Chapter 2

Alexei

Am I actually married? It seems to be the case, since my bride and I are currently being driven to our hotel suite for the honeymoon.

I don't know what to make of my new wife—seriously, what the fuck? How the hell did I end up married? Why did I agree to this, again?

Right, my mountain of debt is now magically leveled to the ground. I'm free of it at last, but got shackled to a stranger in the process.

No, not shackled. Strangely, I don't feel like that at all. Sera isn't anything like how she was described to me.

I spent the last three days of my bachelorhood trying to find out information about her. The youngest daughter of the Novikov family was supposed to be mediocre at best in all ways. At only twenty, she still hasn't been given any real responsibilities in the family, which led me to believe she was somehow incapable or incompetent. She was supposed to be mousy, plain, and weak.

When I saw her making her way down into the church, her small form swathed from head to toe in acres of white fabric, my heart sank. I know a full veil is just some traditional thing—most women in those old-fashioned churches cover their hair in services anyway, wedding or not—but in my mind I thought brides were all keeping their dark secrets until the last possible second.

Then Ivan got all that gauze away from her face and my heart skipped a beat. Not plain at all. Her hair was a dozen shades of tawny chestnut and caramel, her pale blue eyes piercing straight through me as our gazes met for the first time.

Seraphina Novikov, now somehow Seraphina Grishin, is gorgeous. Stunning. Breathtaking, even. I turn to look at her now, and she once again meets my eyes. Just like throughout the ceremony and lavish reception, it's like she sees right through me.

I wonder for a moment if she's a bit shell shocked, which makes me wonder if her father might have embellished the truth in some way when he told me Sera was getting antsy to settle down.

"Well, we made it," I say.

"Yes," she answers, her face remaining passive and still even though she holds my gaze.

She doesn't seem afraid of me at all, which is the opposite of what I'd come to expect after what I'd heard. The longer she looks at me, the more my skin starts to itch with the need to claim her in some way. Put my mark on her indelibly, because I feel like she's already marked me in some bizarre way. I drop my eyes to her lips, full and glossy and set in a still line. Almost determined, somehow.

This little wife of mine is the polar opposite of what I was expecting. To be honest, it's throwing me for a loop. I entered this agreement to repay my father's debts, not to start getting curious about what married life might be like with someone like Sera.

My gaze drops lower. Before we left the reception, she disappeared with her sister, then reappeared in this form-fitting, knee-length cream dress that's currently tugged halfway up her smooth thighs. Her shapely legs are pressed together and her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, the only outward sign she may be nervous.

I want to erase that. Show her I'm different. Mafia like the rest, but not the same as them at all. I want to tell her how I've been running things on the up and up since my father was killed. That his fearsome reputation is not how I do business.

But I get caught up on admiring the chaste, curved neckline of her dress and the subtle swell of her lush breasts peeking over the edge. She looks more delicious than our wedding cake. I didn't have much appetite for that, but I'm ravenous for this girl I'm suddenly married to. My hands curl and I drag my eyes back to her face. She's still watching me and her eyebrows raise as if asking me what I think after my assessment of her body. I want to show her what I think, not tell her, but that's the opposite of not spooking the new bride I've only just met.

And her lips are still in that same straight line. What I wouldn't give to see what else that mouth can do. Smile, laugh, even frown. And yes, other things, too.

I want to watch them trail down my stomach, kiss them until they're swollen. I'm desperate to the point of almost gasping to know what her mouth feels like against mine. To claim those lips, part them, make them as eager as my own. The half-second kiss at the end of the ceremony was not enough. Not nearly enough, and yet it haunts me. Thinking about it only makes me crave her more.

I start to lean forward, but her slight intake of breath makes me pretend to check her seatbelt. Safety first and all that. What the hell am I thinking, thinking about pouncing on her like that?

There's hasn't been a moment in the last three days where I didn't think Ivan was up to something with this deal of his. It's a given that he's up to something. I've had Niko start looking into it, and I've upped my personal security detail. It's only been a few days and nothing has popped up yet, but I've got to stay on high alert. That means keeping Sera at arm's length.

