Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 4 – Nikolai

Chapter 3 – Rosalyn

One Week Later

I was a light sleeper. I blamed it on the trauma Ronan and Sean had forced me to endure when we were younger, when Father was away on business . I’d lie in wait, soaked in tears, clutching my pillow to my chest with one eye open because they could pounce out at any time to toss a toy insect on my bed or a real one, like Ronan did once.

The slightest ruffle of the pillowy sheets, flash of light, sound of movement, or flutter of the silken drapes stirred me awake. The same happened when a chime on the nightstand vibrated with a hum. I snatched up my phone, groaning as I slid through the multiple notifications on the screen to fish out the message.

I groaned, rolled my eyes, kicked my legs off the bed, and went to take a shower. The message was from Hannah: my best friend and bodyguard. She was waiting in the living room downstairs, and I wondered why.

I’d known Hannah O’Conner for five years. She’d been nineteen while I was sixteen. She was younger and more vibrant, and I’d mastered her many moods and traits. There was kind Hannah, bossy Hannah, respectful Hannah, and prompt Hannah. We had clicked almost right away and had the best bond ever since, but prompt Hannah always had an uncomfortable itch with tardiness.

The shower was quick. I didn’t hesitate to grab a plain black turtleneck gown from the wardrobe before dashing to the dresser to blow-dry my hair. I held it up in a braided ponytail, slid on my favorite pair of black flip-flops, and hurried down the steps of the twin staircase, passing the grand foyer to the living room.

Her five-nine slender figure stood by the black tuxedo couch, her hands clasped behind her back and legs slightly spread apart. Hannah always looked smart and ready for action in shiny black suits, straight dress pants, and boots. When she turned twenty-two, we accidentally got drunk in my room on her birthday, and I’d dared her to cut her long brown hair. She grinned evilly, snatched scissors from a drawer, and snipped her silken hair to a short bob.

Now, she looked like a younger version of Rita in Bad Boys.

I tiptoed to stand beside her, ignoring how, on the outside, she appeared masculine but always wore a feminine scent.

She jerked her head to the side and ran a cursory glance from the hem of my gown brushing my ankles to the sleeves that met the rose-gold knuckle rings on my fingers. Her eyes, dark and vigilant, held many secrets, and I always joked that it made her look ten years wiser than her age.

The corner of her lips made the smallest tug to the side, and mirth danced in her eyes when she whispered, “Why do you look like a mourning widow?”

I shifted my attention to the man in the room, seated cross-legged on the center couch. His hand was strewn over the rim, and his eyes were buried in his phone as he typed away. I tried not to laugh.

“Because I’m mourning?”

She blinked, a subtle signal that she stifled a scoff, and rolled her eyes. No one wanted to upset the man on the couch with even a tiny sound that could trigger his wrath.

“We both know you’re not.”

She was right; I was not.

It had been exactly one week, one week since Doctor Keegan walked out of Sean’s room and pronounced him dead. Everyone’s face had fallen except mine.

They cried, and I cried.

I cried tears of partial relief.

The black clothes and shoes and no makeup were for formalities and false respect and nothing else. I should have felt bad or guilty even, but numbness robbed me of every other emotion. Indifference clouded every possibility to feel empathy. And I was glad Sean Gallagher lay in the cold hands of death.

“So, why are we here?”

My whispered question was directed to Hannah, but the man in the room chose that moment to look away from his phone. He tucked the sleek device into the pocket of his jacket and glared at me with hard blue eyes.

Like us and probably the rest of the household, he wore black—expensive black that was a sharp contrast to his pale skin and ginger hair.

“I called Hannah here to accompany you. I’ve already transferred a lot of money to your account.”

I frowned, detesting the cold look in his eyes even more. “What are you talking about? What money, and what for?”

His nose made an irritating twitch when he rose from the couch and walked closer to me, his steps as menacing as his demeanor. He tugged on the button of his jacket, another irritating habit of his. Like he was some man of importance with a busy schedule and no time to waste.

