Page 4 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

Before she can finish her scolding, another burst of turbulence knocks the plane sideways. The flight attendant goes one way, I go the other…

And I land right in the lap of Scary Russian Guy.

I yelp and try to right myself. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—The turbulence, I just—”

He grips my waist and lifts me up like I weigh nothing. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

His voice is deep and icy. I finally look up at his face and freeze.

Holy shit, this man is hot.Like, cover of a men’s magazine, lead of a superhero movie franchisehot.

His eyes are a molten silver that churns with unreadable emotion. His jaw is clenched tight, hair tousled, fragrance seductive.

The flight attendant comes to try to reel me back to where I belong, but my legs are no longer functioning. I’m stuck, staring at the man, imagining all the dirty things that voice of his could whisper in my ear. Possibly in Russian.

My stomach is fluttering again, but for a very different reason. Then more turbulence shakes the plane, and the flight attendant has had enough.

“Sit!” she commands, pointing at the empty seat next to the man. “Now!”

“But… but that isn’t my—My seat is over—”

She shoves me towards the seat. The man gently grips my waist again, helping me past him and into the seat next to him.

As soon as she’s satisfied I’m strapped in and no longer a nuisance, the attendant huffs away. I’m left to look over at my new seatmate with a nervous smile.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was going to throw up.” My face flames with embarrassment. “I mean, I didn’t. Didn’t get sick, that is. I did think I would, but I didn’t. I’m a nervous flier. In case you couldn’t tell.”

The man watches me, his light gray eyes observant but distant. It’s truly hard to look at him. People shouldn’t be allowed to be this attractive. Or this cool under pressure. I thought I was going to die, and he looks as relaxed as ever. The worst turbulence I’ve ever felt, and yet this man’s heart rate didn’t even approach room temperature.

“Are you going to get sick now?” he asks. There’s no detectable accent. Russian must be his second language.

“No.” I shake my head and then wince. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

He reaches into a small compartment between the seats and removes a hospital blue waterproof bag. “Use this if you need to.”

I wince. “I didn’t even think to look there. I figured the bags would be in the back of the seats.”

“First time in first class?”

I might be offended by his assumption if it wasn’t so incredibly on point. I nod. “Yeah. I got bumped up. I think the attendant took pity on me. She probably won’t make that mistake again.”

“Why would she take pity on you?”

I hitch my thumb towards the back half of the plane. “There’s a bachelor party back there. They were being pretty loud, and I was going to be sitting smack dab in the middle of them.”

“Good call on her part,” he says, sitting back in his seat. “Sitting a pretty woman near a group of horny men is a recipe for disaster.”

He places his arm on the armrest, and even though there’s plenty of space for both of us, his warm skin brushes across mine. Goosebumps race down my spine.

As if his skin on mine isn’t enough to process, my brain snags on “pretty woman.” Like a dumb teenager talking to her crush, I wonder,He thinks I’m pretty?

“Oh, uh, well,” I stutter. My tongue feels like it’s twice the size it normally is. “I don’t know if that’s why. I have been stressed. I’m on a work trip and things have been a mess. I think she noticed that and wanted to help out.”

“Are you saying you don’t think you’re pretty?”

I suck in a surprised breath and turn to him. He’s looking at me again, his face still completely unreadable.

Not sure what to do, I laugh like a loon. “I don’t—I wasn’t saying—You can’t just ask people something like that.”

---