Page 18 of A Bride for the Mafia King

“Anytime–” I stammer, my stomach in knots under Tolya’s persistent gaze.

“You look comfortable.” His eyes stay on me, colder than I’ve seen them in days. “You always laugh like that with other men?”

“Excuse me?” I demand. “Are you jealous?”

In a barbaric move straight out of some soap opera, he moves faster than my eyes can track him. Spinning the barstool I’m sitting on and throwing me over his shoulder in one simultaneous instant. I squeal, kicking my legs and pounding my fists on his back as he strides down the hallway to his office.

Kicking the door closed behind us, he swipes everything off the top of his oversized desk and sits me down on it. Lodging his hips between my legs as he pulls me to the edge. His hands grip into my waist.

“Let’s get one thing straight right here, right now,” he growls, his lips inches from my own. “I do not get jealous.”

For the first time since the day of our wedding, he kisses me. That same possessive undertaking strikes a chord of hot and heavy desire through my core as our tongues dance.

He plunges a hand into my hair, nibbling my lower lip, our tongues matching each other stroke for stroke. I don’t know how long we are there, exploring each other, lost in the moment. But when he finally pulls away, I’m gasping to catch my breath and his chest rises and falls just as harshly.

“I will remind you that you are mine. Not his.”

The words send a thrill down my spine, matched with a flare of indignation all at once. I lean into him, licking my lips as I almost brush against him.

“You are jealous,” I whisper, a shit eating grin enveloping my face.

Typical hard ass man, won’t admit when he’s caught.

“I find it amusing,” I tease, nearly touching my lips to his, looking up at him with an expression of tantalizing innocence.

Two can play this game, Tolya.

His eyes narrow as he looks down on me, his usually crystal blue eyes dark and stormy, matching his mood. But he does the opposite of what I expect—he pulls away completely.

“Go get dressed. We have a dinner party to attend.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, continuing to tidy up the mess he’s made. “It’s a business affair and I need my wife in attendance, presentable and well behaved.”

I blink at him, confused by the sudden switch.

“So I’m to play the dutiful wife even though we’ve spent little time together?” I ask softly.

“You are to play your part. You’ve attended plenty of these with your brother, it’s not that different.” He stops for a second, pinning me with a stern look. “Though I would insist you refrain from flirting with any man besides your own husband. It would reflect poorly on our marriage.”

“Are you serious?” I exclaim, appalled by his insinuation.

He doesn’t dignify me with a response. Just turns, opens the door to the office, and walks out into the hallway.

“Get dressed,” he calls over his shoulder. “I had a dress sent up for you earlier, and there should be several sets of jewels for you to choose from.”

He disappears, leaving me sitting on his desk, pulse racing. Unsure if I want to scream at him or kiss him again.

Probably a bit of both.

Chapter Seven

Eva

The Dinner Party, Day Four

The mansion the limo drops us at is clearly owned by old money. The tapestries in the entryway scream Eastern European nobility reimagined in Chicago stonework and brass ornamentation. Chandeliers line the long entryway, their crystals reflecting the light in delicate patterns on the walls.

Tolya’s hand hasn’t left my waist since we arrived. His touch is light, but commanding. A silent claim to anyone who looks.

“I don’t need to be led,” I protest in a hushed tone as he guides me from one conversation to another.