“She’s taking you shopping.”

I turned to look at Hannah and felt my heart drop when her face fell.

“Select a nice wedding dress and shoes,” he said. “That’s the only thing you get to decide here, filth. Don’t try anything stupid; else, I won’t hesitate to put you in your place.”

The man in the room was my half-brother, the only surviving one. I hated him for many reasons, the most recent one being this abomination called an arranged marriage to Tristan Gomez.

He represented everything I didn’t want in a man, an upgraded version of the Gallagher brothers, a role model for all despicable men.

We’d met at one of Ronan’s many business events months ago, and that was the first time I’d ever met the fifty-nine-year-old. He’d smiled at me with a disgusting, lustful gaze that almost propelled me to fling my drink on his face and visited Ronan the next day to discuss something behind closed doors.

Twenty-four hours later, Ronan announced the marriage deal between the Mexican and me. It was business. I was the sacrifice my brother was willing to slaughter to keep his head afloat. Everyone knew that the monster killed his wife, but Ronan did not care if I was going to be the next victim.

The frown on my lips grew thinner when I remembered all the torture I forced myself to endure while growing up in this house without Father and my current reality now, where I stood before a man who was prepared to destroy my life.

I hadn’t realized I was clutching a fistful of my gown with a death grip until Hannah lightly touched my wrist. I let go and forced myself to swallow the stinging tears.

The urge to scratch his face or punch him in the nose was as overwhelming as the desire to run away from this horrible nightmare and not look back. I wanted death, and sometimes I wished I’d gone with Father that day.

“I hate you, Ronan.” I resisted the urge to spit when his eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Get her the fuck out of my sight,” he ordered Hannah, his eyes still holding mine, “and I don’t want to hear that anything went wrong. Do you hear me?”

Hannah gave a curt nod, and he brushed past me, knocking my shoulder with his elbow. We both waited in silence until his steps behind us faded to nothing.

****

“I’m not getting that wedding dress.”

She ran her fingers through her bob and smiled at me as we walked down the front steps. The air was warm, but the black gown made it feel like a hundred degrees. One of Ronan’s men pulled up in a Benz, got out, and handed Hannah the car keys before returning to his station.

“He’s going to kill you, Lyn.”

I flinched at the nickname and eyed the bonnet of the car, wishing it could combust under the heat. “Then, I would rather die than get married to that old bastard.”

She sighed. It was heavy and sad, mirroring exactly how I felt on the inside. “Rosalyn….”

An engine purred as another Benz pulled up on the driveway, and a warm breeze ruffled his jacket when the man stepped out. Hannah didn’t bother finishing the rest of her sentence, and I shoved my pain aside to muster a smile.

“Aiden,” she greeted when he came up to us.

His eyes caught mine, and a different kind of heat crept up my neck. I fumbled with my fingers and caught my lower lip between my teeth.

His lean, broad shoulders blocked the sunlight, and the rays made his blond hair glow like a halo. At five-foot-eleven, he stood much taller than me. So, I tipped my head back to see his face. Today, he didn’t smile. His blue eyes were hard but not cold like Ronan’s.

He nodded toward his cousin but assessed my face. When his eyes touched the tear stains on my cheeks, his jaw moved, and he opened his mouth to say something, but he clamped it shut again and kept walking.

“I’ll see you two later.”

Then, his back disappeared when he shut the door behind him.

When I was younger, I always believed Aiden O’Connor was one of the few responsible men alive. Unlike Hannah, he had worked longer years in the Gallagher household, and, just as Father treated him like a son, he treated me like a sister with more care and devotion than I thought I deserved.

I turned to Hannah. “What was that about?”

Aiden was almost never in a hurry. He could be brisk, but he always managed to maintain his composure, like a man born into stealth mode, while getting the job done. I made a list of the things I liked about him: He was level-headed, slow to anger, and cool.

