Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(101)

But—”

“We’re not his handlers!” I interrupt. “We’re her parents.”

“Co-parents.”

I stop short. That word sinks in like a bucket of ice water, chilling me from the inside out.

Co-parents. Separate entities.

And just like that, something else sinks in, too.

The realization that, every time there’s a reason for us to come together, Misha will remind me that we’re not really in it together at all. We’re partnering up for a practical reason. The moment that reason is met, we’ll go our separate ways and live our separate lives.

“I’m such an idiot,” I whisper to myself.

“What?” Misha asks, sauntering one step towards me.

He’s still in his towel, looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had. His silver eyes are fixed on me.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to dinner yesterday,” I say. “That was stupid.”

“Paige—”

“No. I just got confused. The lines have blurred a bit since we made our little arrangement. At least, they have for me. I’m still learning how to be ‘married’ to you. You need to give me some time to…

recalibrate.”

“What does that mean?”

“No sex,” I say bluntly. “It’s been confusing for me. Until I get my head on straight, it needs to stop.”

He pauses. I watch a bead of water cascade down the ravine between his chest muscles. His face is emotionless, and I’m not sure if he’s disappointed or angry. Maybe both. Maybe neither, for all I know.

I wish he was, though. I just want the power to make him feel something. To feel a fraction of what I do.

“Okay?” I prod, wondering if he’s going to dispute my spontaneous condition. Maybe argue that a man has needs and it’s his wife’s job to fill them.

Or, better yet, to whisper in that husky rasp of his, I need you, Paige. I can’t be without you, then take me to bed and show me with his words just how that promise feels.

But in the end, he just nods. “Okay.”





76

MISHA

My thoughts are a flurry in the days that follow. She’s trying to follow the rules and stick to our agreement.

I fucking asked for this. For exactly this.

So why am I so disappointed with the outcome?

I try to tell myself that it has to do with the lack of sex. But deep down, I know it isn’t about fucking.

The whole marriage of convenience thing was supposed to do away with all of these complications.

But that’s what all of my feelings for Paige are: complicated. Complicated enough that I avoided going to our bedroom to change for the business meeting I have with my Vors tonight until the very last minute.

As soon as I open the door to the bedroom, Rada scurries off like a frightened mouse. Paige, on the other hand, is sitting at her vanity, and she barely acknowledges me at all.

She’s in a silk robe, applying perfume to her neck and wrists. Her makeup is more dramatic than what she typically wears to the office. Her eyes are winged with black liner and she’s chosen a red lipstick that highlights the natural fullness of her lips. A shiver, hot and cold at the same time, bolts down my spine.

“Going somewhere?” I rumble.

“The girls are throwing me a bachelorette party,” she informs me, getting to her feet.

The robe is cinched tight around her narrow waist and brushes the tops of her thighs. She’s sexuality incarnate. An angel built for sin—and she’s venturing out into the world without me.

I don’t like it one fucking bit.

“The girls?” I inquire.

“Your mother, sister, and sister-in-law,” she explains. “I also invited Rowan.”

“Is security invited?”

“Don’t worry; we’ve got ten armed bodyguards between the five of us. I figured that would be enough

to satisfy you.”

I frown as she walks past me into the closet. Nothing about this conversation is doing a damn thing to satisfy me. Especially when she shrugs off her robe.

I feel my cock spring to life so fast that it makes me lightheaded.

She’s wearing a transparent black thong so tiny she might as well be wearing nothing at all. The matching bra covers her nipples and little else. I can see the generous half-moon of her breasts.

She doesn’t look like she’s trying to rile me up. Her expression is distant as she pulls out a dress and examines it. But somehow, the idea that she isn’t even thinking of me has me chomping at the bit.

She steps into a shimmering champagne cocktail dress that ends at her ass and puts her cleavage on full display.

“Would you mind zipping me up?” she asks, turning her back to me.

I stare at the deep V of the open zip. At the long curve of her spine. I can see the top of her thong just above the dimples in her lower back.

“Misha?” she asks when I don’t reply or move to help.

I clear my throat and zip her up despite my reservations about the outfit. There’s no way I can justify asking her to change. Not without opening a can of worms that’s better off left firmly sealed.

“You sure you’re going to be comfortable in that?” I ask, taking a stab at it anyway.

“It’s actually very comfortable,” she says, walking back into the room and running a brush through her hair.