Page 18 of Tangled Vows

All alone with her. Not sharing her with anyone.

It was just me and Susan or whatever her name was. After a few vodkas, her name became a blur. So, it could be Susan or it just started with an S. I have no idea, and I’ll probably never remember her name.

What I do remember is how I felt after spending the night with that woman.

Like shit, would be one way of putting it.

It wasn’t her looks. I liked her slender body. She was 5’7 with shapely legs and a pretty face.

It was her attitude after we were done. Somehow, that woman thought we had started a relationship. I don’t do relationships; it’s been years since I was in one. She started planning what we would do, like where we’d have dinner and where we’d go for drinks. She mentioned her favorite places, insisting that we should visit them often if I wanted her to be happy.

One would think this would be the whole problem.

No such luck.

This was just part of the problem. The rest had to do with her affection for jewelry, which was funny because she didn’t have any on. She just had this sparkly, faux ring on her finger, and said I was lucky. When I asked why, she said, “Because I prefer silver over gold. It suits me better and it’s cheaper, so you won’t have to spend thousands and thousands to spoil me.”

That was all she wrote.

Just like that, my erection and my desire to spend more time with her in bed went out the window.

I drove Susan back to her apartment and told her I wasn’t going to call her again. I never liked gold diggers. The idea of being with someone who wanted to be in complete control didn’t sit well with me. In other words, she was everything I’d been avoiding for years. I wasn’t going to make the mistake of keeping her in my life.

With Clare, things were so much different.

Right from the start, I felt the urge to pamper that woman. To touch her all over. To kiss her in places I knew nobody had before. To hold her in my arms and make her shiver with desire. And after we were done, to lay down and let her rest her head on my chest. I wanted to be nice—a gentleman—to her. I don’t get that feeling often.

I’ve forgotten the last time I allowed a woman to cuddle with me. It didn’t even happen when Leonid and I spent a night with Katia, the wife of a Mexican drug dealer. My brother loves to look back on this particular memory; she reminded him of the women back in Moscow.

Almost six feet tall with long blonde hair and green eyes, Katia had looked fantastic. I, on the other hand, don’t think that encounter was worth remembering. There was nothing special about it. There was no intimacy. No warmth. I had both with Clare.

My conclusions make me go through the day, wondering about a few things.

First of all, can I have this again? Not just the sex, although I know it’s going to be fantastic. Is this going to complicate my life in the Bratva?

Stupid, Ivan...

That is a ridiculous question. The answer is a big fat “yes.” Just like Leonid, I am surrounded by people who would kill to get their hands on my job. Ruthless fuckers that would hurt me through someone close to me, like Clare. If they catch wind of her, they will try to take her out. I don’t want that for her. Clare Jensen deserves better than a psychopath shooting her in the head just to get to me.

For once, I need company. I need to talk to someone, because all this crap has been swirling in my mind for hours. It doesn’t matter what I do; I’ll still think of Clare and how great it was to have her, even for one night. Even sharing her with Leonid.

The red and blue lights of Tammy’s Bar are flashing in the dark. Unlike my brother, I prefer smaller and less conspicuous places than his Blue Dolphin. This one is on the outskirts of the city, well away from the areas we control.

Loosening my tie, I stroll in and tip my head to Catherine, the barmaid. Gary Moore’s “Empty Rooms” is oozing from the speakers, the low volume satisfying me. I hate it when I walk into a place that’s loud.

“Evening, Ivan,” Catherine says, welcoming me with a polite smile. “How are things?”

“Complicated,” I answer. “And don’t tell me you’re surprised. I won’t believe you.”

She flashes me a grin. “I’m not. The usual?”

“Yes.”

“Coming right up.”

I hop on a stool, looking up at the overhead spotlights. I rub my forehead and lower my gaze to the dark-brown counter before I breathe a long sigh. More often than not, I’m in a relaxed mood when I visit Tammy’s bar. But not tonight. There’s a lot weighing on my mind. It’s not just work; that part I can manage. It may give me a headache sometimes, but there’s a solution to every problem.

“I thought it was you.” A gruff voice interrupts my thoughts.

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