Chapter Twenty-Four

Brooke

I 'd woken early this morning feeling raring to go—possibly it was the relief at learning that Karina was safe.

Yesterday, after Ilya had made some phone calls, he brought me a burner phone and said I could make any calls I needed. He gave me privacy while I did it, so I called Ryan. They were still on vacation at his wife's family's house in the Hamptons and Karina was having a whale of a time with her cousins. They were due back on Sunday, I wasn't sure how this was going to play out so I asked Ryan if he could have her for a few more days. I said that something had come up at work, and I had to go away on an urgent business trip. He'd sounded suspicious at first, I guess as my older brother he always watched out for me—but then said that it would be okay, and to call him once I knew what was happening with my schedule.

"Fuck, what smells so good?" Ilya's deep voice reverberated against my back as he wrapped his arms around my waist. I was wearing nothing but one of his undershirts which meant there was just a thin layer of fabric between us and feeling him pressing against me was waking up another appetite.

I laughed. "It's called food. You might not know this, but there are things other than steak and potatoes here in America."

He laughed and it vibrated through my chest. "I cook steak very well and I believe in sticking to what you're good at."

"Afraid to fail?"

"Afraid? No, just averse to it. And how did you learn to cook?"

"Oh, I always—" I began, but then realized I was about to tell him about Karina. I realized I needed to tell him about her, but I still couldn't even begin to think how I'd go about doing it. "It was either learn to cook or live off take outs." It wasn't a lie, which meant I only felt a small amount of guilt for ignoring the look of confusion on his face.

"Well, it smells incredible. Am I suitably dressed for lunch?" He motioned to his beautiful, shirtless body and my gaze raked over him, appreciating the tattoos, the muscles, and the surprisingly bronzed skin.

"That happens to be the exact dress code of this establishment." He was even more beautiful as a man than he'd been in college. He'd added more muscle, but more than anything it was the confidence he wore as easily as he wore his expensive suits. It was more irresistible than I realized, especially when he was showing me glimpses of the Ilya I'd given my heart—and my body—to all those years ago.

We sat down for lunch on opposite sides of the table so that we were face to face.

"This is good. Very good."

"It's just a simple stir-fry. Lots of veggies, plus plenty of flavor." It was a working mom's go-to meal because it was easy and colorful.

"A very good simple stir-fry," he shot back with a teasing smile.

"Thanks." I rolled my eyes, but that didn't stop the smile that spread across my face. Why was it so easy being with him now? Was I suffering from Stockholm Syndrome? Because, like it or not, I was not free to leave. I had to believe him when he said my life was in danger, but whatever the reason, he was essentially my captor. My breathtakingly handsome, sexy as hell captor. When had my smalltown life gotten so crazy?

Ilya's laugh sounded and pulled me from my thoughts. "I'm almost afraid to ask what was going through your mind just now."

I shrugged. "Just another episode of worst-case scenario, that's all."

His smile vanished. "I'd like to ask you something, but feel free to say no."

"Ask." Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than hiding out because his uncle wanted him to kill me.

"I have some accounts, not related to my business, that I need someone with an eye for detail to look at it. You're here and I trust you."

I looked away as guilt threatened to overwhelm me. I didn't want Ilya to trust me, not when I was keeping the biggest possible secret from him. But I shook it off because now wasn't the time for guilt, it was time to figure this shit out so I could get back home to my daughter. "Let me look at them." There was a small punch in my chest that I chose to ignore, chose to believe that it wasn't disappointment over the fact that soon this love bubble would burst, and I would leave the cocoon of this penthouse and Ilya and go back to my regular life.

He set a laptop in front of me and pointed out several files. "These are the ones that look suspicious to me, but feel free to look at everything. And take notes of anything that seems off to you. Please."

I risked a look at his face and saw that he was disturbed by what he saw or suspected. "Sure, no problem. Just one question."

Ilya nodded.

"Is anything I see here, going to put me in even more danger?"

