Page 10 of The Brigadier
He’d fucked me.
The man I’d known as a child had…
As I turned slowly and walked further into the light to face the man in question, I did what I could not to pass out, forced to grip the railing for dear life.
I was hopeful my mouth wasn’t wide open. I had more class than that. Now, instead of visions of sexual grandeur, my mind shifted to the early years, the ones where I’d believed him to be my real uncle. He wasn’t blood relations, not in the least, only holding the title and nothing else. My father had adopted me when I was very little when he and my mother had gotten together, but that didn’t change anything.
Yet the idea of how taboo my thoughts had been lingered in the forefront of my mind. Dear God, I couldn’t help myself.
And we’d acted this way.
As he tipped his head toward me, it took him a full minute plus to realize who he’d been flirting with. I wasn’t entirely certain but I thought his face was filled with a brief moment of horror from the act of sin we’d just committed.
Dark, curly hair, shimmering eyes in the twinkling lights. A body built for sin and a chiseled face that could rival any god. He also exuded danger and sophistication, a man who could look equally good in a suit as he did in jeans.
“I’ll leave you alone. Just don’t let her out of your sight,” Sergei told him.
“Oh, I assure you, I won’t.”
Neither one of us said anything at first as Nikolay walked closer, taking his sweet time doing so. The moment recognition had hit him, it had rocked his world like it had mine. I sensed he wasquestioning his earlier motives as I’d done, trying to process how he’d missed the signs.
When he was only a few inches away, I was certain I was going to become intoxicated more so by his musky aftershave than the three glasses of wine I’d consumed.
“Chantel,” he said, his voice growling. There was a definite sense of horror to the tone.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the beautiful, passionate moment.
While I wanted to hope there would be more, my thoughts were just the opposite. I prayed to God I’d never see him again.
My father would kill me, my mother disgusted.
But the naughty girl images returned.
“Chantel,” he repeated, his tone no different than before, his deep voice dripping of allure and sexual innuendoes. And disbelief.
Another moment of silence settled in while I came to grips with what had occurred.
“Uncle Nicolay.”
Instantly, I could tell he was uncomfortable. We hadn’t seen each other since I was maybe ten or eleven. I’d spent so little time around him that I shouldn’t feel bad in the least. Yet he’d held me on his lap when I was much younger, reading stories to me. Oh, God. Yes, indeed I was going to burn in hell.
He shook his head, a smirk crossing his face. “I haven’t really been that for you in a long time. I understand you’re moving to New York?”
We were carrying on a normal conversation now?
Were his eyes sweeping all the way down to my stilettos? Yes, they were. As soon as they returned to my face, I involuntarily dragged my tongue across my bottom lip, something I’d been told a couple of times was extremely sexy.
I was flirting. Again.
Like a very bad girl.
Hell was the least of my worries.
“Yes, a new job. A new sense of life. You’re here?” I no longer recognized my voice either. It sounded way too sultry.
“Yes. I live and work here. I own a house in Brighton Beach and another one on the shore.”
“You’ve done well.”