Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(59)

“I can’t believe you made these,” I say. “I can’t believe your talent.”

“It’s not so difficult when you have a beautiful muse.”

He allows me time to process each piece. Until every detail has soaked into my brain and become a part of me. And then we find ourselves on the floor again, touching and kissing, but too spent to take it any further than that.

Side by side, we stare up at the ceiling, his palm skating the curve of my hip as he lights a cigarette.

“You should quit,” I tell him.

“I will.” He exhales. “Eventually.”

I smile and shake my head. “Isn’t it bad for the art?”

“Very,” he answers. “But now there will be a small part of me in your paintings. A signature, if you will.”

My paintings. He says it as if they belong to me, but I know they won’t be coming with me when I go. I imagine them a hundred years from now, gathering dust in a collection somewhere. What will people think when they look at them? Will they know that girl even existed, or believe her to be a figment of the artist’s imagination?

“What else do you paint?” I ask.

“Forgeries, mostly,” Nikolai answers casually. “But they are not all paint. Some are other mediums.”

“So that’s why this room is so heavily locked down?”

He smiles. “I am a thief, zvezda. As such, I’ve been known to steal a few valuable pieces now and then.”

I’m surprised to find how much I don’t care about his admission. He is honest about himself, at least. And in my mind, I like the idea of being bad with him. I reach for the cigarette and swipe it from his hand. He turns to me, curious, watching as I bring it to my lips.

His lips tilt at the corners when I inhale just a tiny bit and start to cough. “That’s really good,” I sputter.

He laughs, and his eyes are the lightest I’ve ever seen them when they move over my face. “My little doll wants to be wild?”

I nod.

“First of all, you’re holding it like a joint.” He repositions the cigarette between my fingers. “Now inhale, but only a little bit. Let it cool before you inhale.”

I do what he says, and it goes a little smoother this time.

“We won’t be making a habit of this,” he says as fair warning. “But for now, stay just like that.”

I watch him curiously as he rises and takes to another blank canvas, repositioning it so that he can see me. When his intentions occur to me, it makes me nervous.

“Pretend I’m not here,” he says.

It’s an unmanageable task, considering he’s naked. But I find it easier to watch him than to worry about my fears. The way his thighs clench as he tucks a paint brush between his fingers. When his arm sweeps over the canvas, his ass flexes too. I take another inhale, and he pauses to come fix the sheet that’s half covering me. Pulling out my leg and revealing the curve of my hip, he gathers it just beneath my breasts. Now it’s draped over me almost like a toga, and he’s back to his canvas.

He dips his brush into the paint, mixing colors and using techniques that show a skilled hand as he works. It’s a new obsession to watch him this way. The concentration on his face. The artist at work. I can’t look away, and I never want it to end. But inevitably, it does.

He takes a step back, examining his work before he looks at me.

“Are you going to show me?”

He stalks back to our makeshift bed, mounting me with a hard dick that pokes into my belly. We kiss, and he takes me again.

When he comes, his face collapses on my breasts, and I stroke his hair.

“What will you call it?” I ask sleepily.

“Inamorata,” he says.





“I see that you’ve brought the Valentini girl with you this evening.”

Viktor has cornered me on my return from the washroom, and his mood has soured now that the celebrations are winding down.

“Alexei asked me to bring her. It seems his wife is quite fond of her, and he thinks they might do well to become friends.”

“Then she should be here with Mischa,” Viktor says. “It does not look right, you bringing her here like this. In fact, I have tired of this whole charade. My Ana is waiting for your proposal, and I am ready to announce your intentions with her.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “It was not my intention to disrespect either of you. I thought we had an understanding—”

“Time is up,” Viktor growls. “Do you want to marry my daughter or not?”

I need a cigarette. Or ten. Any answer I may give him won’t be satisfactory. Either way, the consequences will mean paying with my life. It’s either death if refuse, or death if I give in. A life without Nakya is not a life I can imagine. I’m not ready to let her go, which is why my mother’s file still sits unread in my vault at home.

“I would like more time to get to know Ana,” I say. “So that we are both certain it’s the right decision.”

Viktor scoffs. “What else is there to know? She is beautiful, and she was bred for this life. She’ll be loyal and faithful. And most importantly, she is Russian.”

His words serve a purpose. He wants me to know that Ana is everything he thinks Tanaka isn’t. The words of a hypocrite, considering we are here to celebrate the pregnancy of Alexei’s wife. She is not Russian, nor does she have any of the traits that Viktor expects in a wife. But he has given Alexei his blessing. It would seem his good will is not equally distributed after all.