The Darkest Temptation (Made Book 3)

moonstruck

(adj.) dreamily romantic or bemused

MILA

A knock woke me. I groaned and pulled my pillow over my face when I saw it was only seven a.m. I’d stayed up watching Russian sitcoms into the early hours of the morning, my skin flaring with the aftermath of Ronan’s mouth on mine. It made sleep impossible to find.

I still couldn’t believe how quickly the kiss had escalated, that I orgasmed in a public hallway from only the press of his thigh. I would like to think it was the cyclone of teenage hormones and lust I suppressed, but I knew it was because we had chemistry. The kind that sizzled like the sun on hot pavement from simply being in the same room. And now I knew he felt it too. I could only assume his disturbed reaction afterward was due to him remembering I was only nineteen.

Like it would help, I planned to tell him I was actually twenty.

When the knocking continued, I sighed, tossed the comforter back, and padded across the room to answer the door, half-expecting Ivan to be standing on the other side. But it was only a teenage boy holding a large white box with a paper bag on top.

“Mila Mikhailova?”

“Um, yes?”

He shoved the packages into my arms and disappeared down the hall.

I watched him retreat and closed the door with my foot, then set the box on the bed. Peering into the bag first, I smiled. Breakfast. Opening the box, I found a card.

Don’t give this one away.

—Ronan

I lifted out a long faux fur coat. This one was softer and more luxurious than the last. It had to be outrageously expensive, but my easy heart still grew twice its size. I slipped my arms into the coat and sighed as I fell back on the bed, where I ate the delicious vegan pastry while running my fingers through the white fur.

I liked Ronan.

I liked him a lot.

The mere thought of him made my heart pulse to an exciting rhythm. I came to Moscow in search of answers, but now I wanted to see where this feeling could go even more.

The pastry soured in my stomach at the thought of what awaited me at home: a terrifying lecture, Carter, and the mundane. I wished I could avoid it forever, but guilt already suffocated me at leaving Ivan in the dark. I knew I wouldn’t last longer than a week before telling him where I was and kissing my first taste of freedom goodbye, so I planned to make the most of my seven days in Moscow.

Pulling myself out of bed, I showered and dressed in a flirty lemon-colored dress and a pair of thigh-high boots that barely fit into my bag but were necessary for a boost of morale.

As I walked through the lobby, I greeted the girl behind the counter with a smile and a, “Zdravstvuy.”

Her eyes widened, then she dropped her gaze to the computer in front of her. My smile fell. It seemed everyone here disliked me with a single look. Maybe they could tell I was an American. Were our relations with Russia that bad these days?

The straight-faced concierge beside her silently took me in. He looked about as friendly as Miss Trunchbull in Matilda, but at least he acknowledged my presence.

I headed out the front doors, beneath the cold and overcast sky.

My walk was long, and the sliver of bare leg showing was numb three blocks over, but I had to use my cash sparingly and didn’t want to waste it on transportation. With how oddly Ivan was behaving, I didn’t know what lengths he would take to force me back to Miami before my week of freedom ended.

Moscow was a beautiful city, full of rich architecture and history. I took everything in with wide, curious eyes. I was born here, and walking the streets made me feel close to my roots. Even the air felt lighter here, filling my lungs with the taste of emancipation.

I had to stop and ask for directions twice, but eventually, I stood in front of the opera house. The wind whipped at my ponytail, and I shivered beneath my coat. The place looked deserted, but I tried the front door anyway.

It was locked.

I gave it a harder wiggle, but it didn’t budge. I cupped my hands and peered through the glass. The foyer sat empty, not even a janitor sweeping the floors. Maybe I’d have better luck at a later hour.

Disappointed I’d gotten nowhere, I started my trek back.

A few blocks over, a familiar awareness touched the nape of my neck. With an uncomfortable chill seeping through my skin, I halted and turned around. Pedestrians split off to walk around me on the sidewalk. Nobody seemed to pay me any attention, so I tried to push my discomfort away.

I didn’t make it far before feeling it again. Another glance behind me, and through the crowd on the street, I saw a tattooed hand bringing a cigarette to a masculine set of lips. The image reminded me of the man sitting in his car across from my hotel yesterday.

My lungs went cold. Could someone actually be watching me like Ivan said?

Why?

Horrid things like sex trafficking consumed my thoughts as I slipped my hands into my pockets and picked up the pace. I glanced behind me again to see the man in a black coat smoking and following at a comfortable distance. My chest tightened with each quick, shallow breath. Just as I made it to the hotel doors, I looked back to find he was gone.

Then, I ran into something hard and yelped.

“Whoa.”

I knew that voice. I put a hand on my heart as Ronan steadied me.

“You all right?”

“I thought I . . .” I was out of breath.