Also, so damn fine.

We had eleven years between us, but it didn’t stop me from having a hard crush on him when I was eighteen. I believed he was the dream man for every woman— for every woman who doesn’t mind seeing their man shed a bit of other people’s blood here and there.

Over the years, I’d learned to accept the life I had been born into. Virtues like honesty, purity, and humility were hard to find among them. Backstabs were more accurate, distrust was rampant, and there were more enemies than friends. Sometimes, it got down to the ultimate battle: to kill or be killed.

We got into the car, but Hannah didn’t respond until she strapped her seatbelt on.

She moved the gear and steered the car out.

“Looked like an emergency,” she murmured with knit brows, racking her brains to pinpoint why her cousin couldn’t stop to talk. “Probably the Russians.”

“The Russians?”

My heart skidded to a stop, and Hannah continued to explain. Things between the Bratva and our people were getting more heated as the days went by, and what was worse was having Nikolai Yezhov to deal with.

Once, I spotted the man from afar during an auction. He was known for being the most cunning and ruthless boss anyone could deal with. Rumor had it that he was more terrifying than their Pahkan , his brother, Egor Yezhov.

“That man…. He is smart, terrifying, and should never be underestimated. He always finds a way to be ten steps ahead of us, and we haven’t been able to figure out why.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

She threw a brow at me and faced the road. “Nikolai Yezhov? The Bratva? They somehow seem to figure out our moves or know just how to counterattack or hit the place that hurts most. Your brother is never going to admit this, but the Russians are crushing us. He has us fixed between his thumb and index finger.”

A crazy idea flew into my head immediately after Hannah finished lamenting. It was like a sudden click, like building blocks falling into place. My heart thumped in anticipation, maybe madness, but it was an idea worth testing. I snatched my phone from my purse and checked the money Ronan sent. A smile stole its way to my lips.

“Perfect.” It was more than enough.

Hannah suddenly looked alarmed. “What’s perfect?”

Having us between his thumb and index finger.

I faced her, though her eyes were on the road. “You know the Escalade? That event everyone’s been talking about?” She nodded with a guarded gaze, and I continued. “There’s an auction happening in that hotel, in a hidden level for exclusive members only. I hear it’s called the Bercyna. Don’t ask me why it’s called that. I don’t know. But it’s going to start in an hour.”

There was suspicion heavy in her voice when she spoke. “And you know that because?”

“Ronan is my brother. Plus, he’s not as discreet on calls as he claims to be.”

“And why do you need this information?”

“Because it’s the answer. Hannah?”

“Huh?”

I strapped on my seatbelt. “Take me to the Escalade.”

Hannah blew out a terrified breath she’d been holding. Her grip on the wheel tightened, and her cheeks paled. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

I didn’t like it either, but when the going got tough, the tough had to get going. And what I needed to get going was a person powerful enough to crush us.

When the anchor mounted the podium and tapped on it, the microphone gave sharp, screeching feedback. The music and chattering buzz turned to a hush as other guests settled on the chair.

“Ladies and gents, the Bercyna auction will be starting now,” came the brittle voice with a heavy English accent on the mic. The navy blue on his double-breasted suit gleamed under the light as he looked around the room. “As such, kindly ensure that you have your bidding boards beside your seat. We should already know that no individual here can place a bid without it. So, distinguished guests, the first item tonight is the Chandelier.”

I flipped my bidding board. The number seventy-five was boldly printed on a white board in black. Anatoly smirked in the chair beside me and remarked on my consistency with the number at every auction event.

Two blonde girls dressed in gold feather and sequin gowns wheeled out the piece from behind red velvety curtains. The Chandelier was a distorted painting of an actual golden chandelier. The artist was murdered in his own home the night after the painting was done, and the artwork was stolen. To this day, no one knew why. But the mystery surrounding it hiked the value of the distorted piece after it was retrieved.

