“And that!” He points his finger at me. “That dopey-ass grin. You’ve been going around wearing one for weeks. Our men have been scared shitless, thinking God knows what.”
“Why?”
“Because you have exactly two facial expressions, Rafael—agitated and furious. You never smile.”
“People change.”
“Yes.” He sighs and looks toward the horizon. “It was always just you and me against the world. I was pissed at her because I was afraid she’d get you killed. I still am. Petrov is going to go ballistic if you tell him you’ve been holding his daughter hostage.”
“Most likely. I’m sure he’ll be sending someone to put a bullet between my eyes the moment he finds out. I just hope it isn’t Belov.”
“Yeah. Vasilisa would never forgive you for killing her precious lunatic of an uncle.”
“I know.”
“Don’t let her go, Rafael. Make her stay. Offer her something in return.”
“Unfortunately, some things can only be attained for free.” I stand up and look at my brother. “I’m letting her go because she needs to make her own choice. Maybe she’ll decide to come back to me. Maybe not. But even if she doesn’t return, she’ll always be mine and no one else’s. I’ll make sure of it.”
Chapter 17
“I just looooove how it makes the lime taste less sour,” I slur before I lick the salt off my hand and knock back the shot of tequila, then lift the citrus slice to my mouth and suck.
The glow of the tealight at the center of the table reflects in Rafael’s eyes while he stares into mine, making it seem like his irises are on fire. He lifts his tumbler of whiskey and takes a small sip. He’s still working on his first drink, while I’ve downed at least four already. Or maybe it was five?
Rafael said the plane to Chicago is scheduled to depart in a few hours, so I’m not sure why he insisted we come out to this club tonight. But I’m not complaining. The music is awesome, and the drinks are even awesomer. I’ve been so damn nervous the entire day, racking my brain for potential stories we could tell my dad about my absence. The tequila allowed me to come up with options that I hadn’t considered before, and it’s making me think we can definitely pull this off.
It’s also making me wish all these people around us weren’t here. I lean in and take a deep whiff of Rafael’s scent. God, he’s so yummy.
“You should try it with an orange,” he says, beckoning a waiter over with his hand. “It brings out a slightly different flavor.”
“You know . . . if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk.” I grin, then grab a fistful of his shirt over his chest because the room started spinning. Can clubs spin?
“And why would I do that, vespetta?” Rafael’s arm wraps around my back, pulling me closer.
He dips his head and looks right into my eyes while speaking in Italian with the server who approached us. Feeling more steady on my feet, I let go of Rafael’s shirt but plant my palms squarely on his chest. I still need that contact to ground me. The heat of his body seeps through the soft fabric of his graphite gray button-down, and it strikes me that he isn’t wearing his usual vest and suit jacket over it. With the top two buttons of his shirt undone and no tie, this is the most casually dressed I’ve ever seen him in public.
“I have no idea. But I think you are.” A snort escapes me. “Are you plotting to have me do a dark deed for you again and need me intoxicated to make it happen?”
“Maybe.”
“I would, you know. Even sober, I would. I’d send all the fucking containers from every damn tanker in the world to China if you asked me to. It would create an international shipping disaster, but I’d do it. For you.”
Rafael just keeps watching me. Why are his eyes sad again? Is he worried about what my father might do to him when we get to Chicago? He shouldn’t be. I won’t tell Dad the truth. We’ll tell him that Rafael and I met by chance. And after I admit to Dad that I’m in love, he’ll understand.
The waiter returns and sets a new shot of tequila topped with an orange slice on our table. Staring fixedly into Rafael’s eyes, I grab the shot glass and throw back the throat-burning liquid.
“You forgot the orange,” he says, lifting the slice of citrus to my mouth.
My lips close on the orange piece and suck the tangy juices off the rind. “You were right. It does taste better.”
Rafael’s eyes flare. The fruit vanishes from my mouth, replaced with his hard lips and tongue. They take. Brand. Consume me.
Rising onto my toes, I bury my hands in his hair, pulling on the dark strands. A mix of flavors explodes across my taste buds. Salt. Him. His whiskey. Him. Orange. Him. Him. Him.
I feel a slight squeeze on my waist as he lifts me and deposits me on the barstool, all without breaking our kiss. His rough palm glides along the inner side of my thigh, bound for higher places. I hook my leg behind his. My head feels fuzzy, like I’m floating, but I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol running rampant through my veins or because Rafael’s fingers are sliding under my panties.
“You’re mine, Vasilisa,” he growls into my mouth. “You will always be mine, no matter what you decide.”
Decide? Decide what? The ability to form a coherent thought flees as his fingers push inside me, doing those devilish tricks of his that make me forget the outside world exists at all. His thumb moves over my clit in slow steady circles, while two of his fingers caress my spasming walls. In and out. Gentle. Maddeningly gentle pressure.
My body trembles, the tremors intensifying with every stroke, pushing me closer to oblivion. His other hand softly cups my chin, squeezing lightly once in a while as he demolishes my lips. The myriad of sensations is overwhelming. I moan while losing myself in bliss.
More. I sink my nails into the skin of his nape. I need more. And he seems to know it. Rafael presses his thumb on my clit and curls his fingers upward inside my channel. And I . . . explode. Coming all over his masterful hand.
“I’ll miss this, vespetta.” The husky voice next to my ear sounds distant somehow.
Everything seems to be spinning around me. I wrap my arms around Rafael’s neck, letting my body sag onto his. A beautiful weightless feeling surrounds me as he picks me up and carries me. Where we’re going, I don’t know. I don’t care. As long as I’m with him. But the lights hurt my eyes, so I bury my face in the crook of his neck. Music and voices growing distant.
“Sei pronto?” Guido’s voice. I didn’t know he was here.
“Si. Iniziamo,” Rafael replies, then dips his head until his mouth grazes my ear. “I have to sign some documents while we’re here. It won’t take long.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
Footfalls on the wooden floor echo around us as Rafael heads to the door at the end of the narrow hallway. Guido holds it open, allowing us to pass through. The room we step into smells of old paper and cigarettes. Several men are already inside, standing around with expressions on their faces that I can’t quite read. In the middle of the room is a desk, and an older man in a brown suit is sitting behind it, a massive thick red book open in front of him.