Maybe that man worked close by, and it was just a coincidence. If he wanted to hurt me, surely he would have done so while I was peering into an empty building on a deserted street like a sitting duck. Right?

I was becoming paranoid. And for that, I blamed Ivan.

“I’m sorry,” I said and stepped back, my unease fading in the heat of his presence.

“What did I tell you about apologizing?”

I frowned. “I ran into you. I was taught better manners than that.”

“Twice,” he said thoughtfully.

I blinked. “What?”

“You’ve run into me twice now.”

How could I forget? It knocked the breath from me. An unfamiliar awareness sparked inside. Madame Richie’s laugh ping-ponged through my head, and a shudder ran across my skin. Confused and slightly disturbed, I opened my mouth to apologize for that again but closed it when his eyes narrowed.

“This city is going to eat you alive.”

I took that literally, and my imagination cast a gruesome scene of zombies tearing into flesh inside my mind.

“You’re not superstitious, are you?” I asked suddenly.

A half-smile pulled on his lips. “Of course I’m superstitious. I’m Russian.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Great. Don’t tell me you believe all that D’yavol nonsense too? I’m unwilling to suspend my disbelief regarding red skin and forked tails.”

He eyed me seriously, running a thumb across his bottom lip. “Oh, he’s real, kotyonok.”

I raised a brow.

“Causing havoc and stealing away virgins at night.”

He said it so sincerely, a soft laugh escaped me. Something heavy and warm settled with each frozen breath between us.

His eyes were cautious as they took me in. “I see you got the coat.”

“I did. Thank you. I definitely don’t deserve it after giving the other one away, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“You would freeze solid in five minutes here without a coat.” His warm gaze settled on my thighs, his next words reproachful. “And you should probably consider wearing pants.”

I glanced down and noticed, with my coat covering my dress completely, it looked like I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. My wardrobe may be impractical, but it was mine here.

“I might have been raised in Miami, but I was born in Moscow,” I told him. “I have some Russian blood in me as well.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the warmth between us disappeared like a puff of smoke, replaced with something frostier than the cold. My lungs grew tighter each silent second until I gestured to the hotel doors.

“Would you like to . . . come up?”

“No.”

Okay. Talk about being shot down.

“You were just skulking outside my hotel then? Waiting for unsuspecting women to run into you?”

A snort sounded from behind, and I turned to see Albert standing at the curb smoking another cigarette.

Ronan walked toward the car. “Come. We’re going to lunch.”

He wasn’t asking, but my infatuated heart pulled me in his direction without a single complaint.

He turned to look at me. “Don’t expect french fries though.”

“In that case . . .” I stopped with my hands in my coat pockets as if I’d suddenly changed my mind.

It earned me a soft laugh that warmed my stomach like a sip of hot chocolate, and I gave Albert a winning smile. “Good morning, Igor.”

He rolled his eyes, about to flick his cigarette to the pavement, but he stilled when I pointedly said, “Mars.”

After a defiant stare-down, he begrudgingly walked five feet to the hotel’s plastic cigarette receptacle and tossed it in. Ronan lifted a questioning brow at the strange altercation.

“It’s an inside joke,” I told him, like Albert and I shared something special.

Albert seemed to disagree. I heard him scoff as he walked around the car.

“We’ve talked about this,” I said with concern. “We all care about you here. There’s no need to be shy.”

The oversized man rubbed his face to hide the tiniest flicker of sardonic amusement before slipping into the driver’s seat. Ronan watched our exchange with a humorless look. He wasn’t amused, that much was clear.

He pulled the back door open for me without a word, and I swallowed when he sat close beside me. He smelled so good it intoxicated my senses, bringing back the memory of last night. I ran my clammy hands down my bare, numb thighs.

“I’m twenty, by the way, not nineteen.”

He looked amused by the admission, like I was a child announcing I was now eight while proudly displaying a hand and three fingers.

“Are you?”

I swallowed. “My birthday was a few days ago.”

“I’m thirty-two, kotyonok.”

Oh.

I assumed he was still in his twenties and realized I probably hadn’t eased his conscience in the slightest. What was twelve years anyway? A lot, apparently, taking into account my inexperience and his dirty, practiced words when he’d asked me if I was going to come on him.

Though how I acted last night certainly didn’t seem innocent.

It went silent. My heart couldn’t find its beat in the thick tension, so I distracted myself by taking in the sights. The clouds parted, and a ray of sunlight fanned across my face while I absently pulled the star pendant on my necklace back and forth. I glanced at Ronan to find him watching me. Deeply. Strangely. Like I was a sharp icicle hanging from the roof above his head, but the sparkle was distracting him.

I wondered what he would do if I touched him right now. If I ran my hand across his thigh to even higher. Would he finally put his hands on me? Warmth rose to the surface of my skin and slowed my breath. He must be able to see the soft heat in my eyes because his darkened. With lust or anger, I wasn’t sure.

