Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
And I ended up stripping in front of a stranger.
I agreed to pose nude for a talented artist friend of mine since I could really use the extra money, but it went all wrong.
Now the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen is staring right at me like he’s about to claim a prize.
Turns out, this handsome stranger is the dangerous head of a Russian Bratva, and his arranged fiancee ran out on him at the last minute.
And I’m apparently good enough to take her place.
Valentin Zeitsev is brutally dangerous and horribly scarred, and I shouldn’t let a little accidental nudity lead directly into marriage.
But my family’s deep in debt and harboring some dark secrets, and I need Valentin’s help if I’m going to get through this nightmare.
Only when I say I do, what else is he going to take from me?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Karine
I’m so nervous I can barely think straight as I hurry down the block and toward a row of gorgeous, multi-million-dollar homes.
Wearing nothing but a long black jacket.
It’s basically one of those creepy flasher trench coats from cliché comic books.
And in this case, that cliché is entirely accurate.
Because I’m totally naked underneath.
Just a pair of black heels and my birthday suit.
Thankfully, it’s a comfortable spring day in Philadelphia, as I keep my head down and barrel toward the front door of a beautiful Old City row home. This is the most exclusive part of the city, where all the rich people live, and definitely not where I belong.
Except I’m working.
In nothing but a freaking trench coat.
This wasn’t my idea. Merrick basically bullied me into it when he offered to pay me a thousand bucks just to stand around and let him sketch me.
Given that I’m broke and on the verge of getting evicted, a thousand bucks so an extremely talented gay man can get some figure practice in sounds like a really good deal to me.
I swear, everyone knows. An old woman walks past with her little yappy white dog on a leash and both of them are staring at me. She’s judging; the dog seems cool with it.
Up ahead, a couple of teenagers are coming toward me on bikes, and I could scream. They’re staring and they know I’m naked under this jacket.
Or maybe they just want to make sure they’re not going to run me over.
I’m a total mess. I’ve never gotten naked in front of a man before, gay or otherwise, and this is really screwing me up. I know Merrick is legit—I’ve seen his work and he’s incredibly talented—but I still can’t help but wonder if this is a huge mistake.
Will people recognize me in his drawings? He promised not to use my face, but he’ll probably end up selling whatever he produces today. Is that going to ruin my life or something?
But no, this is stupid, I’m spiraling for no reason. It’s totally normal for people to pose nude for artists. I reach his front stoop and charge up to the door without taking in any of the details, mostly because I’m so deep in my own head.
And extremely impressed. I knew Merrick did well—the designer suits and fancy cars tipped me off—but not this well.
Doesn’t matter. Time to get this over with. I push back my shoulder, lift my chin, and knock on the door three times, feeling like I might puke at any moment from sheer terror.
There’s a long pause where nothing happens, and I’m a second from running away, when an older woman answers. She’s in her sixties and wearing a simple house dress with rubber gloves.
She frowns out at me, head tilted. “Yes?”
I panic. I’ll admit it. I thought Merrick would let me in himself, but apparently, he’s got hired help. “I’m here to see, uh—”
“Ah, yes, you’re running late.” The woman steps aside and ushers me into the entry hall. She seems like she’s in a hurry. Dark hardwood floors and a glittering chandelier hang above walls covered in abstract art. Spacious and exceedingly expensive. Exactly how I pictured Merrick’s place would be, though more formal. “Right this way, please. He’s not happy that you kept him waiting.” The housekeeper takes me into a sitting room and leaves me there.
I look around. There are some photographs of people I don’t recognize on the mantel. Fancy, uncomfortable furniture. Crystal ashtray. More art on the walls: big, intense slashes of color. I even recognize the piece hanging above a desk.
This is the place. I take a deep breath and blow it out. If I don’t get this over with, I’m going to bail and that would be really, really bad, for two reasons.
First, I don’t want to let my friend down. He’s been a loyal customer and a sympathetic ear for months. Ever since I started working as a bartender at Stove and Smoke, Merrick has been showing up almost nightly for a martini and a chat, and I’m happy to indulge—when he doesn’t have other company, of course. That’s how he heard about my financial situation a couple nights back and ended up making his offer.