My Russian Beast: Standalone Billionaire Romance (2 page)

S
ergei’s lip
curled as he heard the professor say in a soft, concerned voice, “I’m worried about you nonetheless. It seems you’ve drunk too much.”

At the professor’s last words, Sergei slowly turned to look at the woman’s glass on the table.

It was half-empty…of orange juice.

When he turned to the woman, he saw that she was staring at her glass as well. She was chewing on her lower lip, visibly torn between saying the truth and staying silent on the off chance that the professor would offer to drive her home.

How ridiculously juvenile,
the billionaire thought, but a part of him was aware that his derision was rooted in something he had never experienced---

Sergei mentally shook his head.

Impossible.

He couldn’t be feeling jealous over this idiot.

“Perhaps I should drive you,” the professor murmured.

The woman’s face lit up, and Sergei had an unreasonable urge to shake some sense into her.
How the hell could she be so damn obvious?
Did this woman not have any pride at all?

“That w-would be nice,” the woman said finally.

Sergei’s teeth gnashed.

“I’m glad you think so.” The professor paused. “Unfortunately, I have a rather urgent need to go back to the university.”

Sergei’s gaze snapped back to the professor.
What the hell?
After making it seem he was about to offer the woman a ride, the older man was backing out just like that?

“The defense group I am advising has run into a bit of a problem,” the professor explained, “and I need to meet with them.”

It was perfectly plausible, and the professor’s tone was perfectly smooth, but Sergei wasn’t buying it at all. What was Julian Alexeyev playing at?

And almost as if the professor heard his question, the other man looked straight at Sergei, asking, “Would you mind taking my friend home?”

The woman squeaked. “Actually---”

But another voice cut her off. “What’s this all about, darling?” Madeline sauntered to his side, placing a possessive hand on Sergei’s arm. Her glance at Fredericka was cursory and dismissive, but her lips curved in a seductive smile at the professor, the model unable to keep herself from flirting with such a beautiful-looking man.

But both men ignored her.

Fredericka was sputtering in protest, but both Russians chose to ignore this as well.

“It would be my pleasure,” Sergei murmured to the professor.

“I appreciate it.” The professor shook hands with his student before turning to Fredericka. “Freddie, it’s my pleasure to introduce to you Sergei Grachyov.”

At the introduction, the woman had no choice but to face Sergei, and yet she still refused to meet his gaze. “Hello,” the woman mumbled to his tie.

The billionaire thought,
I want to fuck her and shout at her for being an idiot.

How was this possible?

“Sergei, this is my friend, Fredericka Spears. She’s also a member of Tropinka.”

“I see.” Sergei was privately surprised. Tropinka, which translated to
Pathway
in English, was a non-profit exclusive club. Its membership was significantly small, being based on merit rather than one’s financial capacity.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Fredericka.” He gazed at her broodingly as he shook her hand, thinking that it was almost too good to be true. So not only was this woman the rare kind to stir his loins in such a powerful way, but now she also happened to be Russian
and
self-accomplished?

The professor cleared his throat, saying under his breath, “You are staring too hard at my friend, Sergei.”

The billionaire flushed at his words, realizing that it was true and he had been acting like an infatuated adolescent on his first date.

D
’err mo
.
His cheeks flushed. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Fredericka.” He reached for her hand, causing her gaze to jerk up to his, just in time for her to see him bringing her hand to his lips.

As Fredericka yanked her hand away with a gasp, Madeline let out an outraged screech. “Are you flirting with this
nobody
in front of me?”

Sergei stilled, and when his chilled gaze went to her, Madeline realized too late that she shouldn’t have lost her temper so easily.

The billionaire turned to the professor and Fredericka, murmuring politely, “If you would excuse us for a moment?”

“Of course,” the professor said smoothly.

Sergei cupped Madeline’s elbow and forced her to walk away with him.

She started to stammer. “Sergei, I d-didn’t---”

The billionaire bent his head, whispering to her ear, “Get the hell out of my sight.”

Madeline stiffened.

“If you leave within this minute, I might be persuaded into overlooking your lack of manners tonight.”

Her lips tightened.

“It’s your choice.” The billionaire released his hold on her, and their gazes met.

