Twilight Sins (Kulikov Bratva Book 1)

If my life was a movie, I’d be throwing popcorn at the screen.

“You stupid bitch,” I’d cackle. “Rule number one: don’t go to a second location with the man you just met. It’s textbook.”

But nothing about Yakov is textbook. Not the way he looks or talks or how he entered my life. Definitely not the way my stomach flipped when he threatened me.

Okay, he didn’t threaten me, per se. But close enough.

If I wanted you to come with me, you wouldn’t be able to resist.

Full body chills. I should have given him the farewell salute right then. Nice knowing you, sailor, but I’m heading off. That’s what a smart woman would have done.

Apparently, I’m not a smart woman. Because I saw Yakov throw the real Sergey out of the restaurant like he was nothing. I saw it with my own eyes… and all I could think was, How easily could Yakov handle me?

I squeeze my thighs together and press myself against the car door. It smells like mahogany and exotic spices in here, but there aren’t any car fresheners that I can see. That’s just the way Yakov smells.

It isn’t making it any easier for me to think straight.

“Home,” Yakov orders.

I jump at the deep rumble of his voice, but the driver must be used to it. He glances in the rearview mirror once, looking away quickly when our eyes meet, and starts to drive.

This is stupid.

I am stupid.

There’s still time. We haven’t even pulled out of the alley. I could ask the driver to stop the car and get out. Or I could just pull on the handle. Rolling across the cement wouldn’t hurt too bad at ten miles per hour. I’d probably rip my dress, but that’s a small price to pay in the big scheme of things.

“Having second thoughts?” Yakov murmurs.

I press my shoulder harder against the door. It feels like the words tickle the back of my neck, but he’s still on his side of the car. He hasn’t moved.

“Yeah, but this dress cost too much to risk ripping it on the pavement.” I don’t have a firm enough grasp of my thoughts to pretend. He’s getting unfiltered Luna right now. God help him.

“No risk of that. The doors are locked. I’d hate for you to get away.”

My heart sputters.

I’m locked in. He locked me in. Locked. Me. In.

My fingers itch towards the handle with the need to check. Another part of me doesn’t want to know. If I pull the handle and it doesn’t budge, what then? Like he already pointed out, I can’t fight Yakov.

“You can breathe,” he says with a dark chuckle. I look over and he’s cast in a yellow tint thanks to the streetlights. His mouth is tilted in a smirk. “I was kidding. The doors aren’t locked. No need to check and accidentally fall out.”

The driver turns out of the alley and accelerates into traffic. Ripping my dress would be the least of my worries if I fell out now.

“Are you lying? About the doors? Maybe you could tell I was nervous and are trying to keep me calm.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “It wouldn’t matter.”

“If I was calm?”

“That. Or if you tried to jump out.” He shrugs.

His eyes are dark in the dim interior of the car, but I see the glimmer as they slide up and down my body. “I gave you a choice. You chose to come with me. There’s no need to chase you… is there?”

I’m giving you the choice. I’m asking you to come with me, Luna. Make things simple and just say yes.

Kayla won’t believe this. She had to trick me into going on a date. Yet here I am an hour later, in the back of some strange car with a gorgeous man who clearly has boatloads of money. Enough money that he can afford a personal driver, at least.

Hell, I don’t even believe this and I’m the one it’s all happening to. I still can’t decide if I’m unbelievably scared of Yakov or unbelievably attracted to him. Is “both” a bad answer?

I shift away from the door and let my hand slip from my thigh. My fingers fall onto the leather seat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Suddenly, Yakov grabs my hand and pulls me closer to him.

I slide across the seat and slam into his side. The smell of him is everywhere. His hand curves around my hip, fingers spread wide to hold even more of me.

“I know you’re not.”

I’m off-balance and out of sorts. When I look up, his mouth is inches from mine. I’m close enough that his eyes look green again. Deep and impenetrable.

I’m shaking. I know he can feel it. Still, I roll my eyes. “Is it hard, carrying around all of that humility? You must be exhausted.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I didn’t know men did that. Not in real life. “Not yet.”

I’m grateful for the darkness. If only so he can’t see the heat creeping up my neck.

“There’s not some sad woman waiting for you back at the restaurant, is there?”

He arches a brow. “What?”

“Well, I mean—I probably should have asked this earlier.” It was hard to think straight with his full attention on me. The same reason it’s hard to formulate the words now. “You weren’t at the restaurant for me. You aren’t Sergey. So, why were you there?”

