the screen. Kevin. Again.

I silence it and shove it into my desk drawer.

What am I supposed to say to my brothers? That I met a stranger at a club on Saturday night? That I used him as a human shield against my psycho ex? That he kissed me until my knees went weak and then told me we were actually getting married? That I thought he was joking, but apparently, he wasn't because here's the proof in black and white newsprint?

They'd lose their minds. Kevin would probably have a stroke. Devin would lecture me about the stress hormones flooding my system while stress-eating protein bars. Kaleb would try to be supportive while secretly panicking, and Mark would probably have to talk him down. And Jack, my Jack, the one I can usually talk to about anything, would look at me with those disappointed cop eyes and ask what the hell I was thinking.

The problem is, I don't know what I was thinking.

I trace my finger over Emil's face in the photograph. God, he's gorgeous. Even in a newspaper photo, his presence dominates the page. There's something about the set of his jaw, the way he holds himself, that screams power. Authority. The kind of man who doesn't ask for what he wants but takes it.

He certainly took me.

My thighs clench at the memory of his body pressed against mine on the dance floor, his large hands gripping my hips, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that had set every nerve ending on fire. I'd felt the hard length of him through his pants, thick and promising against my stomach, and for a moment I'd forgotten everything—Arnie, my fear, and that I'd sworn off men entirely.

The way Emil had kissed me. Jesus. Like he was starving and I was the only thing that could satisfy him. His tongue had swept into my mouth, demanding, possessive, and I'd melted against him. My breasts had pressed against his chest, my nipples hardening instantly, and I'd felt his responding growl vibrate through both our bodies.

I shift in my chair, trying to ignore the ache between my legs. It's been so long since I've felt desire like this. Arnie had killed that part of me, turned sex into something to be endured rather than enjoyed. But Emil had awakened something with just a kiss, just the press of his body against mine.

My phone buzzes again. I pull it out of the drawer. Devin this time.

I silence it and shove it back.

"Kiera!"

I jump, slamming the newspaper closed as my colleague Jennifer appears at my cubicle entrance. She's grinning like she just won the lottery.

"Oh, my God, I can't believe you didn't tell us!" She practically squeals the words, bouncing on her heels. "Emil Nikitin? THE Emil Nikitin?"

I blink at her. "I, uh…"

"Girl, do you have any idea how lucky you are?" Jennifer leans against my cubicle wall, her eyes wide with excitement. "He's not just hot, though holy hell, is he hot. That man could melt panties at fifty paces. But Kiera, he's loaded. Like, stupid rich. As rich as Midas!"

My stomach drops. "What?"

"You didn't know?" Jennifer's eyebrows shoot up. "Emil Nikitin owns half the commercial real estate in the city. He's got investments everywhere. Restaurants, clubs, import-export businesses. The man is worth millions. Maybe billions, depending on who you ask."

I feel the blood drain from my face. Billions?