A moment later, and the model wordlessly stalked out of the restaurant.

When Sergei walked back to the redheaded woman that had caught his interest, he saw that the professor had already left.

“He was in a hurry,” the woman –
Fredericka –
mumbled unnecessarily.

Sergei only nodded. He didn’t give a damn about the professor. What he cared about was the fact that he had this woman for the night. “Shall we go?”

She cleared her throat, unease written all over her face at the thought of having to hitch a ride with him. “I was thinking---”

Sergei cut her off, saying softly, “Let me take you home.”

The way Fredericka Spears’ eyes widened told him she wasn’t as dense as she seemed to be.

Good.

Fredericka knew that what he really was saying was,
Let me fuck you.

I
nvite me in
.

Sergei Grachyov’s words played endlessly in my mind as I unlocked the door. “Well, here we are.” My voice was a tremulous croak, and panicky questions raced past my mind as he walked past me.
What was I doing? Why was I letting him in?

I had no idea how to answer that. One minute he was helping me out of his Rolls Royce coupé, and I was thinking with more than a little relief that I could finally start forgetting this man ever existed. But then he had looked down at me with his I’m-going-to-fuck-you-eyes---

Invite me in.

Three simple words, and yet there was something about the way Sergei Grachyov spoke that made my insides clench.

And those eyes---

God, those dark, dark eyes that made me think of
fuck, fuck, fuck---

I quickly slapped my cheeks, privately appalled at the direction of my thoughts.

“Anything wrong?”

Ignoring the gleam of knowing amusement in his eyes, I put my hands down right away, mumbling, “N-nothing.”
He was totally laughing at me, the jerk
. Frustration had me falling back on an old habit, and I kicked the door shut behind me unthinkingly.

Sergei’s eyes gleamed brighter.

Shit.
My cheeks heated up as I realized I had practically thrown a tantrum in front of him.

“You’re sure everything’s fine?” His voice was oh-so-polite, but the way he was looking at me told me he was laughing at me.

I lifted my chin. “Totally fine.”

And it was.

I didn’t care what he thought of me anyway.

I didn’t!

As I tried to convince myself of this, I managed to smile brightly at Sergei, asking, “So…do you want, uh, anything to drink?”

“Coffee would be nice.”

I nearly gawked at him while blurting out,
Really?
I was a caffeine junkie myself, and depending on my mood, I’d have either tea or coffee even at night. That I actually had something like that in common with Sergei Grachyov made me feel so, so---

Giddy.

The realization made me blink.

Giddy?

I wanted to kill myself over it. I was 29 years old, for heaven’s sake. I had no right to be giddy like a high school girl. Clearing my throat, I muttered warningly, “I only have instant.”

“That’s more than fine with me.”

“Oh. Okay.”
Shit.
I had hoped he’d prove himself a snob and turn my offer down.

I took a step forward, but he remained where he was, blocking my path. “Umm…excuse me?” When he still didn’t move, I looked up---

SHIT.

That look
was back in his eyes again.

That I-want-to-fuck-you
look.

“I’m sure we can fit,” he murmured lazily.

Yes, we would…but only if I allowed our bodies to touch.

And he knew that.

“Why don’t you just move?” I demanded.

“Why don’t you just walk?” he countered easily.

Because!

Instead of answering him, I just glued my back to the wall and ignoring his raised eyebrow, I slowly walked sideways to inch past him, even holding my breath to make sure not a single part of our bodies would come into contact.

Sergei Grachyov burst into laughter.

Even as my cheeks reddened, I continued inching past him, telling myself I didn’t care that he was laughing at me.

If anything, the sound of his laughter, which was as sinful as it was mellifluous, was even more proof that I was right to play it safe. I was way, way, way over my head with this man, and the sooner I got rid of him, the better.

Dashing to my tiny box of a kitchen, I tried to ignore the way his near-black eyes followed my every move, tried to stop my heart from racing so fast, like speed was a matter of life and death.

You’re a sensible, reasonably intelligent 29-year-old lawyer, Fredericka Spears,
I groaned silently to myself as I opened the cupboard and reached for the coffee and sugar canister.
Just because Sergei Grachyov’s hot doesn’t give you an excuse to act like an idiot around him.

