You Don't Know Me (The Russian Don 3)

I look her in the eye. ‘With my life.’

She exhales and I feel the tension drain out of her body.

I wind down the window.

One of the men lays his boxer’s arm on the top of the car and leans in. He smells of bacon and beer. ‘How’s it going, Craig?’ I ask.

His sparkling blue eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘Mornin’ to ya, Jake, m’boy. No news is good news.’

Forty-two

Tasha Evanoff

After Jake and the man exchanged a few words in a dialect so thick I barely could make out what they were saying, the crowd of intimidating, dirty, staring people, who I assumed must be the inhabitants of the caravans in the fields on either side of us, part to allow the car through.

The car comes to a stop in front of a plain bungalow with a red roof. Noah is sitting outside smoking a cigarette. To my great relief he looks well. When he sees the car he flicks away his cigarette and comes up to us as we get out.

‘I’ll be having a beer with the boys, but I’ll be back to pick her up in an hour,’ Jake says as he closes his door.

‘Thanks,’ Noah says.

‘No problem,’ he throws over his shoulder, his long, muscular legs already walking away.

I stand there, my chin slightly dipped, looking at Noah. In the cold light of the day I feel suddenly shy. A weak autumn sun struggles out from under grey clouds and shines down on us. He crooks his finger at me.

I pretend to look around, then raise my eyebrows, and point to my chest.

Grinning, he nods.

God, I love him so much. I run to him, my heart so stuffed with love it feels like it will burst. He takes my hand and twirls me around. ‘How come you’re more beautiful every time I see you?’

I grin like some kind of fool, and he gathers me in his arms and kisses me. Right there on the concrete driveway. A long, slow burning kiss that just goes on and on.

Oh, Noah, Noah, Noah.

By the time he lifts his head, my cheeks are hot and my lips are tingling.

‘I love you,’ I whisper.

‘I’d burn everything I own down to the ground for you.’

‘I’ve burnt everything I own to the ground for you,’ I say.

He caresses my face with his thumbs. ‘I want to wake up with a kiss like that every morning,’ he says.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really. Can you do that?’

I nod.

‘Good. I’ll hold you to that.’

‘Tell me,’ I say with a flirtatious grin. ‘When did you first know you loved me?’

‘Hard to say. I wanted you for so long, the lines are blurred.’

‘What kind of boring answer is that?’ I complain. ‘I can’t tell my grandchildren that. Make up something better.’

‘All right. I loved you before I was born, but I was forced to forget you because the pain of not having you was too unbearable, but all that time I knew that you were out there waiting for me. Many summers ago I saw you lying by the pool and I thought it was you, but I couldn’t be sure. Until the day you showed up in a pink cardigan and I knew, my magic had returned.’

I gasp. ‘That’s beautiful.’

‘I have so much to tell and find out from you, but I’m dying to fuck you,’ he groans.

‘What makes you think I’m not?’ I ask cheekily.

He laughs and takes me into the bungalow. It’s basic inside with cheap furniture and two rooms leading off from the hallway. Through one of the open doors I can see the bedroom with an unmade bed.

I look deep into his eyes. ‘We’ll have to be very careful. I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Fuck being careful. That’s for the others. Not us. Now will you take that dress off before I go mad?’

With a grin I unzip my dress and let it fall to the ground. Underneath I have on a skin-tight nurse’s outfit and garters. His eyes widen.

‘Well, well,’ he says softly.

‘Are you staring at me, Mr. Abramovich?’

‘I’m always staring at you, Beautiful,’ he purrs, his eyes swirling with appreciation and hot desire.

I flutter my eyelashes. ‘So you don’t think I look too slutty?’

‘Never.’

I lick my lips lusciously. ‘You’re not just saying that?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nope.’

‘You’re too kind, Mr. Abramovich.’

‘Actually, I’m not feeling particularly kind right now.’

I take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. I go to the bed and pretend to plump the pillows, bending from the waist to reach for them so he can see my naked bottom. I turn around and his face is a picture.

‘Come and lie down on the bed so I can take your temperature. You may have a fever,’ I say.

‘Yeah, let’s call it a fever.’

‘Now come over here quickly. The doctor will be here soon. I don’t want to lose my license to practice over this … episode. You won’t tell anyone, will you?’