Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(49)

Back in Ohio, I would’ve never thought to crash at a Russian acrobat’s hotel suite—someone with a reputation for being a god and a devil alike. This is all new. One part exhilarating and three parts terrifying.

“I think there’s something in the Vegas water,” I end up saying. It’s triggered the bold in me.

He shakes his head just twice before boisterous voices fill outside—in the hallway. I can’t make sense of the jumbled noises, like people talking over each other. All at once. My stomach drops at the familiarity. During the never-ending night, I heard these sounds.

From a hoard of Kotovas in the casino’s lobby.

I look up at Nikolai, and I realize that he’s been studying my reaction, not at all surprised about what lies outside his door.





Act Eighteen



“Dude, my keycard isn’t working!” someone shouts outside the door. I think it was Luka, but I can’t be sure. A slew of Russian jargon overtakes his voice, and it sounds like shoulders and bodies slam into the wood as they fight to open the door.

Nikolai rolls his eyes and sets down his wine before he approaches.

“Let me try,” Timo says. (I think it’s Timo.)

I crane my neck over the couch for a better view. Nikolai turns the handle and swings the door wide open. Timo nearly falls forward with Luka by his side. I mentally count about six or seven heads…no wait, eight. Eight Russian guys are outside.

I’m not ready for this—

“Hey, Nikky’s in a towel,” someone else says, and in two-point-two seconds, a pair of hands whips the fabric off Nikolai and snaps it against his thigh.

My jaw unhinges. His ass. His toned, bare ass. I’m staring at it. Dear God—what is going on? Nikolai doesn’t flinch or even balk. He says a few words, lightheartedly, in Russian and proceeds to return to the kitchen like he’s fully dressed.

What do I do?

Do I look?

I cover my face with my palm, clearly peeking through my spread fingers. I want to see. No you don’t. Yes, I really do.

My frozen body makes the decision for me. While the rest of his relatives filter into the suite, Nikolai passes the living room buck naked, heading for his bedroom. His cock is in view. I see—so much. There is so much to be seen. As he nears, I force my gaze upwards. But he’s already looking at me, his brows lifting. He caught me gawking at his package.

I don’t watch him walk past, I slump down and press my fingers together in a real face palm.

“Thora James.” Timo plops roughly next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder. “Did you just stare at my brother’s dick?”

Fuck my life.

“She’s probably already seen it,” Luka chimes in, hopping over the couch and sliding down on my other side. He combs his dark brown hair before readjusting his worn, blue baseball cap, wearing sweats and a plain gray tee.

Timo is the brazen one. In high-cut jean shorts and a leather jacket. Nothing else.

A couple larger, older guys say something in Russian as they enter the living room, one fisting the bottle of red wine. They look vaguely familiar, with short cut hair and hard features. Maybe from the never-ending night or in passing at the gym.

There is a lot of testosterone in this room, and they’re all eyeing me like I’m a new species. “I…don’t speak Russian,” I put it out there, just like that.

Timo tilts his head. “No shit, Thora James. I thought you understood me all this time.” His smile brightens his whole face, a youthful glow about him. I also feel less socially inept.

One of the burlier guys sits on the couch’s armrest and flips through television channels with the remote, the stereo speakers adding to the general cacophony.

“We haven’t met,” someone says behind me.

I crane my neck over my shoulder and stare upside-down at a very tall guy, around Nikolai’s age, with short brown hair and ocean blue eyes, his jaw also unshaven. His shoulders also muscular and broad, but with a longer face, he seems pretty compared to Nikolai—not as hard, rugged or devilish. If I met him first, I wonder what my initial reaction would be.

“I’m Thora,” I tell him.

“Dimitri Kotova.” The tank, as Katya called him.

“He’s our cousin,” Luka says as he digs into his pocket. He pulls out a handful of plastic-wrapped mints.

“The rest of us are,” Dimitri says, gesturing to the other five guys. He saunters deeper into the room and snatches the wine bottle from another guy, pressing it to his lips. He makes a show of taking a large swig in front of me.

“Go back to Animal Planet,” Timo says, pointing at the television. “That giraffe was about to give birth.”

“I don’t want to see that shit,” the guy with the remote refutes.

“It’s the miracle of life,” Timo gapes. “What’s better than that?”

“Texas Hold ‘em.”

“Fuck giraffes.” Timo folds instantly, and when the channel turns to a professional poker tournament, he leans forward, hypnotized.

“Want one?” Luka asks me, my mind whirling in a dozen directions. He holds out a mint and I accept it with a smile—at least I think I smiled. Everything is moving really fast.

“Those better not be stolen.” Nikolai’s stern voice pricks my neck. He walks behind the couch, now dressed in black sweats. I train my eyes on his face, not on his dick. But he briefly looks to me like he knows that I’m thinking about it. Of course I am. I’m sure if the carpet had eyes, it’d be fixated on his cock too.