As I bent down to take out a carton of milk from the fridge, I heard him murmur, “Just one teaspoon of sugar for me, please.”

Straightening, I nodded without looking at him, muttering, “Gotcha.” But all the while I was thinking,
Sergei Grachyov had a sweet tooth.
It was yet another new discovery, and I was attacked by another silly bout of giddiness.

I bit my lip hard to keep myself from smiling like a fool at this unexpectedly cute side of the billionaire.

Stop obsessing over the guy, Fredericka Spears!

Preparing our coffee was done under a minute, and I turned around to face him, two mugs of steaming hot coffee in hand---

Oh.

Sergei stood in the center of my living room, his profile painting an elegant picture in his three-piece suit. He seemed to be studying the framed artworks on my walls, and with his broad back turned towards me, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to stare at him.

His intimidating height made every square foot of my already-cramped home feel even more suffocating than usual, and with him topping six feet by several inches, I couldn’t help feeling like my apartment’s low ceiling could cave down on us any moment.

I stared at him hard, searching vainly for any sign of imperfection, but there was none. This man was…perfect. So why was he here?

As if sensing my silent scrutiny, he turned towards me, and my fingers tightened involuntarily around the mugs as I was treated to the full display of the billionaire’s powerfully muscular form. Despite the formality of his clothes, the air about him somehow felt both savage and worldly---

What was this type of man doing in my apartment again,
I asked myself with a gulp.

In the silent ride home, I had secretly looked Sergei Grachyov up on my phone, thinking that his name was familiar because I might have come across it in my line of work. I was thinking Russian Mafia connections or maybe someone involved in a major Ponzi scam, but instead he turned out to be something more intimidating and completely foreign.

First of all, he was a billionaire – a
legitimate
billionaire, and not the kind that I dealt with and worked hard to put behind bars.

He was a billionaire who could have any woman he wanted, and yet---

What was this guy doing in my apartment again?

I stared at him, unsophisticatedly frustrated.

He stared back at me, elegantly amused.

“Fredericka.”

I nearly jumped, his gentle tone taking me by surprise. “Y-yes?” I tried not to let my mind dwell on the way his strong Russian accent wrapped so sexily around every syllable of my name.

“May I have my coffee while you stare at me?”

Oh.

Shit.

“I wasn’t staring at you,” I lied – I mean, muttered.

Chuckling, he came forward, and I hastened to place his mug and mine on opposite sides of the table before taking the seat next to the fridge. It was the plastic foldable type, something I had gotten for free from Craigslist, the only kind that could fit in the open layout of my apartment.

Sergei reached for the mug, still on his feet, and took a sip. “It’s good.”

I said doubtfully, “Thanks.” Instant was good as far as I was concerned, but I doubt it could compare to the kind of coffee he was used to drinking. “You can, uh, sit down, you know.” I gestured to the chair across me, but the billionaire took the seat next to me instead.

Our knees knocked under the table, the contact equivalent of having a dynamite explode in my chest.

GAH!

I swung my legs away from him and pretended not to notice him smirking.

Start acting like an adult, Fredericka Spears.

“Everything alright?” the billionaire asked in a lazily amused tone.

“Stop asking me that,” I muttered. He had to know I wasn’t okay, had to know that the sheer palpable heat of his presence was making me feel all sorts of crazy things. It was unbelievable, the way he strongly resembled Julian Alexeyev in appearance but made me feel so differently at the same time.

With the professor, I daydreamed about holding hands, of spending forever in a world of rainbows and roses.

But with this man---

“I’m only concerned,
pchelka
.” The endearment, spoken in a low, caressing tone, caught me off guard. Maybe it was because I struck most people as either aloof or sharp-tongued, but no man had ever called me by any kind of pet name before.

Until Sergei Grachyov.

My pulse leapt as our gazes met and as blood rushed swiftly to my head, my hands clenched under the table in an instinctive attempt to control my body’s reaction.
Overkill,
I thought in mortification. It was totally overkill, the way I could be so easily affected with whatever this man said…but it was what it was.

When I stole a look at Sergei, he was gazing at me speculatively, almost calculatingly, and my unease grew.

“Are you this way with all men,” he murmured suddenly, “or is it just me?”

