Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
First of all, he was a billionaire – a legitimate billionaire, and not the kind that I dealt with and worked hard to put behind bars.
He was a billionaire who could have any woman he wanted, and yet—-
What was this guy doing in my apartment again?
I stared at him, unsophisticatedly frustrated.
He stared back at me, elegantly amused.
“Fredericka.”
I nearly jumped, his gentle tone taking me by surprise. “Y-yes?” I tried not to let my mind dwell on the way his strong Russian accent wrapped so sexily around every syllable of my name.
“May I have my coffee while you stare at me?”
Oh.
Shit.
“I wasn’t staring at you,” I lied – I mean, muttered.
Chuckling, he came forward, and I hastened to place his mug and mine on opposite sides of the table before taking the seat next to the fridge. It was the plastic foldable type, something I had gotten for free from Craigslist, the only kind that could fit in the open layout of my apartment.
Sergei reached for the mug, still on his feet, and took a sip. “It’s good.”
I said doubtfully, “Thanks.” Instant was good as far as I was concerned, but I doubt it could compare to the kind of coffee he was used to drinking. “You can, uh, sit down, you know.” I gestured to the chair across me, but the billionaire took the seat next to me instead.
Our knees knocked under the table, the contact equivalent of having a dynamite explode in my chest.
GAH!
I swung my legs away from him and pretended not to notice him smirking.
Start acting like an adult, Fredericka Spears.
“Everything alright?” the billionaire asked in a lazily amused tone.
“Stop asking me that,” I muttered. He had to know I wasn’t okay, had to know that the sheer palpable heat of his presence was making me feel all sorts of crazy things. It was unbelievable, the way he strongly resembled Julian Alexeyev in appearance but made me feel so differently at the same time.
With the professor, I daydreamed about holding hands, of spending forever in a world of rainbows and roses.
But with this man—-
“I’m only concerned, pchelka.” The endearment, spoken in a low, caressing tone, caught me off guard. Maybe it was because I struck most people as either aloof or sharp-tongued, but no man had ever called me by any kind of pet name before.
Until Sergei Grachyov.
My pulse leapt as our gazes met and as blood rushed swiftly to my head, my hands clenched under the table in an instinctive attempt to control my body’s reaction. Overkill, I thought in mortification. It was totally overkill, the way I could be so easily affected with whatever this man said...but it was what it was.
When I stole a look at Sergei, he was gazing at me speculatively, almost calculatingly, and my unease grew.
“Are you this way with all men,” he murmured suddenly, “or is it just me?”
I only stared at him. Ha! Like I’d ever give him the answer he wanted to hear, even if he had probably guessed the truth.
The billionaire leaned back against his seat, his lips curving, and I had a bad feeling he was laughing at me again, like he already knew the answer to his question and he thought it funny that I believed I could keep such a thing from him.
“Did you come to know Julian Alexeyev through Tropinka?”
The question caught me by surprise, and I said guardedly, “I did.”
His gaze narrowed. “And how long have you known him?”
“About a year?” I didn’t see any harm in answering him honestly, but I also couldn’t help wondering why he was so interested. Maybe he thought I was one of those women who only wanted the professor because of his fortune? Julian had spoken of such women dismissively, the one time I had found the guts to steer the conversation to his romantic entanglements.
“I see.” A pause, then the billionaire asked abruptly, “Do you like him?”
My mouth opened and closed as I sensed the air around us suddenly changing.
“Do you?” His tone had become harder, but it was the look in his eyes that made me swallow hard.
I want to fuck you.
His dark gaze still said that, but this time it also came with a possessive warning.
I want to fuck you...and I’m the only man you’ll fuck.
“Answer the question,” he commanded.
I stammered helplessly, “W-why do you care?” When I saw the billionaire’s lip curl, I winced and prepared myself, thinking I was in for a scathing retort.
But I was wrong.
“Because I want you for myself.”
My eyes widened.
“I want to fuck you, and no matter how innocent or inexperienced you are—-” His voice turned into a rough, accented growl. “You knew that from the start.”
Oh!
He wanted to fuck me.
He had actually said the words out loud.
And now he was saying that I knew it from the start.