THE FIXER

The corners of his lips quirk. Now he comes in for the hard kiss. The claiming one that I’d been expecting.

Flames lick between my legs as he plunders my mouth, his tongue sweeping between my lips, his lips devouring mine.

My panties are wet. Probably smoking.

I don’t know what it’s like to have sex, but I suddenly want it. Badly. Not with my fingers on my clit-with a man. This man.

The kiss goes on for long, breathless seconds. Long enough that I lose all orientation. The penthouse spins. I forget my agenda.

When Maxim pulls away, he releases my throat and gives me another sweeping gaze. “You wanted to go running?”

My head wobbles as I nod.

“I’ll go with you. You don’t leave here alone-I told you that last night.”

Well, not exactly. He’d told the others I wasn’t to leave alone, not me, specifically. But I’ve lost the will to argue, still trying to calm my hammering pulse and cool my lady parts.Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Maxim takes my elbow and leads me to the barstool beside the giant. “Sit with Oleg. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

It’s an order, but I don’t resist, needing a moment to recombobulate. Needing to cross my legs and pinch them together to alleviate the throb of my clit.

I look at the man beside me, who is focused on his eggs. “So you’re Oleg? The enforcer, I guess?”

The giant man doesn’t look my way.

“He doesn’t speak,” Nikolai offers. He’s now on the couch, flipping through channels.

I look him over, dropping some of my bad girl act. He’s not deaf because he obviously heard Maxim’s order not to touch me. I wonder whether his muteness is a choice or a physical limitation. He bears the tattoos proving he spent time in a Siberian prison. I wonder if something happened to him there.

The brother wearing the worn and faded Matrix t-shirt comes into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. He opens a pizza box on the counter and pulls a slice out. “I’m sorry about your father,” he says in English with his mouth full.

I shrug. “He’s dead.” It’s about all I can find to say about him.

The young man flicks his brows. “Let me guess-Igor was a shitty father?”

I snort in surprise at the acknowledgement, the flicker of a smile tugging my lips. None of my father’s men in Russia would have ever uttered such words. But we are out of his territory now.

“We were part of his cell before he kicked us to Ravil. I’m Dima, Nikolai’s brother.”

I find myself instantly liking the guy-and his brother by proxy. Probably for the sole reason that he called Igor a shitty father. Also, they have that instant familiarity thing that puts me at ease. And they don’t stare at my boobs.

Maxim emerges in a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt, running shoes on his feet. He looks at home in the clothes, like he runs on a regular basis. This development foils my plan of taking off running and making someone keep up and sends a nervous twitter through me. Maybe I’ll be the one working hard to keep up with him.

“Let’s go, sugar.” He catches my elbow in that dominating way he has and steers me toward the door.

“Bye, guys!” I call out with false cheerfulness.

“Why do you do that?” Maxim asks when we get in the elevator.

I back as far away from him as I can, leaning against the opposite wall and pulling my foot up to my ass to stretch my quad. “What?”

“Act like you’re too good for them. Or you’re making fun of them.”

Something dives in my belly and settles heavily as a stone. I’ve been called a bitch before-behind my back, mostly. So many times.

No one’s ever asked me why I play the part, though. Almost like he knows it’s an act-not my true personality.

Maxim’s suddenly getting real with me.

I switch legs and shrug. “Am I supposed to pretend they’re my friends? I didn’t willingly move in with them. They got foisted on me, same as you did. Same as every bodyguard or babysitter my dad’s saddled me with.”

A muscle jumps in Maxim’s jaw. “All right, let’s get something straight,” he snaps as the elevator door opens.

I charge out of it, but he catches my elbow again and swings me back.

“Don’t run off on me.” He glares down at me, a line between his brows. “Those men aren’t your bodyguards. They’re not your servants-they’re not your babysitters. They weren’t sent to spy on you. They are my fucking brothers.”

The stone in my gut grows heavier.

“Yes, you did get saddled with me, sugar. And I got saddled with you. And we’re going to make the best of it.”

“Says you,” I shoot back, but a terrible feeling of shame seeps in, fueled by that rock still sitting square in the middle of my stomach. I was acting like a bitch. I’m acting like the spoiled mafiya princess I’ve always been. The part I detest but play with aplomb.

But if I don’t war with Maxim, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be. And the sense of vulnerability that brings up nearly kills me.

Maxim doesn’t release my elbow. He stares down at me with a troubled expression like he’s trying to make a decision, but after several precariously long seconds, all he says is, “Come on, there’s a path on the lakeshore that’s nice to run.”

A sense of relief floods me like he just let me off some hook I didn’t know I was even on. He tips his head toward the glass doors of the elegant building.

He waves at the doorman, who is clearly bratva based on his tattoos.