I only stared at him. Ha! Like I’d ever give him the answer he wanted to hear, even if he had probably guessed the truth.

The billionaire leaned back against his seat, his lips curving, and I had a bad feeling he was laughing at me again, like he already knew the answer to his question and he thought it funny that I believed I could keep such a thing from him.

“Did you come to know Julian Alexeyev through Tropinka?”

The question caught me by surprise, and I said guardedly, “I did.”

His gaze narrowed. “And how long have you known him?”

“About a year?” I didn’t see any harm in answering him honestly, but I also couldn’t help wondering why he was so interested. Maybe he thought I was one of those women who only wanted the professor because of his fortune? Julian had spoken of such women dismissively, the one time I had found the guts to steer the conversation to his romantic entanglements.

“I see.” A pause, then the billionaire asked abruptly, “Do you like him?”

My mouth opened and closed as I sensed the air around us suddenly changing.

“Do you?” His tone had become harder, but it was the look in his eyes that made me swallow hard.

I want to fuck you.

His dark gaze still said that, but this time it also came with a possessive warning.

I want to fuck you…and I’m the only man you’ll fuck.

“Answer the question,” he commanded.

I stammered helplessly, “W-why do you care?” When I saw the billionaire’s lip curl, I winced and prepared myself, thinking I was in for a scathing retort.

But I was wrong.

“Because I want you for myself.”

My eyes widened.

“I want to fuck you, and no matter how innocent or inexperienced you are---” His voice turned into a rough, accented growl. “You knew that from the start.”

Oh!

He wanted to fuck me.

He had actually said the words out loud.

And now he was saying that I knew it from the start.

Did I?

Yes. No.
I just didn’t know what to think anymore, and the way he was staring at me with such hunger wasn’t helping. I knew I should look away, knew I should tell him this conversation was over and that he had to leave
now
.

But I couldn’t.

All I could do was stare back at him and feel my heart shudder against my chest---

Be still, shit, be still, be still!

Sergei slid to his feet.

My heart went wild.

Shiiiiiiit----

Sergei came towards me, and my heart smashed against my chest. Once. Twice. Thrice. Over and over, harder and harder, and oh, as he took a step towards me, the sound became louder and louder---

The billionaire took my hand, and I let him pull me up, even knowing that I should have resisted. I should have. I knew that. But I
couldn’t
.

His lips curved in a beautiful smile, and my toes curled hard at the sight of it…until his head started to lower.

I stiffened.

“Sergei---” I found myself slowly leaning back, but still his head came closer, forcing me to move back until I hit the edge of the table and found myself trapped.

One strong arm went around my waist, curling around, and then the next second, he had hauled me to him in one swift move, and I gasped as every inch of our bodies came into contact.

“No!” But even as I tried shoving him away, I knew I wasn’t struggling as hard as I should. How could I when a part of me – a
large
part of me – wanted what he wanted, too?

He wanted to fuck me.

And oh God, even if it made me seem so easy, I wanted it, too.

I wanted him to fuck me.

“Just let it happen,” the billionaire murmured in a hoarse voice made thicker with need. “We both want this, and there’s no harm in enjoying ourselves.” As he spoke, his arm around my waist moved down, and in a blink of an eye I found myself swept up in his arms.

It took me a second to recover from the shock, but by the time I cried out, “Let me down,” it was too late. He had already walked past my living room and opened the door to my bedroom.

Another moment, and he was laying me down on the bed, not even bothering to flick the lights open.

“No!” But God, my protest sounded so damn weak, and so were my struggles as I tried to push him away so I could get him up.

“You want this,
pchelka.
” He pushed me back down gently but firmly, and God, God, God, my body actually trembled harder in excitement at the way he was dominating me.

“Let me make love to you and show you how good I can make you feel.” As he spoke, his hand swept down the side of my body in an agonizingly slow caress.

His fingers brushed against the side of my breast, and I moaned. “No.” But God, oh God, my moan sounded more like it came from desire than fear.

His fingers moved further down, caressing my waist before pausing on my hips.

“You’re so damn sexy, Fredericka.”

I whimpered.

His fingers moved across my hip then trailed up with the same painstaking slowness.