on her face, and the fierceness of her expression did nothing to diminish her appeal. “My papa did nothing about his death.” She slammed her fist on the table. “Nothing!
“And he has nothing, only me. He’s lost the money.” Her lips tightened. “He’s so steeped in the old ways of doing things where men must rule and women must abide, and I don’t have a say in any of it.”
Suddenly, Lucia’s eyes blazed with fervent life. “He refuses to adapt to the times. We’re nearly bankrupt.”
Da. Everything she said supported the old man’s grand moneymaking scheme to sell his daughter off unbeknownst to her.
I sat silently, ingesting each new insight.
“He has no allies. Dwindling resources. I tried to make him expand into real estate . . . I have a license and a design degree, but would he listen to me? Of course not. Stubborn bastard is going to destroy any Leone dynasty he ever thought he’d have.”
I’d heard enough.
“We’re going now.” Standing abruptly, I clasped her hand in mine and helped her up.
“Are you taking me home?” she asked hopefully.
“Nyet. My house.”
I could tell she was on the verge of spouting off again, so I did what any male would do when faced with such tempting sassiness.
Jerking her closer, I sealed my lips over hers. She arched into me immediately, clinging to my shoulders. I parted my lips and sank my tongue into the hot cavern of her mouth, and we kissed with unmet greed.
She broke free and, even though undeniable heat simmered between us, she scathed, “I still hate you Arkady Krasnov.”
“I guess you kiss a lot better when you actually like someone then.”
14
Lucia
STRONZO!
Bastardo!
He was both those things and every other curse word I knew.
Arkady had made me open up about the most embarrassing and saddest parts of my life, cajoling me to confessions I’d never admitted to anyone.
Then he’d announced we were leaving—inflating my hopes that he’d return me home instead of continuing his unilateral decision making.
But no. He wasn’t done controlling my life yet.
He was a dirty rotten sexy bastard.
The first touch of his lips surprised me, shocking a hot reaction from me. I’d coiled all around him, drowning beneath his untamed hunger. The kiss came unwarranted and unexpected, and he’d done it to me again.
I pushed him away. “I still hate you Arkady Krasnov.”
He had the male arrogance to make a comment about my kissing skills before barking a thunderous laugh. Then I heard low mumbles, a few whistles, and even a feminine titter.
Great.
We had an audience consisting of Joanna, Sasha, Maksim, Kirill, Baba, and more than a handful of soldiers.
“Do you want me to get you out of here or should we give them more of a show?” the big-headed bastard asked.
I adopted a look of utter contempt, tucking my hand around his forearm.
I said nothing else and I met no one’s eyes as we left, but I vibrated with such anger inside.
I despised his control over me.
“Proschay,” Arkady called back before we exited the main floor of The Cat and the Sickle.
Ever the gentleman—not—he helped me into the SUV then hopped behind the wheel. We exited the compound, and I noted two more vehicles tailing us.
Arkady was upping the security, meaning we were in even more danger, although I couldn’t imagine anything more lethal than him at that point.
Parked in front of his house, he again collected me from the passenger side.
I scanned around surreptitiously . . . one of the following cars carried on and the other stopped half a block away. Soldiers took up guard from a discreet distance and might even go unnoticed to the untrained eye, but I’d been used to Augustu pacing me over the past several years.
His creeping presence used to send unwanted prickles all over my skin. I didn’t have to worry about him anymore since Arkady had killed him.
Arkady killed with the same hands that he used to kindle such uncontrollable lust from me.
If only my body understood what my brain knew indefinitely.
Inside, Arkady shed his jacket before he clasped a hand around my elbow. He guided me upstairs and into his bedroom. Spinning me in front of him, he began tugging down the hidden zipper at the back of my dress.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Never before had a man handled me as if he owned the rights to my body.
I clutched the dress to my front as he deftly lowered the zipper to the base of my spine. He trailed a lone