For now, anyway. I don't know how long my resolve will last. Even more than the relief of being out from under the debt, I want to crack open Sera's determined shell.

We pull up at the grand hotel where our honeymoon suite awaits—a gift from Ivan. It's probably crawling with surveillance devices, so I had my people get there before us to do a sweep to get rid of them.

The driver gets out, but I beat him to Sera's side of the car and open her door. Her legs swing out as she grabs the sides of the doorway, making it very obvious she's trying not to touch me. I stand aside to let her fall into step beside me, ignoring the urge to sweep her up into my arms and spout some nonsense about carrying her over the threshold. It's not just the wedding kiss that's tormenting me, but that dance we shared before all her brothers and cousins and uncles cut in and monopolized her time at the reception.

A sharp gasp makes me turn to her in time to see that her ridiculously high heel has gotten caught in a gap on the sidewalk. Her arms flail and get tangled up in the shawl she has wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her from finding her balance. I step in front of her, my arms out to catch her before she can faceplant on the wet sidewalk.

And my mind goes blank. Her soft, warm body is pressed to mine, her hands clutching at my jacket. My blood races south and I grip her around her back. To keep her upright, to pull her closer. A light, fresh fragrance from her hair hits my nostrils and makes me ravenous to lift my hands to her head and wrap those silky strands in my fingers. She looks up at me, her cheeks blazing as that enticing mouth of hers opens in shock.

Her eyes flutter shut—the perfect opportunity to kiss her, but then she heaves herself away from me. "I'm so sorry," she says, anxiously smoothing my jacket where she grabbed hold. "I don't usually wear shoes like this. I'm sor—"

"It's fine," I say.

The tense tone in my voice is eighty percent raw sexual frustration. The other twenty percent is not wanting to hear her say anything negative about herself. I take her hand to keep another mishap from occurring and we head into the hotel.

Inside the mirrored elevator, I close my eyes so that I don't have to be teased by her beauty for a few minutes. It's worse now that I've got the feeling of her pressed against me burned into my memory.

I'm not supposed to be this attracted to my new wife. It's definitely not part of the plan, which consists of treating her well by giving her an allowance and the freedom to do what she pleases, so long as she allows one of my bodyguards to tail her at all times. It goes without saying that any daughter of the illustrious Novikov family is used to a certain amount of luxury—it's in my best interests to keep her content. That's the plan in its entirety—with my family debt's forgiven, I just need to keep Ivan off my back by any means necessary.

No part of it involves falling for the little minx.

Inside our suite, I read my messages from Niko, telling me there's no bugs or hidden cameras. He thinks it's gross that Ivan might have wanted video footage of our wedding night. I agree, but you can't be too careful. One, there's no telling what lengths a man like Ivan will go to in order to control someone, and two, there's not going to be a "wedding night."

As soon as I learned about this gifted suite, I called ahead to have them make sure there were two beds. Turns out I didn't need to worry. There's two rooms in the suite. Because I've already resolved to treat her well, I didn't want her to think I was the kind of monster that would force her into sleep with me, a complete stranger.

But that was when I thought she was going to be mousy and uninteresting.

I didn't think I'd want to sleep with her ever. I've never been the kind of man who can be backed into a corner—I'd agreed to be here, but it was going to be by my own rules. Maybe if Ivan started making noises about an heir in a year or two I'd reconsider, but I fully thought I'd be keeping that part of my life the way it had always been. As long Sera could be properly discreet, I wouldn't have cared if she went her own way, too.

I never expected Sera would burn like fire through my system. As soon as I got my first glance of her icy blue eyes, I realized I was doomed, so enamored that I can't stop staring at her as she wanders through the huge suite to look out at the view of the city. In my heart, I want to make sure that there's no way in hell she'll ever stray from me. The thought of it feels like a gut punch from someone holding a brick. I want to know everything there is to know about her.

Shit. What's happening here?

