You Don't Own Me (The Russian Don 1)

Noah answers and we get into the lift. He presses the necessary buttons and stands quietly with his hands clasped in front of him until we reach our destination, one floor below the restaurant. The doors open to a bustling kitchen. We walk through it, go through a swinging door, and enter the club.

The club is very dark and futuristic. The walls are black with downward flowing digital green rain-like graphics featured in the Matrix movie series. We skirt the edges of a dance floor with a similar green code flashing under it and get to a sectioned off area marked VIP.

I see Zane sitting at a round black banquette. His legs are spread wide and he looks relaxed and totally in control of his environment. No matter how much I don’t want it to, my heart does a little excited flip at the sight of him. He is on the phone. He raises a finger and Noah makes a stopping gesture with his palm to me. We wait until he gets off the phone and I am seething with resentment before Noah tells me to move forward. I do, until I’m standing in front of Zane.

‘There you are,’ I say coldly.

In the darkness of that club Zane’s eyes glow as they move down my body. He slides his arms along the back of the banquette and says, ‘Take off your coat.’

I shrug out of my coat casually as if I wanted to and was not responding to his instruction. He smiles, slow, sexy, possessive, admiring, tigerish.

‘Have a seat,’ he invites, tipping his head slightly to the right of him. I sit where he has indicated.

‘Want a White Russian?’ he asks, brushing his finger on the bare skin of my back.

I feel goose pimples rise up on my skin. Here our worlds meet. Always. ‘No, thanks. I think I had my fill of White Russian yesterday,’ I say coldly.

His eyes flash. ‘So what’ll it be today?’

‘Perhaps a cosmopolitan.’

He makes a quick fan-like gesture with his fingers and a black clad waiter with a round silver tray materializes before us.

‘Same again and one cosmopolitan,’ he says to him before turning to me. ‘I heard you spent the afternoon bribing my staff.’

‘I wasn’t bribing them. I was showing my appreciation for their services,’ I explain serenely.

He smiles. ‘How strange. When I start buying people expensive presents it’s always deemed as bribery and corruption.’

‘Well, not knowing all the facts I can’t comment on your situation.’ My tone is even and nonchalant. If I can just keep this up.

‘I’ve increased the limit on your card by the way.’

My eyebrows rise. ‘Does this mean every time I spend more you’re just going to keep increasing my limit?’

‘When it gets outrageous I’ll let you know.’

‘What do you consider outrageous?’

‘Get there and I’ll tell you.’

‘No, seriously. I’ve never been someone’s sex toy before so I have no idea what would be considered going over the top. What’s a sex toy worth in today’s market?’

He has been indulgent and amused until now. Now, I see a tightening of his lips. ‘You should learn to quit while you’re ahead, rybka,’ he advises.

‘Rybka? You keep calling me that. What does it mean?’

He lets his hand brush my nape. His fingers are warm and distracting. ‘It’s a Russian endearment. It means little fish.’

I crinkle my nose. ‘Calling someone a smelly old fish is an endearment in Russia?’

‘I said little fish. Not dead fish.’

Our drinks arrive and he lifts his glass. ‘To my rybka,’ he says.

‘Hang on one second.’ I take out my phone and Google Russian translations. I find the word I am looking for, put my phone down, and raise my glass. ‘To my zaika,’ I say.

He half grins. ‘That means bunny.’

‘I know,’ I say coolly. ‘It was a toss up between bunny and little mouse.’

‘In that case I will wear my endearment with pride.’

I take a sip of my drink. Nice cosmo. Just then a souped up, club version of Elle King’s Ex’s & Oh’s comes on. I put my glass down and look at him. ‘I love this song. Do you want to dance?’

‘I don’t dance,’ he says staring at me, his body language watchful.

‘Oh, that’s a shame.’

‘Why?’

I shrug. ‘Because it’s fun.’

I’m so involved in my conversation with him I don’t notice the couple who are standing next to us until Zane lifts his head and smiles. I look up at a stunningly beautiful couple. The man is without doubt the most handsome man I have ever seen. He looks like he’s a three dimensional photo of one of those impossibly good looking models after they’ve been through a three hour make-up session and been airbrushed for another three hours. As for the woman, she is exotically and extraordinarily beautiful, with blue-black hair and very pale skin. Her eyes are enormous and as green as grass.