Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,57

for a few minutes, amused by her attempts to read an article from a Russian newspaper using free web translation tools. She wrinkles her nose in the most adorable way when puzzled, and her eyes go from wide to narrow and back, her teeth frequently tugging at her lower lip. I want to bite that plump lip and soothe it with a kiss, then do the same all over her delicious little body.

My cock stirs at the thought, and I take a breath to distract myself from the heat building inside me. As enjoyable as it is to observe her, what I want even more is to talk to her, to hear her soft, husky voice and see her sunny smile. I miss that smile.

Fuck, I miss her.

It’s ridiculous, I know—I just met her this week, and we’ve been apart less than a day—but that’s the way it is, that’s the inevitability of it all. Fate brought her to me, and now she’s mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet. If not for this trip, she’d already be in my arms, but the Leonovs stuck their dirty paws into our business and here we are.

Drawing in another settling breath, I open Konstantin’s video software and place the call.

32

Chloe

I’m in the middle of painstakingly comparing the Bing translation of the Russian article to the Google version in the hopes of making sense of three particularly confusing sentences when a soft chime sounds and a videocall request pops up, with Nikolai’s picture in it.

My heart rate shoots up, my breathing quickening uncontrollably. It’s like he’s the proverbial devil, summoned by my thoughts—or my research. Is that possible? Does he somehow know I’m reading about him at this very moment?

Is that why he’s calling so late? To fire me for snooping?

No, that’s crazy. He probably just landed, saw on the videoconference app that I’m online, and decided to check in.

Pulling in a shaky breath, I smooth my hair with my palms and click “Accept.”

His gorgeous face fills the screen, making my heart pound harder. “Hi, zaychik.” His voice is soft and deep, his gaze mesmerizing even through the camera. In general, the quality of the video is insane; it’s like a movie in HD. I can see everything, from the artful swoops in the abstract painting hanging on the wall a few feet behind his chair to the forest-green flecks in his amber eyes. He must’ve just arrived because he’s still wearing the shirt and tie I saw him leave in, but instead of looking tired and rumpled, as a normal person would after a transatlantic flight, he’s the very picture of effortless elegance, every glossy black hair in place.

Realizing I’m staring at him like a star-struck groupie, I force my vocal cords into action. “Hi.” My throat is still a bit raw from smoke, but I’m hoping he ascribes the raspiness in my voice to the late hour. “How was your flight?”

His sensuous lips curl in a warm smile. “Uneventful. Why are you still awake? It’s past midnight over there.”

“Just… not sleepy.” Especially now that I’m talking to him. Getting this call was like downing five shots of espresso; even my tiredness is gone, replaced by a jittery sort of excitement—one that’s only partially related to what I was reading.

As I suspected, the Molotovs are filthy rich and a huge deal in Russia. “One of the most powerful oligarch families” is a Google-translated quote from one Russian article, and there are plenty of mentions of Nikolai and his brothers—and before that, of Vladimir, their father—in the Russian press. I even found a photo from last year in which Nikolai is sitting next to the Russian president at some black-tie event in Moscow, looking as cool and comfortable as at his family dinners.

What I didn’t find, to my huge relief, is anything about the Molotovs being mafia or having criminal affiliations, though maybe I just didn’t dig deep enough. Even with the help of web translation tools, it’s hard to come up with the right search terms in Russian, and there’s surprisingly little written about Nikolai’s family in English—a passing mention on CNN of a pipeline in Syria laid by one of their oil companies, a paragraph on Bloomberg about a new cancer drug developed by one of their pharmaceutical companies, a line about Vladimir Molotov in a New York Times article discussing the enormous wealth in Russia. There are no Wikipedia entries on them, nothing in the tabloids. They don’t even