Kingpin (Bride of the Billionaire)

I wonder if she feels it too.

I realize that the hallway has all but cleared out. We’re alone. When I’m right up on her, I smell her perfume, gently masking her natural scent. Closing my eyes, I breathe her in and imagine just what it would be like to wake up to that every morning.

Her hair is a bit of a mess, which I love. She looks like she’s just been fucked. I want to thread my fingers through it and force her pretty little face down on my cock. God, I want her.

I can’t resist. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way

. I reach out and gently finger a string of her hair.

“Hello,” I say softly. “That was quite the performance—”

But I don’t even have time to get my compliment out. She shrieks, whirls around, and sprays a stream of mace at my face.

2

Ella

“Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing!?”

my would-be assailant shouts and leaps back from my incredible self-defense system I recently purchased when the squad announced we’d be going out on the road one last time. The other girls laughed at me—told me I was paranoid—but who’s laughing now?

Of course I never thought I’d be using it to defend myself against Sasha Kumarin, the notorious Russian mobster, aka the Ice Man.

“Help!” I shout to the empty corridor. “Somebody!”

Instantly, there’s a hand over my mouth and a vise-like arm around me. His strength is incredible; he could crush my ribs if he wanted to. I have no doubt.

“Quiet,” he growls. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me right now,” I counter.

“Don’t lie. I know my own strength, and you’re an athletic girl. You’re fine.” How is he talking to me? Didn’t I just mace him? “I’m going to let you go now. Please don’t scream or run. I don’t want to have to do anything unpleasant.”

His arm relaxes, he removes his hand, and I take a step back from him.

I could run, if not for his eyes. Cold and blue, they hold me in place, almost as though the Ice Man has turned me to ice.

He gives me nothing. I’m pretty good at reading people, but it’s as though he’s hiding behind a mask—a mask of terrifying sexiness. His face is hard, carved by the dangerous life he’s lived. Everyone in Los Angeles knows the stories of the feared Russian crime boss and his exploits.

“Isn’t doing unpleasant things your m.o.?”

“To unpleasant people who deserve it,” he replies. “Not innocent little things like you.”

“I’m hardly innocent,” I counter. “I’m a cheerleader.”

“No, you are,” he replies without hesitation. He sees right through me. “You’re not like the other girls. You’re different.”

He must have dodged my mace, because his eyes aren’t red, and he’s not coughing like he’s about to die. I suddenly feel small and stupid standing before him. My self-defense protocol didn’t work. If he’d wanted to, I could be in the back of his car now being taken to who-knows-where.

I can almost feel his gaze as it moves down my body like a dangerous snake. I’ve never been more self-conscious in my life. His eyes linger on my hips, making me wonder if I spilled something on my skirt, then continue down my legs.

“Your shoe’s untied,” he remarks flatly.

“I was trying to tie it when you interrupted me,” I counter. I start to lean down, but he moves first and gets on his knees and takes my laces into his hands.

Is this really happening? Is Sasha Kumarin tying my shoe for me? I must be dreaming.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m not going to propose to you.”