His lips pulled into a grim smile. "There is nothing more dangerous than a bratva leader wanting you dead, Brooke. But these are numerical accounts with no names associated with them, so I think you'll be fine."

"Okay, give me a few hours."

He left me alone at the kitchen island. He cleaned up after lunch, then the place went silent. Or maybe I was just too lost in the numbers to hear anything but the churning of the wheels in my head.

Something was definitely off about these accounts. I didn't know exactly what it was that I was looking at, but based on what I did know, I had an idea. Thanks to the forensic accounting classes I'd taken, as well as the limited information I had on Ilya's line of work, I also knew what I was likely looking at.

And it wasn't good.

"That's not what I was hoping to see," Ilya said, clearly frustrated.

I looked up at him and realized it was completely dark outside, which meant more than a couple of hours had passed. I stood and stretched. "This is just my face."

His lips twitched, but he was too wound up to smile. "You found something?"

"I did, but I'm not sure if it means anything nefarious. I'll just tell you what I think, and we can go from there, okay?"

"Yes. Okay."

"Good." I grabbed the laptop and went to the sofa. My ass was numb after sitting for hours on his bar stool at the kitchen island. "They might look good, but they aren't comfortable for long periods of time."

"Noted," he answered, and that time I detected a hint of a smile in his voice. "Okay, hit me with it."

I laughed nervously and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "Alright." I pointed to the screen. "It looks like these two accounts actually belong to the same person. Each time this one," I pointed to the top number, "makes a withdrawal, the same amount is deposited into this account." I pointed to the other number. "It goes on and on for years. And this second account makes one large deposit each month. Does that help?"

Ilya nodded, but he didn't say a word for several long minutes as he looked at the accounts, going back more than fifteen years. "Shit."

"Ilya, are you all right?"

"Yes. No. Hell, I don't fucking know, Brooke." He shook his head and scrubbed one hand over his face. "These accounts belong to some of the men my father considered loyal soldiers." He set the laptop on the coffee table and groaned. "Now I'm not so sure. About anything."

He looked so distraught, almost heartbroken, and I felt bad about that. I wanted to comfort him, but I wasn't sure if he needed comfort or if he needed to break something, so I climbed into his lap and stroked his hair. "I'm sorry."

He looked up at me with a small smile. "You have nothing to be sorry about. In fact, I should be thanking you." He tried for a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and then he took my hand and flipped it over, pressing a gentle kiss on my wrist. "You gave me the answers I was looking for."

"But they weren't the answers you wanted."

"I did not want one answer or another, I just wanted it to not be true. But the facts are the facts. I appreciate your honest assessment."

I couldn't meet his eyes. The way he tossed around these words, trust and honesty, was like a kick in the gut because of the secret I was keeping from him. And now that things felt different between us, I felt worse for not telling him about Karina. Then again, the more I learned about his life and now this level of disloyalty and danger, the more I was scared about the implications. When he first returned, I'd been worried he'd want to take her away from me, that somehow the courts might rule in favor of a father who was wealthy and connected. But now there was a whole new level of worry that he brought into our lives.

"I am not sure how I could have done this without you," he said quietly.

I flashed a smile I didn't feel. "Ruben would have found this as well, possibly faster than me."

"Possibly, but Ruben isn't as pretty."

I laughed and it was a genuine laugh. I knew I was wading into dangerous waters with Ilya right now. We were locked up in his penthouse and the connection we'd shared years ago had returned quicker than I could have possibly expected. This was all starting to feel a little too real. It was terrifying that I was offering comfort to him when he had kidnapped me, despite his reasons.

Even though I knew this was a mistake, that the only way this could end was with my heart broken into millions of pieces, I sat on his lap and stroked his soft hair. I offered him physical comfort because I wanted to, because I needed to.

I offered it because he was Ilya and he'd claimed my heart when I was too young and na?ve to protect it.

