Page 59 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
A chuckle slips from me before I can stop it, and I don’t need to look around his shoulder to know Ivan’s watching. I can feel his stare, and my skin prickles at the thought with interest.
As we continue to dance, the urge becomes too great, and I glance over, finding exactly what I expect to.
Ivan’s furious, even if he’s trying to keep it quiet. The tension in his jaw and posture, all the while his attention stays squarely on us, says it all. He doesn’t even look at the woman standing next to him, completely oblivious to the fact that he isn’t even listening.
A new kind of thrill moves through me, immediate and so satisfying.
“So,” Nikolai says after a beat, tone dry and very aware. “If Ivan asks, I’m definitely throwing you under the bus.”
“I can’t blame you,” I return, thoroughly amused by how he has gone along with my ruse. “I’d do the same.”
“Good. I think my brother has finally met his match,” he muses, relaxing a bit more as his steps smooth out. There’s something unexpectedly gentle about the way he moves, like there’s a real softness in him. It’s almost polarizing for a man like him.
Luckily, he’s a good sport too.
“Someone has to keep him in line, right?”
At this, Nikolai hums his amusement and nods. “Better it be you than me.”
As the song comes to an end, he releases me without a second thought, but doesn’t pull away like he can’t stand me. Instead, he lifts a brow. “You owe me.”
I smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter 21 - Ivan
I’ve been in plenty of situations that have made me furious, but nothing has ever made me see red quite this fast.
It’s not the kind of anger that makes you sloppy or unpredictable, but it’s cold and measured. Beyond that, it stirs up the urge to claim what’s mine in any way that I can, and it settles in unlike anything else.
Mila’s dancing with my brother, completely unprompted.
Maybe that shouldn’t anger me as much as the idea of a random man she doesn’t know doing the same, but the thought still needles at me anyway. It’s one of my siblings of all people, for Christ's sake.
Any other day, and she’d hardly glance in his direction. Now, she has one hand on his shoulder and the other in his hand while they move like they’ve done this before. I obviously know that’s not the case, but it pisses me off anyway.
And I know exactly why she did it.
Naomi cornered me, catching me in a conversation I haven’t had a reason to leave yet, without being obvious or outright rude. It doesn’t help that Roman’s here too, and if I make the wrong move, he’ll know. And God, the last thing I want is for my siblings to have the opportunity to mingle with my past exploits when I’m trying to keep them behind me.
Hell, he probably already has an idea, given how she lingers, smiling up at me while she finds every excuse to touch me despite how I keep trying to subtly shake her off. The mere notion of her being this close has me on edge anyway, and if I had my way, she wouldn’t be anywhere near the building.
But as socialites do best, they find a way into every event, no matter what it takes.
Her perfume is sharper than usual, and the familiarity in it irritates me even more. I’m not hearing a word coming out of her mouth, yet she won’t take the hint. She used to be so perceptive before, but now, I don’t think she’d give up unless I screamed it at her.
All I see is Mila’s hand on Nikolai’s shoulder while she talks to him lightly, smiling more than I care to see.
When she looks my way, lips pulling a bit more, I know exactly what this is.
She can play innocent all she wants, but it’s deliberate, and she’s trying to get under my skin on purpose. Unfortunately for me, it’s working, and I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Finally, as the music changes around us, I excuse myself, and without waiting for Naomi’s response, I push through the crowd with unbridled purpose. To hell with trying to be polite.
Nikolai notices me first, and he tenses, taking another step back from her. That sheepish expression tells me everything I need to know.
I don’t say a word at first, and I don’t need to. Instead, I look at him, watching as he puts his hands up in a placating gesture.
“I didn’t start this,” he says without hesitation.
