Panic shoots through me, harsh and bright in my veins as the fog of sleep recedes. This isn’t a dream. I’m in a huge, comfortable bed, in a beautiful forest-green-painted bedroom, with golden morning light spilling in through the curtains. But my heart pounds.
I really can’t remember anything after the beginning of my first-ever date… I scrabble around in my thoughts, but it’s all like water. I can’t hold onto any of it. I was having dinner with Howard. It was miserable. Then everything is blurry after that. There’s just a vague sense of fear and dread that shivers down my back, but nothing that approaches an actual memory.
I cannot remember anything about how I got here, or why this mountain of a man is standing over me. But I recognise him.
Not exactly. At his side is a black-and-white long-haired dog with a narrow muzzle and a cheerful panting grin, I haven’t stopped thinking about either of them since we met. I think it was them? My memory can’t be trusted right now, clearly.
The man and I regard each other in silence.
He’s tall, difficult to tell exactly how tall when I’m curled in a bed, but well over six feet. Ice-blue eyes, square jaw covered by a short beard. He has cropped salt-and-pepper hair that is sticking up at odd angles as though he’s pulled his hands through repeatedly. His black suit is clearly expensive, but very rumpled, and his tie has been discarded, leaving the collar of his grey shirt open, revealing a couple of dark hairs below the dip of his clavicle. His chest is broad and as he leans forward, the fabric stretches tight over his muscles.
My heart skips a beat in its panic and begins to thud.
This man is precisely who I thought I was avoiding when I arranged the date with Howard. He’s older, scarily gorgeous, and I’m really, really attracted to him. Like, put some melted cheese on the side, and I’d eat him in greedy mouthfuls. I’d binge so much of him my tummy would be swollen… Or perhaps he’d hold me down and put another sort of bump into me.
Breed me with a baby bump.
Even though he can’t hear the thoughts, my cheeks heat. Maybe I’ve had a blow to the head, because this is not sane.
Where am I?
Better. Those are the right considerations for this occasion, Jenna. Not thirsting after a stranger, who doesn’t feel like a stranger.
“Here.”
It’s only when the man turns and pours a glass of water that I realise I’ve been staring at him dumbly. When he holds it out, I don’t take it.
He dips his head to the side in concession, and swallows a mouthful of the water before offering it to me again. I guess I must look shaky, because our fingers touch as I take the glass, him not releasing it until I’m steady. He’s warm and solid and comforting and a soft glow surrounds where our skin met as I drink gratefully.
He sits down at a short distance, folding that big body down into a less intimidating posture, and regarding me. I sneak glances at him and the room beyond. It’s peaceful and large, decorated in a dark-green with touches of black.
“Thank you,” I say when I’ve drunk the whole glass, and he’s refilled it once. My head is fuzzy, and there’s an evening-sized gap where there should be a memory of how I got here.
“Where am I?”
“My estate in Kent. It’s safe,” he says calmly. “I brought you here to recover.”
“Who are you?” I have a lot of questions right now.
He sighs and looks away. The puppy pushes his nose into his hand and almost unconsciously, the man pets him. He has big hands, and as the dog stretches up, revealing his vulnerable neck for the man to stroke, I have the sudden wish to be there in his place. Sitting at this man’s feet, him praising me and petting me. Being his, and cherished.
“My name is Dimitri Voronov. I run the Rotherhithe Bratva.”
“You’re a mafia boss.” My voice is shaky. The mafia boss of the area of London where I work. “The Rotherhithe kingpin?”
Dimitri inclines his head with surprising grace for such a large man. “Yes.”
That should fill me with fear, but how straightforward he is actually reassures me.
“Why can’t I remember…”
“We think your date sedated you.” The words are gritted out with fury and his fist clenches.
“Howard drugged me?” Safe, boring Howard? I’m more than a little sceptical. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“You don’t. But you can ask me anything, and I’ll answer, and never lie to you.” His accent has a hint of Russian, and he’s so familiar.
But he’s a kingpin. I’m not going to ask him if he and that dog are the same as the man who brought in a puppy to the veterinarian clinic. It was two months ago, and my memory is obviously playing up right now. Let’s not sound totally insane.
“How did you find me?” My chest tightens with fear just saying the word, pulling in my shoulders too. Drugged. What happened to me? I want to curl in on myself and simultaneously vomit out whatever might have occurred while I was unconscious.
“I was in the restaurant during your date.”
Funnily enough, that ties in with something I remember. A flash of a memory from early in the evening of a man eating alone in the restaurant.
“Do we know each other?” I’m suspicious, and that thought is thick in my tone.
“Maybe. I was stalking you,” he replies simply.
That admission steals my breath. Wow. He wasn’t joking about the truth. And weirdly, that makes me trust him a bit.
“What happened?”
“You had dinner with your date.” He says that word the way most people say dog poo when it’s on their shoes. Which, okay. That tallies with my memory of the first part of the evening. “Afterwards, you went upstairs with him to his hotel room—”
“I did what?” This is taking a turn I didn’t expect. Did Howard call me a good girl and tell me he had a massive dick, loved spoiling women with orgasms from oral sex, and rescued puppies? Even if he had, I’m not sure I’d have gone to his room.
“And then you sent a message to your Instagram that suggested to me you were in danger, so I came and got you.” He delivers the phrase with studious innocence.
