Page 10 of The Bratva's Innocent Sold Bride
Sputtering at my amusement, she spun around and kicked the bucket of sudsy water over, splashing through it as she stomped out of the kitchen. I watched the ruffles on her short skirt flounce, revealing a hint of her cute little ass, and actually considered letting her get away with it. A couple more days of this, and that was all.
There had to be consequences for my bride-to-be, and I hurried after her, catching up to her before she got to her room.She took a deep breath, probably to tell me where I could go, but it escaped from her lungs in a rush as I crushed her to my chest. My arm snaked around her waist, my other hand moving to lightly grip the back of her neck.
She went still in my arms, only her chest rising and falling against the black lace. Tugging her hair, her chin tipped up, and I claimed her mouth. It felt like coming home. Warm and wet as I teased my tongue between her smooth lips. She raked her hands up my chest, first shoving at me, then gripping my shirt. Her body was soft, melting against me after standing stiff in my arms. Was that a sigh I felt against my mouth?
Before I was lost, I pushed away, arranging my face into a sneer. “You will serve me, one way or another,” I said, pulling her closer, my hand traveling lower down her back. “Now, would you like to finish in the kitchen or continue this here?”
Her eyes flew wide as she wrenched out of my loose grip. Muttering curses the whole way, she scurried back to the kitchen to finish her chores.
Chapter 7 - CJ
I would have been bawling my eyes out if I weren’t spitting mad. As soon as I got free from Mat’s shocking embrace, I fled back to the kitchen, stamping through the puddle I had made in my outburst. My hands shook as I slammed open drawers, trying to find towels.
Since he hadn’t followed me, I took a moment to close my eyes and take a deep breath, one I sorely needed. This was no nightmare; it was real. I had been cocooned in some kind of shock last night, falling asleep to escape my new reality, but it came rushing back.
Everything I knew about my father was a lie. It had to be or I wouldn’t be here, wiping up a stranger’s kitchen floor. That same crazy stranger just left me weak-kneed from a kiss I almost didn’t want to end. And the cherry on top? I was wearing the most ridiculous sexy French maid costume that ever graced a tacky Halloween party. Just about every inch of me was on display. As I tugged it down to cover my backside, my boobs threatened to pop out. My cheeks burned with humiliation as I thought about him watching me before I dumped the bucket and ran.
But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To humiliate and hurt me so that my father would suffer. Well, he hadn’t actually hurt me yet, and I refused to be shamed for something I had no part of.
Bits and pieces of the story I learned last night kept coming back as I wrung out towels in the sink and hung them on a rack I found in an adjoining laundry room. So many pieces started falling into place, and I wanted to fling them all away again. It was better to be confused than to know a horrible truth.
My father’s reasoning for not wanting me near his company wasn’t solely because he was worried about nepotism accusations. He didn’t want me finding out about his dirty dealings. That claim he was so proud of, about not getting a bank loan for so long when he was just starting out? Well, why would he need one when he was getting cash infusions from organized crime?
When my father was stumbling around his confession, Mat was sure to fill in the blanks and assure me my father was no criminal mastermind. He was just an ordinary conman who happened to be good at innovating computer parts. He finally stole money from the wrong person, and now here I was.
About to start loading the dishwasher. The soap suds from the bucket I dumped left a sticky residue, but I couldn’t face that damn mop again just yet, and it wasn’t like there weren't other things to do. If Mat really did fire all his domestic employees, he must have told them to trash the joint before they left. There was no way one man could dirty so many dishes.
“He’s probably a slob,” I muttered, slamming a bowl into the bottom rack.
“Do them by hand,” a deep rumbling voice said from behind me.
I whipped around to see him, too close. Much too close. Heat started rising up my chest, and it was on full display for him to see. Of course, he was looking, with that infuriating smirk on his face.
I turned a plate over and showed him the stamp on the bottom. “Dishwasher safe,” I said, my fury keeping my voice from shaking.
He narrowed his eyes at me, letting his gaze sweep up and down. “By hand.”
Remembering the alternative, I started filling up the sink. He must have had this notion that I was some kind of spoiled princess who wouldn’t know how to do anything, so I made a point to actually do a good job, as much as I wanted to toss some of the heavier mugs at his head.
He refilled his coffee cup and sat down at the table, and instead of working on something, he leaned back and watched me. Fine. Let him. It didn’t bother me one bit. Except it did, and visions of breaking a glass and stabbing him with the shards didn’t help much. It was like I could feel his gaze, everywhere it settled on me.
When I was done, my feet made sticky noises, so I sighed and reached for the dreaded mop to finish the floor. I wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he rattled me.
“On your knees,” he ordered. That made me look at him.
“What?” I said. “That’s ridiculous.”
Standing up, he crossed the room and took the mop out of my hand, looming over me. “You can get on your knees and wash the floor, or you can get on your knees for something else if you’d rather.”
I glared up at him, biting back all the insults that crowded my brain. The look in his eyes, like he’d already won, made me gather my strength to look him slowly up and down. His tailored shirt was molded to his muscular chest, tucked into crisp dark gray suit pants at his lean waist. Just like the shirt, the pants seemed to have been made to fit only him. Those muscles in his thighs were just about to strain the fine wool fabric. My eyes paused at the zipper placket, my hands beginning to feel weak at the thought of what was straining to break free under there.
Okay, time to look up. His blue eyes didn’t blink as I cast my gaze over his face. He had been clean-shaven when he came to collect his debt last night; now there was a slight, dark stubble on his chiseled jaw. His lips were stuck in a firm line, but I knew how soft and masterful they could be. Feeling a blush rising, I dropped my gaze again. His big hands were wrapped around the mop handle, scuffed knuckles turning white as he gripped it during my steady perusal.
He was hot, I couldn’t deny that, and I could still feel that kiss tingling on my lips. Should I shock the hell out of him and give him what he wanted?
Oh my gosh, how did that thought cross my mind? Stumbling back, I found the bucket and refilled it, all while his eyes burned into me. Every part of me felt too hot, and there was no way he didn’t see me turning red all over.
No. He wasn’t going to have the satisfaction of knowing his sick plan to shame me was working. He wanted a show? I’d give him a show.
