Prima - Alta Hensley Page 0,24

fucking lie. I was lost and drowning in the waves of emotion that kiss had caused. I didn’t know a fucking thing.

8

Alek

“You kissed her? Are you out of your mind?” Baker snarled into the phone before his tone changed into one far less accusatory, “How was it?”

Mind blowing.

Heart stopping.

Fireworks inducing.

“I don’t know.” I decided to act blasé, to not allow my feelings to show too much for the moment. After all, this was more of a fact-finding conversation now.

I shouldn’t have kissed Clara. I was pretty damn sure the moment shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did, and her arms certainly shouldn’t have snaked around my neck as mine pulled her so close I felt every rise and fall of her breasts, could feel the heat of her… fuck it! I was not going there!

But now that all those things had happened, I felt like I had to know more about this woman. I knew a little from my research, and I knew some from our conversations, but Baker had actually sat down with her and had interviewed her face to face. If anyone could tell me a little more about what sort of woman she was, it was this man.

“Look, it was an impulsive act that shouldn’t have occurred. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s like the moment I saw her naked, my other head—”

“You saw her naked?”

Shit! This was so not the conversation I’d planned when I’d dialed his number. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to stop acting like an idiot and get myself under control.

“Not relevant,” I said, not about to answer his question. “That’s not anyone’s business, but—”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Baker said with a chuckle. “Besides lust, which you obviously have for her, and might I state that there isn’t a soul on earth who could blame you, do you actually like the girl?” he asked in a hushed tone as if he thought someone might overhear his question.

That someone most likely being my brother.

“I’m not sure,” I replied cautiously. “I wish there was a simple answer. Putting the theater and professionalism aside, I don’t know too much about her. What do you think?”

“That’s a tough question,” he said. “I mean, she really does seem like a nice woman, and she definitely has a good heart from the little she allowed me to see during our interview. She dotes on her granny, and though I know she needs the money, I checked around and learned she cuts her rates to the bone whenever a prospective student can’t afford to attend her classes. I got a good vibe from her.”

I knew she had an intense bond with her grandmother and knew it took a special type of person to be a caregiver for anyone. I wasn’t really surprised to learn that caring extended to her making sacrifices to keep another little girl’s dreams from dying.

“What else?”

Baker continued, “There’s a risk with her.”

There was that word again, the word that seemed to sum up Clara Simyoneva entirely.

Risk.

“The addictive side to her can’t be questioned. She was definitely in rehab and no matter how ‘cured’ she might claim to be, you can’t guarantee the craving for drugs or alcohol is truly gone. And finally, and definitely not least, there is the matter of you know who.”

I did, and the very fact a seasoned reporter spoke of Kosloff as if he were some character in a book who shall not be named told me Baker wasn’t just a tad bit concerned. I didn’t like the idea of having anything to do with the mafia or the men who ran it no matter what country they were in. That was something my father’s death had indelibly instilled in me.

Never get involved with the bratva as that road only led to one destination.

Pain.

“Did she tell you the details about everything that had happened with the man?” I asked, hoping to get a clearer story.

“Unfortunately, no,” he said. “We talked about it a little, but in all honesty, every time I attempted to dig deeper, she skirted the issue. I was afraid to press as I didn’t want her to walk out. I wanted it to be a positive interview. One more focused about her future. Unfortunately, that was my downfall in the end anyway. The editor wouldn’t publish it because it wasn’t juicy enough. All they really wanted was the dirt.”

“That’s typical… a fucking shame as I’d had higher regards for the Chicago