“They must not teach self-preservation in Miami.”

I stilled. “Are you warning me away from you?”

He showed me a flash of teeth, then looked away and pulled a piece of lint from his suit pants. “Yes. If I were you, I’d get out and run now.”

I stared at him.

His gaze returned to mine, and a slow smile pulled on his lips. He was joking. But something in his eyes didn’t relent.

I swallowed and glanced back out the window.

Entering through the front doors of the restaurant I slept in a few nights ago was a different experience today. It may be timeworn and slightly dusty, but the delicious smells that hit me in the face made me salivate. Unlike the first time I was here, the place was now full.

I locked eyes with a man I recognized from that night. The smoker. He leaned against the bar nursing a glass of clear liquid. His gaze flickered with something so harsh I grew cold. I needed to look up United States–Russia relations the first chance I got.

Ronan removed my coat, and the glide of his fingers down the fabric of my dress dropped my heartbeat between my legs. “Zholtoye,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes on the dress, as if he’d been wondering what was beneath my coat. Yellow.

My breath slowed. “Tebe . . . nravitsya zheltoye?” Do you like yellow?

His gaze lifted, holding, pressing, burning mine while stealing every ounce of breath in my lungs. He never answered me, but something told me he liked yellow, as well as the unpracticed Russian on my lips.

We sat at a booth in the low-lit corner, and the conversation was easy and effortless in a way it shouldn’t be with a stranger. Ronan asked if I attended college. In an effort to not show him how trivial my life was, I changed the subject and questioned him about himself. I learned his last name was Markov, and he had a brother who lived in New York City with a pregnant wife and young daughter. Ronan sounded sentimental when he spoke of them, and I fell a little further into his hands. Soon, he’d be able to mold me like putty.

He was suave with rough edges, pulling an ice cube from a ten-thousand-dollar glass of vodka and biting down on it. It only reminded me of his mouth on mine, the dirty way he kissed, and the absence of his hands on my skin.

My cell rang incessantly in my dress pocket. When I saw my papa’s number on the screen, the phone slipped from my fingers and landed with a thump on the table that seemed to rouse the entire dining room’s attention.

I watched the device buzz and buzz, shaking the silverware beside it and the heart in my chest. I knew if I answered the call, my papa would talk me straight onto a plane headed home. I did everything to make him happy, going so far as to accept a proposal from a man I didn’t even want, thinking in the end, those whispered words in the hall would fade away, my papa would be proud of me, and everything would be all right.

Ronan lifted a brow. “Problem?”

I shook my head, unwilling to share I was hiding out from my papa and his hired babysitter. He already had reservations about my age.

With a shaking hand, I turned the phone off and put it back in my pocket. I just wanted a week. A single week wouldn’t kill anyone.

As we finished our lunch, the smoker with an obvious aversion to Americans approached the table. He didn’t look my way, but I felt his animosity against my skin. Dirty blond hair and a splayed-open suit jacket like he’d just gotten laid in the bathroom. Maybe he had. He was good-looking in a classic way, though he could probably work on his xenophobia.

He said a few words in Russian to Ronan too low for me to hear.

Ronan got to his feet. “Give me a moment, kotyonok.”

I nodded and watched him retreat to the back hall. The man was popular.

The dirty blond remained near the table with his hands in his pockets, looking at me like I was a bug he wanted to squash. “Kill them with kindness,” was my motto. Well . . . not always, but it was a principle I was working on.

“Zdravstvuy,” I said with a smile. “I’m Mila.”

A skin-crawling awareness touched me as his eyes ran down my body, and then he replied, “Kostya,” with a mocking leer. His gaze narrowed with intense focus. “He might buy you fancy things, but you are nothing but another useless whore to him. Remember that.”

My smile dropped.

I’d never been spoken to like that in my entire life. At home, insults were subtle barbs behind your back, not slurs in your face. This stranger didn’t even know me or the fact I was still very much a virgin, but the word “whore” punched me right in the chest.

Again, I was reminded I wasn’t welcome by many here. It made me feel like an outcast; something ridiculous that didn’t belong. Not truly in The Moorings, and not here. Rejection tightened like a vise around my throat until humiliating tears rose in my eyes. Kostya looked darkly pleased as one ran down my cheek.

“Excuse me,” I said, grabbing my coat off the back of the booth and slipping it on as I walked toward the front doors. When I pushed them open, icy air caressed my skin. Unsurprisingly, Albert was reclining against the car at the curb smoking a cigarette. His eyebrows lowered as I made my way over to him. I leaned against the car next to him and breathed in the cold, industrial smell of the city.

“Your face is all blotchy,” he said indifferently, blowing out a breath of smoke.