Boards went up, and the bidding began.

I had no interest in the painting and was not further impressed with the second, third, fourth…or eighth item. The ninth, however. Now, that small, faceless monument was a beauty.

“This statue with a head and no other features is called Silent. The sculptor made an interesting choice, leaving this piece of art blind, deaf, mute, and dead.”

I felt an immediate connection to it and understood the sculptor's mind when he chose to present this supposedly meaningless work of art. I raised my board, glanced to the sides, and was subtly surprised that no other board was up. It might have been for fear of me or the lack of desire to spend money on a faceless stone, but satisfaction reeled through my veins. This was going to be the easiest bid.

“Five thousand.”

The anchor turned his attention toward me, surprise and angst lingering in his gaze when he took the microphone to his lips. “Number Seventy-Five has placed five thousand dollars on Silent. It’s going.”

The hall was quiet, and I was ready to whisper to Anatoly to tell him to prepare the car for us to leave when the anchor’s voice rattled the silence in the room.

“Is that a board I see there at the back? Number Ninety-Nine?”

A gentle feminine voice called out, “Eight thousand for Silent.”

A few members gasped, and low whispers broke out amongst the people gathered. Who was she? How could she dare go up against me?

I, on the other hand, was going to enjoy destroying whoever it was. This was going to be fun, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had fun. I raised my board again.

“Fourteen thousand.”

She was quick, a lot quicker than last time. Her voice was strong and carried more volume when she tripled her challenge. “Twenty-four thousand.”

“Thirty-five.”

There was a sudden hush. But instinct told me it was a brooding silence. She was deliberating, considering, and weighing her options. More murmurs rose, and I began to think I’d hit her off her rocker when her voice bounced back even stronger.

“Fifty! Fifty thousand dollars for Silent!”

Her audaciousness struck a nerve, a nerve that tingled in amusement and irritation. I rubbed the button on my shirt and curled my fingers around the edges of the board. The game was fun while it lasted, but I was done playing.

“One hundred thousand.”

“One hundred thousand dollars from Number Seventy-Five for Silent. Anyone?”

Her board stayed down, and her voice remained trapped in her mouth. I uncrossed my legs when the anchor announced the winner of the Silent brawl.

“Number Seventy-five has it!”

I’d beat her at her own game and had every intention of savoring the sweet taste of victory. I craned my neck over my shoulder, hoping to have a purview of my challenger and opponent, and my mouth twitched to a frown when I saw her staring right back at me.

The quality of the lighting in the room was far from bright, which was the standard to protect the privacy of exclusive guests participating. But it did not pose as an obstruction to her beauty. The clear view of fair skin stuck out like a lit lamp in the darkness, submerging the black clothes in the dimness.

I held her eyes, and she held mine with a disturbing smile. A smile that should have been on my face, of a victor that triumphed over its conquest, making me believe that her target all the while was not the monument but something else.

It was me.

****

“Rosalyn Gallagher,” Anatoly said into the phone while I walked toward the black Tesla parked by the exit gate. He’d waited inside to confirm the young woman’s status and informed me once the auction was over.

I stopped by the car with a smile and adjusted the AirPod in my ear. “The Irish princess? Ronan’s half-sister?”

“ Da.” Yes. “She is on her way out of the building. There’s a bodyguard in sight, but I can distract her.”

“Good.”

The call disconnected, and I tucked my hands into my pockets, waiting patiently for her to come out. Eventually, she did, with her head held high and that same triumphant smile permanently fixed on her mouth. Out in the open, she was more beautiful—her audacity more glaring and nothing like I expected.

What did I expect?

The Gallagher brothers soiled their reputation after Cedric’s death, and it only grew worse after Sean passed. Not many people knew about their partially existent sister because they didn’t want the world to know for malicious reasons.

A girl like that should have been many things but bold. She should have shied away from the spotlight, events like the Escalade and the Bercyna.

