Chapter Eight

Brooke

I don't care what Ilya thinks . I repeated that sentence to myself at least one hundred times from the moment I woke up on Friday morning. I repeated the words when I decided to curl my hair rather than fasten it into my usual bun, and again when I dressed carefully in a dress that highlighted all the shades of green in my eyes. I told myself I was wearing my nude stilettos because I needed the confidence to face him without succumbing to anger—or tears—and no other reason.

As I approached Club Envy, I felt a sense of foreboding when I looked at the darkened club, as a venue for our meeting it didn't look very promising or open. The front door was locked, but I heard noises on the other side. I knocked with the side of my fist, impatient and annoyed because it was Ilya's idea to meet here, probably to screw with my head, and he was nowhere to be found.

The door opened abruptly and a man with black hair and pale blue eyes appeared, dark brows pulled into a steep frown. "What is it?"

"I'm Brooke Watts, from Montrose Accounting. Mr. Kuznetsov asked me to meet him here," I looked down at my phone, "ten minutes ago." I didn't bother to hide my annoyance.

The man nodded and pressed his back against the door as he waved me inside. "Things are busy today," he said, as if that was an explanation.

"That is the nature of business," I snapped, and looked around at the newest nightclub taking the city by storm. It was black and red, leather and velvet all around, tacky but high-end exclusive club tacky. There were men and women dressed in all black rushing around like the club would open in an hour rather than eight hours from now.

If the buzz was anything to go by, Ilya had a success on his hands. Not that I cared, but the more money he made, the better it would be for Montrose. And as long as I kept him happy, Ruben would pay for my last year of college, and I'd have my degree.

Everybody was a winner.

The darkness of the nightclub gave way to a dimly lit hall that opened up into an office that was bright and airy. In the middle of the room behind a large, imposing desk sat the man I was here to see and the reason for my poor, battered heart.

"Brooke." He flashed a wide and welcoming smile as he stood and motioned me inside. "I'm glad you made it, though I would be happier if you were on time, this is getting to be a habit of yours."

I glared at him, shooting daggers at his handsome face and expensive suit. "I was here on time, early in fact. Too bad I was left waiting outside because you didn't bother to tell anyone you had a meeting."

His smile faded. "Brooke, I'm sorry."

I brushed off his attempt at an apology. "Let's just get this over with." This particular apology wouldn't help, and if anything, it would only remind me of other things he should be sorry for, but didn't know enough about to actually be sorry.

"If you insist."

"I do." I pulled out a few notes I jotted down and kept my gaze fixated on those scribbled words. "So far, everything looks good with your books. Be more conscientious about receipts and business expenses. In fact, feel free to send them to me at the moment of purchase so even if you lose them, they're recorded on your books."

"So, contact you anytime, then?"

I rolled my eyes. "Feel free to email me at any time and I will make sure that your expenses are reflected accurately in your ledger." My spine was ramrod straight, my lips pinched into a thin line, and my gaze anywhere but on Ilya.

"You hate me," he stated matter of factly. "Why?"

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Kuznetsov. I am just here to keep you updated on your financial accounts." That sounded believable. Right?

"Stop with the Mr. Kuznetsov bullshit, Brooke."

I sighed and eventually let my gaze meet his. "What would you like me to call you?"

"I want you to stop treating me like a fucking stranger!" He smacked his palm against the desk, the sound loud in the spacious office.

I swallowed the smart-ass comment on the tip of my tongue. "We are strangers. I thought I knew you once, but I was wrong. I think it's better for both our sakes to pretend as if we just met."

"Eight years seems rather a long time to hang onto a teenage grudge."

But it wasn't some teenage grudge about being abandoned by the person I gave my virginity to. It was everything that followed—the upheaval of my life, the fact that I had to raise my child alone. Though he obviously didn't know any of this. "Perhaps your past behavior is coloring my impression of you. But I am not treating you any different to how I would treat any new client of mine."

His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. "You'd treat a new client so coldly?"

I gave a sharp nod. "I would keep a professional barrier between us, yes. But you insist on meeting whenever the mood strikes, so here we are." This was getting us nowhere, so I stood, ready to go. "I've prepared a document for you to view regarding this week's activities, including what items are missing. I'd appreciate it if you could get those to me as soon as you can. Well, I think that concludes our business for today, I can see myself out. Thank you for your time." I turned and made my way towards the door.

"Brooke," his tone low and menacing. "Stop."

I didn't want to stop, but I turned around and Ilya was right there, less than a foot from me. He was so close that every detail of his blue gaze was visible. I held on to my anger because it was more useful to me. If I let it go, then I had no way to fight the attraction I still had for this man after all these years.

"What's going on with you?" he asked, gripping my shoulder with one hand while the other traced the line of my jaw and down my neck. Across my collarbone. "Just talk to me."

A shaky breath escaped because holy hell, the connection, the arousal, the sexual tension between us was even more potent than ever. I couldn't deny that, but I didn't have to act on it. I looked down at my feet, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Nothing to tell you."

"Bullshit." He suddenly grabbed my hair forcing me to look at him. "The open hostility is new."

My heart was racing, if I was in my right mind I would have pushed him away and told Ruben I wouldn't deal with him. This was tantamount to assault, yet I couldn't ignore the heat that rushed through me, igniting something I thought was long extinguished. I fought to regain my composure, "Is it? Or is this just the consequences of your own actions?"