She's fiddling with her fingers, twisting the rings I'd hastily purchased for her. She raises her eyes and catches mine in the window's reflection. Her chest rises and she very determinedly lowers her hands to her sides.

"Can I get you a drink?" she asks.

I bite back a swear word. Does she think she's my servant?

"Would you like one?" I ask, heading for the bar fridge. I hold up a can of soda and a bottle of water. "I'm not too big on alcohol," I tell her. Losing my inhibitions right now would be a bad idea. I need my inhibitions now more than ever. "But if you want, I'll order some wine."

She finally smiles and it pierces my chest like an arrow. "I'm not technically legal to drink alcohol. And I don't really like the taste anyway."

Her innocent proclamation is another arrow to my heart. Even though I'm dazzled by her, I'm also getting increasingly pissed off at myself. Because this isn't part of the plan. With two cans of soda, I head to the couch that wraps around the living area and sit down.

"Let's just unwind for a bit," I suggest. Over the years, I've come to realize that a good way to get past an infatuation is to get to know someone. Cynical, maybe, but helpful at times like this.

She sits beside me and we chat about inconsequential things, nothing deep or important, but she still holds my interest and keeps up with everything I throw at her to try to prove to myself that she's dull or vapid. I can tell she's holding back and it infuriates me as much as it excites me, because now Sera is a challenge.

And she's anything but dull or vapid. It's hours later when she finally unsuccessfully smothers a yawn and I jump up.

"That's it. This was fun, but it's time for bed. I'm sure you must have been up since dawn getting that three hundred pound dress on."

She laughs and bites down on her lip, her eyes growing wide when I reach to help her off the couch. There's pure terror all over her face. "I don't—I'm not—erm," she stammers, popping up to duck under my arm. She looks at both bedroom doors with tense shoulders, as if she's holding her breath.

Do I want to fuck her? Absolutely. More than I've ever wanted anything. But I'm not going to make her do anything she's not ready to do.

"You can have that one," I say, pointing toward one of the rooms. When she remains utterly still, I stride over and open the door. "Unless …"

She scurries past me. "No, this is great. This room is perfect." She stops inside the room and looks at me, her tense shoulders relaxing. "Alexei?" she says shyly.

"Yeah?" I say, struggling to not betray how hearing her say my name in that soft, eager tone makes me much too close to changing my mind about the room situation.

"Thank you." Her cheeks turn red and she swings the door shut in my face.

I take a deep breath, not sure whether to laugh or punch something, and decide a cold shower is in order. As I'm halfway across the suite I hear her shout my name. I'm back to her door in an instant. Swinging it open and expecting to find an assassin with a knife to her throat, I can't help but laugh at what I see instead.

Sera stands there in her bare feet, her post-wedding dress twisted up around her thighs and her hands grappling helplessly at the zipper behind her. "This damn zipper has a safety clasp I can't get undone," she says, dropping her arms with a frustrated huff.

Third arrow to the heart because it is fucking adorable watching her struggle to get out of her dress. But holy shit, she wants me to help her get out of it?

I stride to her side and take her by the shoulders, turning her away from me. Sweeping her long tangle of curls away, I let my fingertips glide down the back of her neck, smiling when she shivers. God I love seeing how she reacts to even the smallest touches. Leaning close, I inhale her sweet scent.

"Let me see," I say, my breath across her neck raising goosebumps on her arms. She very subtly leans back. Just an inch, but enough to bring my cock up to press against my tuxedo pants. There's nothing especially difficult about the tiny hook above her zipper but I want to stay this close to her for as long as I can. When I can't stand it and my mind threatens to let my body take over, I finally unclasp it and lower the zipper halfway down her back.

Taking a step away, I devour her smooth, bare skin with my eyes, find myself reaching for her lacy white bra. Remember what her body felt like pressed to mine, remember that chaste touch of our lips.

Especially when she turns back, to thank me again, her cheeks rosy.

I have to get out of here.

"Goodnight, Sera," I say gruffly, hightailing it out of there as if all my father's past enemies are after me.

Fuck. Fucking fuck. Not part of the plan at all.