There’s a lot more to the story, but I’m not ready to hear about it yet. I grasp at my dress, and as though he read my mind, Dimitri passes me the crossbody bag I was wearing yesterday. Everything is in place.
My phone confirms he’s right. I posted something with out-of-character seriousness. There’s also a text from my housemate.
Me: HELP!
Her: u ok babe?
Under my lashes, I peek at the kingpin. He’s observing me steadily, forearms on his knees, fingers loosely interlaced. But beneath the relaxed facade, there are lines of tension. But he’s telling me the truth about some things at least. If he manipulated this situation, he’s done it cleverly, and I can’t see what the aim would be.
Me: I think so, thx for checking
And I pray it’s true. There’s nothing from my parents. Not that I expected it, but the pang is unavoidable. I look back at Dimitri.
“Let’s say that’s the case…”
He nods grimly, but doesn’t rush in with some offence that I’m not entirely believing him.
That means there’s a sizeable gap in my evening, and it’s filled with Howard, who had the opportunity to spike my drink. Perhaps when he went to the bar… It makes some sense, and it’s the best theory I have until my memory returns.
“Do you think he kissed me?” I ask.
Dimitri’s eyebrows shoot up.
“It’s just that I’ve never kissed a man,” I confess in a rush. “And now that prick might have stolen my first kiss.”
Or maybe much more.
I try not to think about that.
“I don’t know if he kissed you.” Voronov’s accent is more pronounced suddenly. “I was downstairs at that point.”
Oh.
“And then the other side of the door. I couldn’t hear anything.”
Anxiety grips me, not that I’ll never remember whatever happened, but that I will, and forever more my first experience of kissing and being with a man will be that horrible man, who I should never have agreed to go on a date with.
“Would you kiss me?” I ask in an impulsive rush.
“Zayka…” he says warningly, and I ignore both his tone and the word I don’t understand. Because I cannot allow Howard to be my first, and who knows how long I have until my memory returns.
“If you kiss me now, you’ll be my first kiss. The first I remember.”
He’s shaking his head before I’ve finished. “Not when you’re vulnerable. It would be taking advantage.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” I insist. “You’d be doing me a favour.” Because this Bratva kingpin, however weird the circumstances of our meeting are, is fantasy juice. He must know that he looks just like the sort of men I describe in my little stories.
Tall. Dark. Brooding. Biceps as big as my thigh.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” he replies firmly. “You’ve had a distressing incident, and—”
“No.” I’m more certain about this than I have been about anything in my life. It’s a win-win.
If my first kiss was with Howard—ewww—then this will soften that memory when or if it ever emerges. If I’m wrong, and either Voronov already kissed me, or no one has, then I’ve got my first kiss on my terms.
“How can I prove I’m perfectly in my right mind? I’ll do a test. Name the animal, draw the clock. Person-man-woman-camera-TV. Do verbal reasoning. Walk on a white line.”
“No.” One iron-clad word.
“Twenty press-ups? Ride a horse backwards? Escape a wolf?”
There’s a pause, and our gazes lock. I can’t look away from his pure, light-blue eyes.
“A Russian wolf,” I murmur, goading him.
My memory could return any second. Any moment I could be stuck with Howard as my first kiss, and nope. I’m not accepting that.
“A chase…”
The air between us thickens and Voronov clenches his jaw.
“You know about my insta profile.” It’s not quite a question. He’s already revealed that he does.
A single nod.
“Do you like that too? Primal play?” I’m gambling everything here. Maybe he’ll shoot me down, tell me I’m perverted and sick and a silly girl for wanting to be needed so badly that a man would hold me down and take me, overcome with desire. It’s screwed up, I know it is. But yeah, I fantasise about being devoured.
He swallows as he glances down, and I think he won’t reply.
“Yes.” His voice is hoarse. “Yes, I want that. But I’m a dom. I hunt.”
The admission vibrates through me. He’s a primal dom. My clit twitches.
“Then hunt me.” It’s a breath. I crawl out of the bed. My shoes have been removed, presumably by Voronov, but my dress and underwear are reassuringly in place. The door on the far side of the room calls to me. I wonder if I can trigger his chase instinct.
“If I can run, that will prove I’m capable. You can catch me and kiss me.” I back away across the room.
“Jenna.”
The authority in that word makes me stop.
“Out of that door is a corridor that runs around the entire house,” he says gruffly. “It’s a square. If you can make it back to this room without me catching you, then…” He heaves in breath and then sighs like it’s all the weight of the world. “Da. I’ll give you a first kiss to remember.”
I nod eagerly. I’ve never been chased before—or only in my dreams.
I’m not at my best and sharpest right now, courtesy of the presumed drugging. But I’ve been training. Putting in miles on the rickety treadmill of my building’s gym. I’ve read about chase and evasion techniques.
This is what I want, what I always wanted and was too fearful to ask. I nearly lost all my chances at the first kiss of my dreams, and I’m getting a do-over.
But to earn it, I have to evade the Bratva kingpin’s grasp for one lap of his house.
“Don’t expect much head start, zayka,” he warns as he stalks across the room.
I throw open the door, revealing a long dimly-lit corridor stretching ahead of me.
“I’ll be playing to win and put you safely back into bed, innocent and untouched.”
I take another step away, my heart fluttering. Though I want him to catch me, I have to win this kiss.
The last thing I see before I turn is his pale eyes go dark.
“Now run.”
