Forced to Marry the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #2)

Chapter 4 - Zia

Zia thought she heard the clamber of pots and pans and the silent hum of the coffee machine.

The last time she’d heard kitchen activity during the early hours of the morning, she’d awakened to the sight of the Wilder serving her breakfast in bed. And if that happened to be the dream she was having, she needed to get rid of it and fast.

So, she jolted awake and sat upright on the softest bed she’d slept on in a while to get rid of the terrible dream.

But this…

She looked around and admired the careful attention to detail, from the dark draping in the room, the fluffy comforter, the neat arrangement of every item, and the smell of breakfast on the stove. It felt like a dream, waking up naked in the most beautiful yet strangest bedroom ever. A tingle of pain shot through the back of her arm, and it jogged memories of how she’d ended up in the fairytale.

Walking into the private room, the encounter with the intriguing stranger—which still left butterflies in her belly—the sudden explosion and shoot out in the club, and the stampede. That was where she’d sustained the injury on her arm. When she’d opened the door, seeking to run out after she’d sighted the silver gun in the big man’s hands, she’d somewhat expected to be swept into the craziness that lay outside closed doors.

What she didn’t expect was to see the charming stranger rush after her like some hero from an action movie. He’d saved her, cleared the path, and taken her to safety. But it didn’t stop there.

Zia fell back on the bed, biting down on a finger as she recounted the memories from the previous night.

Blood rushed to her ears, and warmth spread all over her skin when she remembered the gentle brush of his fingers on her arms and cheeks while he cleaned her up and when he held her close, cradled her head, and brought his lips to hers, nothing else in the world mattered.

The attraction between them was instant, intense, and insane. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way—giddy, girly, and irrational.

She’d given her virginity to a man she barely knew. Correction, I hardly knew. She knew nothing about him except his name. Lev Nikolai, and that was all. Zilch, Nada. Nothing else.

Zia sensed anxiety trying to creep in at the thought that she’d slept with a man who could have possibly turned out to be anything. Anything at all. A serial killer, a psychopath, or a drug addict? But deep down, she doubted that a serial killer or psychopath could kiss as passionately as this man did.

He’d made her feel things that she’d never even thought possible and explored parts of her body she didn’t realize existed.

She should have felt bad or disgusted with herself for lowering her guard and giving herself away so easily to a man she’d met in less than twenty-four hours, but what good was being repulsed going to do?

After all, she had kept herself for a long time and played the ‘good girl’ part really well like a professional, but what good did any of that do? She‘d lost everything; a house and the so-called love of her life to another woman because she didn’t like the things he liked—or whatever that meant.

Whatever.

She tossed off the covers and picked her clothes from the floor.

She was done playing the good girl part.

While she crouched, picking up her clothing, she noticed the long dress shirt just lying at the foot of the bed. It obviously belonged to the strange man; it was the same from the night before, and there was no note hinting that he’d left it there for her.

But she itched to feel some part of him again.

With a grin, she bit the inside of her cheeks, abandoned her clothes, and went for the shirt. As she fixed the buttons and teased the curly tips of her hair, her cheeks erupted with heat. Never would she have thought that she’d have been able to pull off being wild and reckless.

It didn’t matter; it felt good, and she was slowly beginning to think that it was worth it.

Zia left the bedroom, feeling a lot more confident than she did when she woke up.

Her eyes feasted on everything they could take in, from the small paintings hanging in the hallway to the expensive art décors arranged neatly in the living room. It smelled more like money inside than an actual home.

But the best part was the picturesque view.

I have a pretty amazing view back at my place.

He wasn’t joking when he mentioned it. It was pretty enthralling, even more captivating than the one she was used to back at Wilder’s. The sun cast a warm glow through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, and beyond the movement of every man standing guard outside, she watched the white puffy clouds slowly floating in the skies.

Satisfied, she went back in search of the kitchen where the sound of clambering pots and pans came from.

When she entered inside, she was willing to bet her entire life savings that he had noticed her without necessarily having to turn back as if the man was aware of his environment twenty-four-seven.

Watching him prepare breakfast had to be the highlight of her morning. He worked the kitchen like he’d worked on her body last night, dominating at every chance he got; precise, steady, and firm, like the man he truly was—in control.

His muscles flexed as he turned waffles on two plates and filled two glasses with what appeared to be freshly squeezed orange juice. Judging by the orange peels on the counter and seeds gathered on one spot, it wasn’t a far guess that he squeezed the oranges himself.

Just then, a memory flashed by. His hands on her breasts, journeying higher and squeezing firmly like he’d wanted to milk her.

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she fanned them.

“Come, sit down,” he ordered gently.

That was another thing she’d noticed about him: his authoritative element, always wanting to be in charge. It didn’t matter how nice he seemed; there was this coldness that hovered around him, that sought to do things his way only. She’d observed it from the moment he and his men stepped into the club to the second he kissed her on his bed.

“Thank you,” she mumbled quietly as she hopped on one of the stools, looking everywhere else but at him. She was suddenly too shy to stare at him or hold his gaze. She feared that if she did, she’d be sucked back into the moments of the previous.

He eyed her, but she avoided his stony stare as they dug into breakfast quietly.

With every bite on her waffle, she’d spare him a glance as if expecting him to make small talk. But the more the seconds passed by, the sooner she realized he wasn’t that type of one-night stand. It was even a miracle that they’d gone past the awkward morning phase, and he’d skipped right on to making breakfast.

“This is super delicious,” she moaned the minute the blend of waffle and syrup hit her tongue. She caught his gaze flicker to her lips and move back up her face. “Thank you so much for breakfast.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he answered over his glass of orange juice.

She blushed. “Too bad I can’t stay long. I have to get to work soon. I’m desperately trying to keep this job by impressing my new bosses. We can’t have them firing me on my second day of work, now, right? That would be absurd.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, dropped his glass, and folded his arms atop the table. “That’s why you’ll resign.”

The waffle went down the wrong way, and Zia choked and sputtered until her eyes stung with hot, blinding tears. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

She saw his brows lift and his expression remain stoic, unmoving. He lifted his shoulders and let them drop nonchalantly, blue eyes holding hers with no emotion.

“You heard me, Zia. You are not going back to work.”

This had to be a joke. A big fucking joke, right ?

She thought she’d woken up in a fairytale land but had to be disappointed that she’d accidentally fallen down the nightmare hole. The stranger she’d been gushing about only minutes ago had, indeed, turned out to be a psychopath.

Her heart raced, and the waffles tasted like sand in her mouth. At least one person had to be rational. She chose to be that person. Time to bring out the rational card and attempt to find out why he was acting mad?

She gulped and dropped the half-eaten waffle on her plate.

“So, let’s say I’m considering not going to work like you’ve said. Can I know what your reasons are?”

“Oh, that.” He leaned forward and, suddenly, wore the brightest smile ever. Even his eyes twinkled. “It’s because we are getting married.”

Zia felt her heartbeat stop like a speeding train braking on the tracks.

It was official.

Lev Nikolai had gone mad.