Silken Chains (Bond by Morozov Bratva Book 1) (Bond by Morozov Bratva Series)

I SPIN on my heel.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

There he stands, silhouetted against the streetlights, looking less like a man and more like some sort of nocturnal deity that’s stepped right out of myth and into the harsh glow of reality. His gray suit seems to absorb the city’s pulse, and his shirt—impossibly white under the moon’s gaze—makes him appear all the more unreal.

Men like him don’t pursue; they sit on thrones and have the world delivered.

Unless, of course, he’s got a screw loose and figures I’m today’s special on the psycho menu.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath. “Stalker much?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You look like you could use some help.”

I shove his damn coat against that rock-hard armor he calls a chest. “I don’t need your help.”

Jesus, what are you packing under there, steel plates?

The coat hangs between us like a flag of surrender. I’m too pissed to wave properly. He doesn’t budge, just cocks an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, as if he’s daring me to push harder against the wall of muscle he’s masquerading as a man.

My hand’s still on his chest, feeling the drumbeat of his heart, a rhythm that seems too steady to be human.

“Would you just take the stupid thing?” My voice comes out half growl, half plea, and I hate the way it cracks.

I stare at him.

He stares back.

A jolt of heat inexplicably sears through me.

Stop it, Laura. He’s a stranger, not your next bad decision.

The night air sinks its teeth into me. A shiver racks through me, fierce and sharp, and I regret tossing the coat away like I’ve just chucked my only lifeline back into the sea.

Fuck.

Teeth gritted, I let it out blunt and cold: “I don’t need your help.”

His eyes drop to my dress, and a knowing look crosses his face. “Your dress disagrees.”

A blast of cold slaps my cheeks, and not the ones on my face. I reach back, and yep, my dress has betrayed me. Bloody hell, there it is; a rip right up to my ass, exposing my freezing cheeks and G-string.

“Give me a break,” I snap, flinging the coat back at him with a huff. My hands scramble to cover my backside from his view. Victor’s laughter rolls out, deep and smooth, not the reaction I want. It’s annoying how it doesn’t grind my gears the way it should; how, instead, it sends an odd shiver through me that’s not just from the cold.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I grumble, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Interesting,” he says, still chuckling.

My eyes do a full orbit in their sockets.

“Care to share what’s so fascinating?” I snap, one hand clutching at my skirt in a vain attempt to cover up. “Or is my backside just that entertaining to you?”

Suddenly, his smirk softens into something warm, and it throws me. Didn’t peg him for the tender-hearted type.

Get a grip, Laura!

“You,” he says, “you’re quite the firecracker, aren’t you?”

It sounds like a compliment, but from him, it feels like he’s just sizing me up for his next chess move.

Victor steps in close, too close, but I don’t back away.

My brain’s yelling “stranger danger,” but my body’s got its own ideas, leaning toward his warmth. As he covers me with his coat, I flinch, not from cold but from the sudden closeness. Surprisingly, I don’t mind the proximity.

My mind’s racing, a hamster wheel of “oh-no-he-didn’ts” and “oh-yes-he-dids.” 

“Come on,” he says, voice all velvet and smoke. “Let me drive you home,” he offers. It’s oddly tender for a guy who looks like he could snap a neck without breaking a sweat.

He’s offering to take me home?

There’s a twinge in my chest.

Disappointment?

Seriously?

What was I hoping for? What? Did I want him to sweep me off to some grand adventure instead?

Those big hands of his are careful as they brush away a curl from my cheek, and I’m suddenly a statue, only I’m feeling everything.

He tugs the coat tighter, and I’m wrapped up in a cloud of his scent. It’s like walking into a wall of man—pure, undiluted Victor. It’s nothing I’ve known before, not with David, not with anyone. Suddenly, he’s not just a guy; he’s the guy, and every breath I take is laced with him.

He’s not just handsome now; he’s something out of a freaking romance novel. And then there’s his face inches from mine, lips promising all sorts of sin. His breath doesn’t reek. Not like David’s always did, that made my stomach flip—in a bad way.

Stay back, my brain warns. But who’s listening?

I’m done being the good girl who gets walked all over.

I squeeze my legs together, a pathetic defense. It’s been too damn long since… well, anything.

I look up and our eyes meet, and there’s this dance in his stormy gaze, a flicker that suggests he’s seeing more than I’m showing. His pupils dilate, and that damn tongue flicks across his lip. My brain’s screaming at me, but my body’s been lonely way too long.

I want him.

Fuck. I want him.

We’re so close I can almost taste his breath. Our lips are barely an inch apart. I’m not breathing.

Screw it.

My head tilts up instinctively, and that’s it—I kiss him.

It’s reckless, it’s insane.

But it feels like the first real thing I’ve done in ages.