Reckless Heir (Underworld Kings)

“Because the date of the wedding has been pushed up, we’ll have to forgo an engagement party.” My father’s voice brought me back to focus and I looked at him.

I chanced a look at him to see his jaw clenched as he looked at the other men. Clearly this change of date and plans made my father upset. I knew how he felt.

And I knew it was all because people would talk, gossip. The rumors would spread on why the wedding had been pushed up, why there wasn’t an engagement party to announce the celebrations officially.

They’d think I was tarnished, tainted. Pregnant out of wedlock, perhaps.

More talking, more tuning out.

“That’s all, Amara,” my father snapped and I straightened, not sure what he had said before that, but knowing a dismissive tone when I heard it.

I turned and started walking toward the door but didn’t realize how close Nikolai was until I felt my shoulder brush against his hard chest. I felt a jolt of electricity move through me but was pretty proud of myself for not letting it visibly affect me as much as I wanted it to. I looked at him then, his gaze locked on me, his expression showing so much… promise.

I left my father’s office and closed the door softly. I took a few steps away from the room and found myself leaning against the wall, my eyes closed, my palms flat behind me on the damask wallpaper, the texture cold and almost grounding me.

I felt dizzy, nauseous. I was getting married one month from today. How had I gone from my father telling me I was part of an arranged marriage to the wedding being thrown together this quickly?

Of course I wasn’t a fool. I knew there were other things in place which had accelerated the date, things I’d never be privy to. Things I probably never wanted to even know about.

I opened my eyes and stared at the arched ceiling, the light from the chandelier in the foyer casting a glow down the hallway. If I went right I’d go back toward the front doors, then take the stairs and lock myself in my room.

Instead I found myself taking a left, wanting to go outside, to get fresh air, to look at the sky and clear my head. I knew Edoardo would find me sooner or later, but when I was at home he gave me a little bit of breathing room, wasn’t right on my heels because of all the cameras and security that my father had in place.

I’d only made it about ten feet before I heard a door behind me open and close, and then heard the heavy sound of footsteps coming up behind me. I was just about to stop and look over my shoulder, assuming it was my father about to berate me for being too “dramatic” in front of Nikolai and Dmitry, but just as I was about to turn I felt a heavy body press against me and use their strength to move me until my back hit the wall.

I was now situated in a corner alcove, the light not penetrating the space so it was filled with shadows blocking the view of anyone who happened to pass by.

I gasped and craned my neck to look into a pair of bright blue eyes, Nikolai’s expression hard, unreadable. Although he used his body to corral me where he wanted, he wasn’t touching me any longer, now about a foot between us, his body heat slamming into me and making it hard to breathe.

“W—what are you doing?” My voice was barely audible, nothing but a breathless sound leaving my parted lips. My heart was thundering in my chest, threatening to burst free of my ribs, and I felt jittery, adrenaline pulsing through my veins, the flight or fight instinct running hard in me.

He tipped his head to the side as he looked down at me, the shadows wrapping around the sharp planes of his square-cut jaw. And still he didn’t speak, didn't answer me.

My entire body jolted when I saw him lift his arm, and then my gaze was latched onto his hand, which rose higher and higher until his hand was close to my face. But he didn’t touch me, not for long seconds. I stared into his eyes, not able to breathe or think.

It was when I felt his fingers gently stroking along my upper arm that I snapped my head down, not even realizing he’d moved his hand back down.

“Not breaking his hand for touching you was really hard, kukolka.” His voice was low and deep, sinister in the way he said the words. “Yes, that’s what you are, isn’t it?” It sounded like he spoke to himself, murmuring the words low and deep and so very heady. “My little doll.” He looked at my mouth again. “Krasavitsa,” he murmured. “Beauty.”

I looked up but saw he was watching his hand on my arm, still felt his thumb brushing back and forth. He lifted his focus back to my face then and I held my breath.

“I showed more self-control in front of your father than I ever have in my life.” Still the brushing of his thumb back and forth. “But my brother said I needed to be on my best behavior and all that.” Back and forth. Back and forth. He slowly grinned. “First impressions and all that.” His accent seemed deeper, richer now, his thumb still sweeping over my fabric covered arm. “But he shouldn’t have put his hands on you, father or not,” he ground out, his jaw clenching as I felt his anger. “I’m the only one who will ever touch you.” He leaned in close so our mouths were almost touching. “But only to make you come.”

I gasped in shock at his words just as he took a step back, his hand falling from my arm. I found myself lifting my hand and rubbing where he’s just been touching me. Even through the fabric of my dress it felt like my skin was scorched in the best way.

In a way his touch, his words and his body heat made me feel dirty and wrong and... feelings I wanted more of.

“Until dinner, kukolka.” And with an arrogant grin he turned and left me leaning against the wall still shrouded in shadows and wondering what in the hell had just happened.

Chapter

Eight

Nikolai

I brought the glass tumbler to my mouth and drained the rest of it as I stared at Amara Bianchi. She was a sight, a fucking gorgeous, innocent female that I couldn’t wait to dirty up.

Although I knew she was a virgin—something her disgusting piece of shit father had boasted about, as if that were the cherry on the top of this arranged fucking marriage. It didn’t matter if she’d been with anyone before. This was a marriage of convenience only.