I took cautious steps, walked up to her, and allowed my gaze to sweep from the intricate braiding on her red hair to the perfect fit of the simple but elegant black gown on her body and finally to the fluffy slippers on her feet. Not exactly the best option for an event like this.

A smirk curled up my lips, and I nudged toward them. “Interesting choice of footwear.”

She blushed, batted thick, dark lashes, and chewed the insides of her cheek, speaking to me as if we were long distant friends at a reunion. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

Her voice, even more melodious up close, sounded like the perfect blend of a flute and the low notes of an Opera singer. By the subtle drop in her tone, it was clear that her brother was unaware of her current location.

“I’m sure it is.” My gaze touched the fullness of her small mouth, and I dragged it back to her eyes. “Come on, let me give you a ride home.”

She brushed past me with no hesitation and ushered herself to the passenger’s side. I got in after her, feeling myself being pushed closer to the edge of uncertainty with the show of this woman’s bravado. When I started the car, she readily offered an address that was not Ronan’s house.

“I’m surprised by a woman like you.”

“A woman like me?” She appeared flustered. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re bolder than the lot I’ve met. A woman who knows what she wants and doesn’t hesitate to go for it. I like that because I don’t hesitate. If I believe it’s mine, then it is, and nothing, no one , can stop me from having it.”

She lightly tapped the window like a woodpecker would a tree. I flipped my head to the side long enough to catch the distant look in her eyes. In that sliver of time, she wasn’t the audacious bidder battling for a piece of art in an auction. The glimmer in her eyes dulled, and the smile on her lips wobbled.

“I don’t know much about that.” She huffed, and before long, the fa?ade was back. “We’re here.”

We drove into a quiet estate, and I parked the car on the pavement by the front porch of a perfectly designed craftsman house with a touch of twenty-first-century modern style.

I killed the engine, but neither of us made a move out of the car. Her fingers played with the fabric of her gown, and I gazed ahead at the long stretch of the empty road brightly lit by the white street lamps under the vast blanket of the starless night sky.

My fingers tapped the wheel to get her attention. “My intuition is sharper than most.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

I eyed her. “Our meeting tonight was not a coincidence. You don’t look foolish either; you know who I am, and I know who you are. But why would you be willing to throw your money away as the price to pay for my attention? That is what I am yet to find out. Which leaves me curious about your intentions, Ms. Gallagher.”

Another sigh left her lips, weighing more than her words expressed. She flashed a dainty smile and opened the car door.

“Then, it’s going to be a long conversation.” A glimmer fleeted past her eyes when she glanced at the house and back at me. “Care to join me for a glass of wine?”

An invite.

A simple, seemingly harmless invite into her secret house to talk about her mission for seeking me out.

And yet, as I looked at the fullness of her small pink mouth and the tempting flick of her tongue while she awaited my response, it sounded like so much more.

I unbuckled the seat belt and smiled at her.

Enemy or not, I didn’t deny my insane attraction to this woman or my curiosity to discover her motive.

Surely, she didn’t expect me to say no?

****

“This is the only thing he didn’t steal from me after my father died. This place. It became my solitude,” she was saying after shutting the door behind her and turning on the lights.

I had a good guess at who she referred to but didn’t ask. Sooner or later, the cat would be out of the bag.

She kicked off her fluffy flip-flops, and I followed after her, taking a brisk look around before settling on the couch in the small but spacey living room. I watched the curves of her hips swish from left to right as she walked over to the mini bar in the kitchen with her fingers in her hair, gently loosening the braided ponytail.

Long red hair fell over her shoulders and framed her face when she reached forward for a bottle of red wine and glasses. My eyes dropped to her bare feet and nude toenails when she crossed over from the kitchen island to sit in the living room with me.

She dropped the glasses and bottle on the mahogany centerpiece table and tucked her right leg under her left thigh, looking more content and sadder than I’d ever seen on anyone. Massaging the back of her neck with one hand, she threw the other arm over the couch, watching me with a guarded mask over her expression.