He lowers his brow. It’s like watching a shield shift into place. The way his eyes go flat and his jaw flexes. Even his fingers tense on my hip.

“For dinner,” he answers flatly.

“Alone?” I immediately shake my head. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. I just don’t understand how this is happening.”

“And what do you think is happening?” he asks.

A one-night stand with the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

I can’t bring myself to say the words, though.

“I don’t… I guess I just mean… I’m glad you were at the restaurant tonight.”

Yakov is still watching me, that same faraway look in his eyes. Then he’s moving towards me.

Maybe it’s time to reconsider throwing myself from the car because I can’t kiss this man. I haven’t kissed a man in… Lord, I don’t even know how long. So I can’t kiss him. Not now! Not when I’m out of practice and probably have beef breath.

Abort mission. Retreat. Abandon ship.

Except Yakov doesn’t give me time to do any of that. He hooks his finger behind my ear, angles my chin with his thumb, and presses his lips to mine.

And suddenly, I need to kiss him. It’s the only thing I can do. The only thing I want.

Yakov’s hand slides from my hip to my waist and I angle closer to him. My knee slips over his thigh. One shift and I could straddle him. I’m not the kind of woman that straddles men in the backs of cars, but I could be.

For Yakov. If he wanted.

He sucks on my lower lip and I moan. I actually moan.

I press closer. Heat soaks through his shirt. I stroke my hand over his chest, his stomach. I hesitate, waiting for him to give me a sign either way. Should I go lower? I want to know if he’s feeling the same kind of ache that I am. I want to feel it for myself.

The world has narrowed to this moment. Just me and Yakov. No one else.

Then the car jolts slightly.

It’s a light tap of the brakes. But it’s enough.

I jerk back with a yelp, my entire body flaming with a mix of desire and embarrassment. I check the rearview mirror, but the driver has his eyes on the road. Right now.

Yakov and I aren’t alone. We haven’t been alone this entire time.

How much did he see? How much did he hear?

“Don’t worry, solnyshka,” Yakov says. His lips are against the shell of my ear now. His breath warms my skin. “He’s seen much worse.”

If he’s trying to make me feel better, he should keep trying.

The rest of the ride is silent. I’m a ball of anxiety and restless energy, but Yakov is perfectly at ease. I try not to think about how often he must do stuff like this to be so comfortable with it.

That’s easy enough to do when the car pulls into what has to be a half-mile long driveway, at least, and I see the mansion on the hill.

“What is that?” I gape. The windows glow with warm light—all three storeys of them.

“Most people call it a house.”

I snort. “Not my people. My people would call it a castle.”

“Does that make me a prince?”

I whip towards him, mouth hanging open. “This is your house?”

“According to you, it’s my castle.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” Amusement sparkles in his eyes.

I look from Yakov to the house and back again. Each time, I’m expecting one or the other to disappear. But they both stay stubbornly in place.

The mansion grows bigger and bigger until we’re so close that I can’t take it all in at once. The car comes to a stop and I’m still staring up at the stone archways and what looks like a balcony around the second floor when my door opens. I didn’t even see Yakov get out, but now, he’s standing in front of me with his hand extended.

I grab his hand and he pulls me out of the car. I start to turn back to thank the driver—maybe apologize for scandalizing him—but Yakov closes the door and he drives around to the back of the house.

It’s only when we’re alone… in front of Yakov’s mansion… in the dark… that I realize something idiotic.

“I don’t have my car! I left it back at the restaurant. I—I completely forgot about it.”

“Nikandr will retrieve it for you in the morning.” Yakov turns and heads for the door.

My feet, however, are glued to the cement.

In the morning.

Yakov is under the impression I won’t need my car until the morning.

Because I’ll be staying here.

The pieces take longer than necessary to shift around and click together because this isn’t a very complicated puzzle.

Yakov wants to have sex. He wants me to sleep here.

I’m still in the middle of the driveway when Yakov reaches the front porch and turns back. “You’ll find it’s a lot more comfortable inside.”

I doubt that very much. “Comfortable” is me, alone in my apartment. “Comfortable” would’ve been bailing on yet another terrible date, grabbing a stale donut from the gas station around the corner, and falling asleep with a book in my hands.

Nothing about Yakov is comfortable.

Which is why I peel my feet off the pavement and follow after him.

Comfort is for the birds.