"What did I do to make you hate me so much?" His grip tightened, pulling my head back until my throat was completely exposed to him, and he licked a trail of heat from the hollow of my throat all the way up to my chin.

"Ilya," I moaned, I tried to push him away, but instead found myself gripping his shoulders tight.

"That's better," he practically purred. "Now I am Ilya, eh?" He let go of my hair and I tried to catch my breath.

He clearly enjoyed seeing how quickly I came undone in his presence, and before I could come to my senses he lazily trailed a finger down my neck before his hand came to rest between my thighs. "How quickly the past rears its ugly head."

Stop this. Stop him . I tried, backing up, to put some distance between us, but Ilya was right there. Feeling his touch once more had opened the floodgates, and the memories of our one night together filled my mind.

"Are you now resorting to running from me?"

"I never ran, you did," I shot back, and turned away from him as his knuckles brushed against my swollen, needy folds.

"It could not be helped," he whispered, and took my mouth in a quick, hard kiss that was over far too soon. "But I have never forgotten you." He dropped to his knees, tossing one of my legs over his shoulder and he pulled my panties to the side. "The taste of you has lingered on my tongue for eight years, Brooke."

I wanted to believe him, but even as his tongue swiped over my pussy, I couldn't. My hips bucked and one hand tightened in his blond hair but still I didn't believe him. Didn't trust him. I knew what this was, it was the residual chemistry we had years ago. Nothing more.

"Ah, fuck!" My hips bucked against his mouth as he licked me thoroughly, letting his tongue flick over my swollen clit, one finger and then two thrusting into me and pushing me closer and closer to the ultimate pleasure.

Ilya grunted against me, licking me until my legs quivered and shook, threatening to collapse with every swipe of his tongue, but his big hands kept me upright. "You taste just as good as I remember," he murmured, and stood up so we were face to face once again, "I have thought of you often, Brooke."

I leaned against his desk trying to catch my breath, my clit was throbbing, and I was desperate for release. I wanted to hate him, but I wanted him inside me even more. "Bullshit," I said.

Instead of arguing, he just smirked as if he could read my mind and knew just how much I needed him. Though by the bulge at the front of his pants he wanted me just as much. Before I knew what was happening, he was on me again pushing me back on the desk, his mouth crushing my lips, his tongue hungry as his hand pushed up my dress and pulled down my panties. I kicked them off, as I heard him unzip his trousers. I was soaked and ready as he slid deep inside, his cock surged into me until I was completely full.

"Fuck," he grunted when he was fully seated within me, pulsing until my body adjusted to his size. "So fucking tight."

Of course I was, I hadn't been with anyone in a very long time. Long enough that I didn't even think of sex as a possibility anymore, which was why I was so susceptible to his so-called charms. My body was one gigantic ball of nerve endings as his thick cock pounded into me furiously.

He gripped my ass and pulled me towards him, adjusting the angle so he could fuck me harder. I heard a crash as something flew off the desk. Sex hadn't ever been a necessity for me like it was for most adults, I'd been too focused on raising my daughter and paying the bills, but holy shit, the way Ilya teased me and played my body was like a drug, dizzying and intoxicating, and soon enough my legs wobbled with the onslaught of pleasure.

"Oh," I grunted as pleasure raced up my legs and settled in my belly before it exploded out to my arms. "Fuck."

"Let go, Brooke. Come all over my cock," he urged, and that was what I needed to let go and succumb to the endless waves of pleasure. "Yeah, that's a good girl."

My body shook and jerked and I clung to Ilya's shoulders like he was someone I could trust even though the only thing I could trust him with was my pleasure. My temporary pleasure.

"So fucking good," he whispered as his cock jerked and he exploded inside me. His hips ground against me, pressing him even deeper and pulling aftershocks that made my body tremble from head to toe. "So. Good."

I had only started to come down from the orgasmic high, when a knock sounded at Ilya's office door.

I froze and pushed him away, tugging my skirt down to cover myself as a voice called through the door, "We have a problem, Ilya."

With a dissatisfied grunt, Ilya scrubbed a hand over his face. "I will be out to deal with it shortly." He waited until the footsteps receded, and tucked his cock into his pants, straightening his clothes until he looked as if nothing had happened.

Because in his mind, clearly nothing had happened.

He looked back at me with a smirk. "Thank you for the report." He bent down and picked up my panties, I held my hand out for them, but instead he grinned and stuffed them in his pocket. Then turned on his heels leaving me alone in his office.

I hated Ilya Kuznetsov. I hated him as much as I once thought I loved him.

I gave myself a minute—okay, three minutes—to cry for letting him treat me like garbage once again and then I got angry.

Once I'd pulled myself together, I wiped away all traces of him in the nearby bathroom and then fled from the nightclub. I continued to berate myself on the way back to the office for giving in to him, and to my own baser needs.

It won't happen again , I promised myself. No matter how good it was or how magnetic the pull between us, it couldn't happen again. Ilya wasn't the man for me, which meant he wasn't worth the risk to my heart.

He was my past. Ancient history. And it was best for my peace of mind and my daughter's that he remained just that. Any thought of telling him about her had gone, he could treat me like garbage, but I was not having him upsetting my daughter and breaking her heart when he eventually lost interest in her.