“Mr. Yezhov—”

“Nikolai, please.” I reached for the bottle at the center and read the label, pleased at her taste selection. When I lifted my eyes, her brows were raised. I released a sigh and relaxed on the seat, taking my time to ease off the wine cork. “Time is of the essence, Ms. Gallagher—”

“ Rosalyn , please. Since we are becoming…familiar.”

I smirked but didn’t hold it for long. Touché. Clearly disturbed, but still maintained her feistiness.

“Fine. Rosalyn. What is it that you want from me?”

Her eyes twinkled, and she flipped her hair with the back of her hand. “Your company?”

I scoffed. Funny little thing. “My presence in this place doesn’t come cheap. And fifty thousand dollars is cheap. Quit beating about the bush.”

Her silence was sudden, neither brooding nor final, and her eyes carried that longing I’d seen barely half an hour ago. She teased the tip of her hair between perfectly manicured fingernails and bounced the ball of her foot on the tiled floor.

“Nikolai.” My name rolled off her tongue like a sultry tune and sounded unbelievably better than the last time I’d heard it. “I want you to kidnap me.”

My eyes narrowed.

This was the first time I’d gotten that kind of offer. Why would a woman willingly want to be kidnapped? The idea was as crazy as it was serious.

I filled one of the glasses before handing it to her. Her fingers curled around the stem while I searched her eyes for a hint of sarcasm, or humor, or something that would indicate a trap.

I found…nothing.

She was as open as a blank canvas.

That meant there were two things involved; she was either a good actor, or she was telling the truth. She wanted me to abduct her.

Cautiously, I filled up my own glass, returned the bottle, and lifted the wine to my lips. The wine tasted genuinely good, but her motive made no sense.

“Why?”

She threw her head back, emptied her full glass in one gulp, then hissed and stretched for a refill. “ Why ?” Her scoff was bitter.

“You are already acquainted with my half-brother, Ronan, but what you might not know is his blazing desire to make sure I have a miserable life. He wants to destroy me by every means possible. First, he took everything my father left for me, except this house. Because…because I begged like a child that night and offered to do the house cleaning for a month.”

Her lips parted, and red wine sloshed in her mouth. Darting out to swipe on spilled contents at the corners of her mouth was her very inviting tongue. I forced my eyes away to focus on her sob story.

“That month was one of the hardest of my life. He managed to make even the simplest chore a hellish punishment. As you can see, I survived.” She offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But this time, I’m not sure. If I …if I get married to Tristan Gomez, I would find no strength to endure even a single day being married to him. I just can’t …I can’t do it. And I can’t run away. Ronan would find me wherever I hid. That is the reason I sought you out. I need someone more powerful to oppose this, to stop his plans.”

Her third glass went down her throat, and before she reached for the bottle again, I blocked her with my hand, grabbing her wrist. The green in her eyes was as sharp as daggers, and I was impressed with her ability to hold down that volume of consumed alcohol.

“What do I get in return?”

Her eyes touched my hand, which was wrapped around her wrist, and I let go. She adjusted on the seat with a careless shrug off her shoulder.

“I can be your inside woman. You will have unlimited access to all the information you need, which includes verified data on confidential business dealings. I know a man like you, with so much power, already has more than enough to grant me this request with just a snap of your fingers. But we both know that knowledge is power and information is the key. Expansion will be guaranteed, and you will further outgrow Ronan. Take this as your ultimate revenge for the things he did to you in the past.”

I recognized an exclusive offer when I saw one, and what the pretty young woman handed to me was more valuable than gold on a platter. If I accepted this offer, the Irish mob was going to be plundered to dust in a matter of twenty-four hours. Everything Cedric had taken years to build would crumble and leave no specks.

But, in this line of business, there were pros and cons.

I dropped my wine glass on the centerpiece, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees and one hand under my chin.