“Albert,” I sighed, “sometimes, a girl doesn’t want the truth. Just like when she asks you if her butt looks big in that dress, she doesn’t want you to tell her so.”

He frowned. “Someone said you have a big butt?”

No, they just called me a useless whore.

“Something like that.”

“You do not.”

I released an amused breath. “Don’t look at my butt.”

“I am a man. We look.”

Right on cue, a heavily pregnant woman walked by, and Albert’s eyes didn’t hesitate to settle on her ass.

I smacked his stomach. “Stop. She’s pregnant, you perv.”

“That only means she puts out.”

The male mind was an enigma.

“What is a perv?” he asked, his gaze following the woman down the sidewalk.

I laughed softly. “You know, a pervert.” He still looked confused, so I continued, “Today, it just means someone with sex on their mind all the time.”

“That is every man.”

“Maybe, but not every man wants to gag and spank women, Igor.”

He blew out a breath of smoke and met my eyes with a significant look that sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re not in Miami anymore, blondi.”

After a moment of awkward silence, I held my hand out for his cigarette. Albert eyed me suspiciously before he put it between my fingers. Feeling bold, I inhaled deeply, which brought on a cough so hard I thought a lung would come up.

“Oh, my god, that’s awful!”

He took the cigarette back. “What did you expect?”

“I expected to look really cool,” I complained between coughs. “Like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“I do not know what you’re talking about.”

That was such a travesty, I couldn’t even speak of it.

I put a hand on my chest. “God, I can already feel the cancer.”

He laughed.

A dizzy buzz rushed so fast to my head I stumbled. Albert steadied me by placing an oversized paw on my arm.

“Whoa,” I said with a laugh. “I think I’m high.”

“Fuck,” he chuckled. “You are a lightweight.”

And then he released me, the amusement in the air snuffed out by something tense and combustible. Something that could detonate a bomb. My smile wavered, and I turned to see Ronan standing behind me.

“Nyet,” was all he said to Albert. A very hard and restrained no.

I swallowed, feeling like I’d done something wrong.

Ronan opened the back door, his penetrating gaze not leaving his driver, while I climbed into the back seat. As soon as he sat beside me and the door shut, I had no idea what I was apologizing for, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “I’m sorr—”

He grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled my mouth to his. I gasped, heat erupting like fire between my legs and licking at every cell in my body. I melted into his rough hold, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue against mine. My nipples tightened as they brushed his chest, sending sparks lower, and I hummed against his mouth. He groaned low in his throat, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth.

As his hand slid up my bare thigh, I trembled at the feel of those inked fingers on my skin. His touch set my nerves tingling with a panting, unadulterated want. He tasted so good; an injection of vodka straight to my blood. Every inch his palm moved farther up my leg pounded deeper in my core, leaving an empty ache in its place.

I was shaking with need, burning up with each press of his lips. I couldn’t even find the will to care Albert was in the car. But before Ronan’s hand reached where I wanted it—needed it—he stilled, stopping the kiss.

“Nyet,” he said coarsely against my lips, his fingers tightening on the back of my neck.

We exhaled into each other’s mouths, soft breaths and a Russian no vibrating in the air. His hand slid down my leg, pulling my dress back to a decent length, and then he released me. Tension tightened his shoulders as he wiped a hand across his mouth and looked out the window.

Confusion entwined with the hot buzz beneath my skin. I had no idea what just happened, and the strain settled thick in my lungs while I tried to catch my breath.

Albert’s gaze met mine in the rearview mirror, a spark of concern in his cold eyes.

I inhaled and glanced outside.

If what Kostya said was true, Ronan could have treated me like a useless whore a moment ago. I didn’t know if I had the strength to stop him even with Albert present. But he didn’t. He stopped and fixed my dress before things went too far.

After a silent and strained car ride, Ronan walked me up to my room. When we reached my door, I turned to him—breathless, waiting. His gaze settled like a heavy weight on my skin, heating me from the inside out. Transparency filled the gap between my white faux fur and his pressed black Armani suit. Longing, soft breaths, and cartoon hearts.

“Thank you . . . for lunch.”

His eyes lowered to my mouth, and I exhaled when his thumb skimmed across my bottom lip. “Klubnika.”

Strawberries?

My lip gloss. I tasted like strawberries.

His thumb pulled my bottom lip down slightly before it left me, the rough glide sending heat flaring inside. My gentle gaze met his, and, with a feeling of conviction, I knew I would let him do anything he wanted to me if he only came into my room.

I might as well have said that aloud because the sentiment blazed in the hall in a volatile wave.

Something lazy and hot flickered in his eyes, and then he took the key from my hand and unlocked the door. “Do svidaniya, kotyonok.”

He slipped the key into my coat pocket, and I watched his dark silhouette walk away.