Page 67 of The Wrong Monster

“No.”

“Or who they are?”

“No.”

“Or what they find?”

I look back through the windshield. “If you believe it helps Mikhail, do it.”

* * *

We arrive at the lodge twenty minutes later.

It’s finished now. The grand opening is scheduled for next week. Timber, stone, enormous windows overlooking a stretch of mountains with fog coiling around the highest peaks. It is exactly the kind of property that makes people believe Deep Waters is nothing more than a successful luxury development company.

My men remain outside. Inside, it’s silent, our footfalls echoing over the perfect herringbone flooring.

Matilda walks beside me, running her fingers along the edge of a stone fireplace while I explain the layout; an automatic response, as if I’m talking to an investor. But I can’t help sneaking glimpses of her pretty features, noticing the other freckles on her face and not just the zvezda.

I know what I’m looking for, and it’s hard to admit. Approval. I’ve never wanted that from anyone else before.

She asks questions about the contractors, the renovation history, and the invoices tied to the property. Soon we’re arguing again. She accuses me of withholding information, and I tell her she asks too many questions.

She steps closer, a finger dangerously close to poking my chest. I don’t move.

The distance between us disappears, anyway.

Her eyes drop briefly to my mouth.

Mine follow hers.

Neither of us says anything.

Then she grabs my shirt.

I kiss her, and it’s the devouring kiss I’ve been imagining for days. The one I’ve fantasized about, to erase the endless nights of guilt and stress and responsibility. Her skin is hot under the shirt and I ruck it up her waist, splaying my hands over her back, pulling her closer.

“This is a bad idea,” she murmurs against my mouth before biting my lower lip. I let out a warning growl, turning us both before tossing her expertly onto the chesterfield-style couch in the library.

She lands with a slight bounce, glaring at me, and I slink over her body, bracing myself on either side of her as her chest heaves with each breath.

“You’re a beast,” Matty mutters. It sounds more like a statement than an accusation, and it doesn’t hurt the way it would in any other situation.

Besides, her fingers running beneath my shirt and over the ridges of my abs is distracting enough to make me forget the near insult. Dipping down, I capture her lips again and smirk as she moans, arching her body against me.

“Tell me you’ve wanted this as badly as I have.”

“I’m not that desperate,” she gasps out, and we both know it’s a lie. Because everything her body is doing now is begging, just without the words.

A sudden roar fills the room, and we both look toward the windows. A downpour has started outside. It obscures the forms of my men, far enough away to become dark shadows in the rain, moving into the tree line for shelter. It gives us some privacy.

Matty surprises me by hooking a leg over my hips and flipping us so she’s on top. I land with an oomph beneath her, eye-level with her perfect tits beneath a taut black shirt.

“Vîkl,” I snarl (off!), not waiting for her to follow the command and stripping off the jacket myself.

Then I take hold of the cap sleeves and yank them down her shoulders until her breasts swell into view, holstered by a black lace bra that makes my mouth water.

My mouth covers one nipple immediately, a hand going to the other breast to squeeze teasingly.