“It’s not all roses and wine, you know? If I do as you ask and kidnap you—and that is a very big if— are you aware of the repercussions that would follow? Your brother is a maniac. He might not give a fuck about you, but he has an image to protect. Once your brother finds out that the Bratva is behind it, an unnecessary war will break out. I don’t involve myself in frivolities. I consider it an utter waste of time.”

A disheartened gloom marred her confidence but didn’t last very long. She moved to the edge of the couch, granting me a full view to see just how frustrated and desperate she was.

“Mr. Yez— Nikolai. You don’t understand. He is in no position to start a war, and most certainly not over me. You said it yourself; he doesn’t give a fuck about me. Don’t you get it? The lack of funds is the whole reason for this sham of a marriage to Tristan. And I want out!”

“Because?”

The immediate pause was amusing, like an action paused or frozen in time. She stuttered, with her mouth opening and closing and no words forming. When she attempted to speak again, her brows twitched.

A smile tugged on my lips, proud that my question rattled her. I rose to my feet and took a step closer to her with a hand tucked into my pocket.

Rosalyn tilted her head to peer up at me, and lush red hair fell behind her back in gentle waves, the tip brushing the plush couch fabric. “I don’t…I—”

“You said you want out of the marriage with Tristan.”

“Yes, yes, I said that. Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because…because he—”

“Doesn’t make you feel good?”

She blinked, and I watched her fingers curl into the seat. The hidden innuendo had been made clear, and the blush on her cheeks meant she’d caught onto it. She turned her face away, giving a subtle shake of her head.

I sat on the couch beside her, near enough to feel the heat radiating from her black gown. Near enough to see the brown-black flecks in her green eyes, making them appear like some symbol of the Earth. Near enough to know she wasn’t wearing any perfume but somehow managed to smell good. I slipped a hand under her chin and forced her face up to mine.

“You can tell me,” I encouraged softly. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to reject a man because he doesn’t fuck you the way you like.”

The red on her cheeks turned a shade matching the fiery flames of her hair, and when she chewed on her lip, that fire burned right through the walls I’d put up from the moment I saw her walk out of that building.

She shook her head again, playing with her fingers. Seeing this same cheeky, assertive woman, now shy, was ludicrous.

“I’ve never…um, we’ve not…we’ve never been physical. Tristan and me. I can’t even….” The rest of her words trailed off with a frightful shudder. “He’s an old man.”

A sudden pull, like an overwhelming magnetic force, pushed me closer to her until we were sharing the same bubble of air. My hand slid up her jaw in the gentlest caress I had never considered myself capable of, and I leaned forward.

Curiosity picked my brain. I needed to know. Why? I couldn’t tell, but soon, the words went tumbling out of my mouth without restraint.

“So, you’ve never had sex before, Rosalyn?”

I heard someone’s heart beat fast, and I thought it was mine till I realized her pulse thrummed like a jackhammer at the crook of her neck. She exhaled ragged breaths.

“No,” she rasped, and her eyes burned my lips. “I haven’t had sex before, Nikolai.”

The doubts in my head had been confirmed, and I mirrored the triumphant smirk she’d flashed at me during the auction. She might have come from a line of Irish mutts, but she was pure and untainted. And I was going to infiltrate her unblemished mind to make her want me, need me, crave me. It felt like a sick twist of fate that I, one of her brother’s most vicious opponents, was destined to ruin her innocence.

“Fantastic,” I growled and flicked my tongue over her lips. She welcomed it, gasping, and I swallowed it, relishing in the delicious shiver that made her hands tremble.

Just fucking fantastic.

Rosalyn Gallagher was mine to devour.

With a swift move, I pressed her lips against mine and smiled when she molded her body to my chest, letting her hands explore their way to my neck. I pulled her closer from her waist and kissed her slower, taking time to feel her as I made an assessment:

No wine tasted better than the one on her lips.