6. Nik

6

She storms out of the room, leaving me more confused than I can ever remember.

The woman went from practically purring in my arms to cold and distant in a split second.

It is clear that she didn't appreciate my offhand remark about her hypothetical boyfriend.

I can't even pretend to understand how such an inconspicuous question provoked such a sudden and intense reaction from her. I may have been curious about whether there was a man in her life, but my intent was to charm her and convince her to spend the night with me.

Evidently, my flirting skills could use some work.

I wasn't even particularly worried about a potential rival for her affections. I don't concern myself with such things. It doesn't matter to me if another man wants what I desire. If I want something—or someone, I suppose—I take it. As I did tonight.

Maybe I didn't fully get my way as far as she was concerned. I won't deny I wish the night had ended differently. I hoped she would leave the party with me so we could enjoy each other's company for the rest of the evening. Instead, she quickly dismissed me as if I was nothing more than a schoolboy.

She didn't even deem me worthy of her name. I will have no choice but to think of her as the woman whenever she crosses my mind—and I know I will be thinking of her often.

I admit that any man in my position would be perfectly capable of independently learning her name and figuring out how to contact her. But it still stings that I even have to resort to such underhanded tactics. I can't recall the last time I had to ask a girl for her number, let alone her name. They are usually more than eager to volunteer that information.

Her initial unfazed and unimpressed reaction to my pursuit of her had appealed to me at first. But now my pride is a little wounded by how easily she wrote me off after the bout of mind-blowing sex we shared. I'm sure I pleased her in that regard, but it wasn't enough to get me even her first name.

Regardless, all is well when it ends well. Or, at least, well enough. Maybe it's for the best that I unwittingly upset her. She is, after all, a complication I don't have the time or energy to handle.

Even under normal circumstances, I lead a hectic life. Managing the bratva is an all-consuming endeavor. It's not unusual for me to work twelve or fourteen-hour days. Not that I mind it. My job isn't the kind of work that complies with a nine-to-five schedule. Frankly, it isn't just a job but a lifestyle. I am the bratva's pakhan twenty-four-seven, and I like it like that just fine.

On top of that, there is also the matter of my legitimate business enterprises. Those also demand a lot of my time and attention. Of course, my companies are only as important as the use my bratva dealings require of them, but unsurprisingly, the running of a Fortune 500 company isn't exactly light work.

Even on a good day, I don't have the time or the inclination to pursue a romantic relationship. And since Maxim had the misfortune of getting himself involved with Erin McGuire, I haven't had many good days.

During the past year, all my energy has been focused on mending fences with the Irish and avoiding an all-out war with them. I doubt things will dramatically improve soon, with Maxim back on this side of the Atlantic. I love him like the brother I have never had, but I know better than anyone else that he is impulsive and reckless to a fault.

Above all else, I need to stay sharp and alert through the next few months—at least until Patrick McGuire mellows out. A relationship would be a distraction and a weakness I can't afford right now, especially one involving someone as captivatingly disconcerting as she is.

I would hate to drag her into the dangerous mess that my life currently is, anyway. Being the bratva's pakhan is always an unsafe line of work, but things have reached a critical point recently. The situation with the Irish is more delicate than most realize. Patrick McGuire is a treacherous, vicious man. More than ever, I must keep my eyes on the ball.

As dramatic as it may sound, forgetting about her may very well be a matter of life-and-death. I can't afford to be obsessed with a mysterious woman capable of driving me to distraction—not when everything I want is within my reach. At last, there is nothing stopping me from making amends with Maxim, my oldest and dearest friend.

Besides, as the minutes pass and the cloud of lust her presence summoned dissipates, it dawns on me that I know almost nothing about the woman.

For starters, she isn't on the guest list for tonight's gala. Her motives for crashing the party may have been innocent. The event is the talk of the town. Someone as beautiful and charming as she could easily sneak into the museum.

But I can't know for sure. I have as much reason to believe her innocence as I have to assume that she is an operative sent by my enemies to get close to me. McGuire is undoubtedly capable of that, and so much more.

There is just so very little I know about her. I may know that her skin is soft all over and what she sounds like when she comes around my dick, but I can't let our sexual encounter create a false sense of intimacy in me, blinding me to the many, many things I don't know.

Why be so secretive about something so inoffensive as a name, anyway? Was it because she feared I would recognize it? Or maybe because she is married?

The mere thought of her belonging in name and body to another man makes me want to break something or someone. Somehow, I force myself to get my emotions under control.

This entire night almost feels like a fever dream. It isn't like me to be this emotional. I never struggle to act rationally.

I don't think she faked her passion and enjoyment of our shared moment, but without knowing her, how can I be sure?

My awareness of her overwhelming effect on me makes me wonder if my optimistic assumptions about her are simply wishful thinking on my part.

I wanted her so badly, needed her to desire me just as much. Even now, the idea of her enthusiasm being faked is almost more than I can bear.

I have never responded to a woman as I did to her. I quickly gave in to my attraction to her and thought nothing of it, presuming that meeting her tonight was nothing but a serendipitous turn of fate. Every little detail about her seemed designed to bewitch me.

I believe in coincidences as much as the next person, but there is so much I don't know about her and almost nothing I know for sure. I fear I can't even trust my judgment where she is involved.

A man in my position has to be very careful with his trust. It's a commodity I don't part with freely. With as many enemies as I have, I can't afford anything else.

The woman was beautiful and captivating, and I long to see her again, but there is no reason to trust her.

It will haunt me that I will only experience the indescribable pleasure of being inside her once, but perhaps it's for the best that she left me.

If one quick fuck with her over an old writing desk in a dusty room can reduce me to a simpering fool with no common sense, then I must get as far away from her as possible.

Ultimately, it's good that she didn't make it easy for me to find her again. Otherwise, I'm not sure I could resist chasing her, even against my better judgment.

If a few moments with her make me this irrational, I would hate to see what she would turn me into if I had her long-term.

All is well, in the end. I should thank my lucky stars that she left me. I'm free to return to my old self, to my rational ways. In fact, I will return to the party, find Dmitri and Maxim, and enjoy myself with people I actually know and trust.

I won't think about her at all.