Page 2 of Her Vicious Angel

The driver took off and we headed into heavy traffic. The fear and panic grew to a heavy knot in my belly.

I tried to reassure myself as I sat uncomfortably on the luxurious leather seats. Andrei was going to be a quiet, cultured man. We’d probably even have a lot in common. I liked the theater, too. We would have a brisk, businesslike relationship and I would be seen in public with him a few times a year. Otherwise, I’d be free to explore Moscow. It would be nice and relaxing.

Our car stopped at a tall steel and glass skyscraper. The limousine stayed parked illegally at the curb, and the two goons led me past the security guards and to the elevator. I felt like running away but my legs were trembling too much.

Why thefuckhad I thought this was a good idea again?

The elevator was taking me so high up that I felt my ears pop. I saw downtown Moscow spread out before me, not that I could enjoy the view when I felt like I was going to throw up.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped and the two goons pushed me forward into a dark room. The curtains were drawn and I felt disoriented as my eyes adjusted to the dark. I saw that there was a man standing in the shadows. He turned around sharply and snapped on the light. My first impression was that Andrei Petrovic was a very tall man. He dwarfed the two goons, and they were both over 6 feet tall. Andrei was big and broad-shouldered, with ash blonde hair and he was painfully, startlingly attractive. He had ice blue eyes with a contemptuous mouth and a strong jawline. I felt a jolt of fear to see that his chiseled face was glaring furiously at me.

I stood pinned in his gaze. It felt like I was rooted to the ground. I was lucky asfuckthat this guy was gay, because otherwise he looked like the kind of man who could wreck you.

“Here’s your wife,” said one of the men, shoving me forward.

Then Andrei spoke, his voice deep and angry.

“I don’t fuckingwanta wife. You can turn right around and get her ass back on a planeimmediately.”

2

CERISE

My body flamed with anger.Christ, what an asshole! Maybe I wasn’t the most classically beautiful person on the planet, but I could pull off being his fake wife, even if he was disturbingly gorgeous, like a fallen angel.

“Our orders were to deliver her to you,” said the first goon.

“Whose orders?” snarled Andrei. I could see a muscle working in his sharp jaw and it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Your father’s orders,” said the second goon. “Grigoriy Ivanovich Petrovic’s orders.”

“And why has my father arranged a mail-order bride for me?” Andrei asked.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“For what reason does he want me to take a wife?” he pressed coldly, walking toward us. He had a predator’s walk, all lethal grace and power, and I felt frozen like prey.

“He thinks she will draw attention away from your. . . recent activities. . .sir,” the second man said.

The goon stared straight forward but I thought I detected a low note of fear in his voice. He feared Andrei Grigorivich Petrovic.

“Is that so?” Andrei asked, stopping in front of us. His words felt like shards of ice scraping across my skin. “Let’s go. I need to talk to my father.”

“What about her?” the first goon asked.

“Bring her with us,” Andrei replied. He had barely glanced at me, and I felt my temper rising.

He led the way to the elevator. I got in meekly behind him, and stood as far away as I could, my back pressed up against the shiny walls. He was so big and exuded so much power that he seemed to use up all the oxygen in the small, confined space.

He didn’t look at me, but stalked angrily out of the building toward the car.

Andrei tapped on the glass of the limousine that was still waiting for us and gave the driver a curt order in Russian.

I sat down on the leather seats I had just vacated 5 minutes ago. My legs were trembling. Andrei sat on the same side as me, and I pressed my body as far away from him as I could.

We hadn’t gone more than a few blocks when something hit the limousine and one of the front windows shattered. Shots peppered the limo, but most of it must have been bulletproof. I saw that the driver had been shot right before I was thrown onto the floor. The car began to spin wildly, then, with a bone-shaking jolt, we hit something solid and stopped. I dimly heard the sounds of screams and people running.

I lay stunned on the floor, and the next thing I felt was a strong arm grabbing me firmly. Andrei Petrovic was dragging me from the wrecked limousine, and he didn’t do it gently, either. He set me down abruptly, and I staggered and would have fallen, but he righted me with those hard hands without even looking at me.

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