His hands gripped my hips, and he turned me so we were face to face, my thighs straddling him. "Brooke." My name fell from his lips on a low, feral growl as he ripped his undershirt from my body. "I need you."

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. "I'm right here, Ilya." His words shouldn't have pleased me like they did, not when I knew how this would end, but they did.

He palmed my breasts with his big hands, squeezing them right up to the edge of pain. He flicked his tongue over one nipple while his thumb grazed over the other in a slow back and forth motion that made it painfully hard. "So fucking responsive," he murmured before he switched to use his tongue on my other nipple.

My hips bucked forward, right up against where he was long and hard between my thighs, adding needed pressure against my clit. "Ilya," I moaned, and rocked my hips against his cock.

He groaned and squeezed me tighter, playing with my nipples while he kissed and licked the space between my breasts. He slipped a finger between us, adding even more friction to my sensitive clit. "I need to feel that pussy wrapped tight around me, Brooke. Now."

"Yes." I slid off his lap and removed my panties before I tossed them at his chest.

He fisted the fabric in his hand as he brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. "I smell how wet you are for me." His gaze collided with mine and he fisted his cock, pumping long and hard. "Come wrap that pussy around my cock."

There was a hard tug deep in my core as I knelt on the sofa and leaned forward to nip his bottom lip. I hovered over his long, thick cock while he continued stroking himself. His gaze was fixed on me as I lowered myself, inch by delicious inch until he was buried deep. "Fuck, yes. Ilya," I cried out. His cock was so hard and already pulsing within me.

"So fucking tight. So good." His mouth was on my breasts again, licking the nipples and nibbling the soft flesh around them.

My head fell back as the pleasure overwhelmed me and my hips began to move, in slow circles at first.

"Look at me," he commanded in a low, rough voice.

My eyes snapped to his, a deep clear blue that pulled me in and held me captive while my hips moved faster and faster, as if he was commanding my body. Our gazes stayed locked as I rode his cock, slowly at first, but as my pleasure built, so did my speed and then my intensity.

"Yes, ride me harder." His hands went to my ass, gripping me tight and guiding me faster and harder until I took even more of him within my body. "So fucking good." The way he looked at me, so full of something I refused to believe, only heightened my arousal.

I could feel every inch of him, every vein, every pulse as his thickness filled me so very completely. "Oh god," I groaned, and put my hands to his shoulders and rode him harder and faster. I took him so deep, it felt as if he was becoming a part of me.

"Brooke." Ilya grunted my name over and over, leaning forward to flick a tongue over my nipples or to suck one into his mouth while I rode him like my life depended on it. "Brooke," he called out again, but this time it was a warning.

I smiled. "I can feel you," I panted. "Thicker. Harder."

Together, we worked frantically until he was so thick and hard that every stroke pushed me closer and closer until I clamped down hard around him and my orgasm exploded out of me. It was fast and powerful, and I was out of control, leaving Ilya in charge of it.

He flipped me over and fucked me harder and deeper, puncturing my soul as he prolonged my orgasm with his frantic speed. Over and over, he pounded into me until he stilled, and the heat of his cock filled me up. "Brooke!" His hips pumped in slow, awkward jerks as he rode out the last of his pleasure while mine continued in aftershocks that were nearly as strong as the orgasm. "Holy fuck." He kissed me like I was his, like we fucked like this all of the time.

Like it was normal.

Like this was real.

I accepted his kisses even as I tried to shield my heart from what I knew was happening. I was falling for him all over again, only this time I was older and wiser and I knew better.

But when he pulled back from the kiss and smiled at me like I was his everything, I started to wonder if he felt something too. "Ilya," I began, just as he slipped two fingers inside me.

"I cannot get enough of you, Brooke. You are mine," he said, and kissed me while his fingers pumped in and out of me quickly, bringing on one last orgasm that was so powerful I fell asleep almost immediately.

Images of him, of us and the life we could have together populated my dreams.

Even my subconscious knew I was fucked.