Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
The same server came to deliver another plate. Her arm was outstretched to place the plate down when it slipped from her fingers as she mumbled something about a gift from the kitchen. The plate dropped and fell to the floor, shattering. Some kind of butter-sauced dish splattered across the dark marble surface.
The poor girl stared up in horror and looked like she was about to cry, her lips trembling, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
To my surprise, Artem gave her a gentle smile and said, "Don't worry about it. Those plates are heavy. I'm sure it happens to everyone."
Then he waved over the maître d', whose face was white as a ghost as his jowls trembled, sweat beading on his forehead.
The server opened her mouth to say something when the manager came and rushed her away and a team of four busboys were there to immediately clean up the mess. They really were terrified of him, and now he wanted my professor's name.
"Viktoria," he said as a warning, the single word a lash of command. "I won't ask again."
If I gave it to him, then whatever happened to the professor would be my fault. What was going to happen to me if I didn't? Would I end up over Artem's knee again, his palm reddening my flesh until tears streamed down my face and shameful pleasure bloomed between my thighs?
He wouldn't drop it.
I knew that much.
Would he try to figure out who it was?
Would I be responsible for the pain and suffering of other professors?
"Viktoria." My name on his tongue was low, barely a hiss, the sound a snake produced before it struck.
"Professor Stevens," I said with a sigh, defeat settling in my stomach like a stone. "Artem, please, let me handle this. If you try to scare him or something, it will only make things worse."
Artem lifted his hand, and immediately a member of his security detail was at his side. I hadn't even realized they were in the restaurant. No wonder the staff were all so terrified.
The guard was wearing a black-on-black suit that, although it fit well, did nothing to hide the gun holster under his arm, or at his ankle. The metal gleamed dully in the dim light, a promise of violence barely concealed.
He whispered something into the security guard's ear. The man gave Artem a single nod before taking a step back and disappearing, melting into the shadows like he'd never existed.
"What are you going to do to him?" I asked, my heart racing in my chest.
"That," Artem said, his eyes locked with mine, "is none of your concern."
His hand returned to my thigh under the table, squeezing possessively, a reminder of exactly who I belonged to.
CHAPTER 23
ARTEM
Dinner had been tense.
It had started so well and for a moment, I thought we were both enjoying ourselves. Then it all fell apart when I found out about the little mind games her professor had been playing.
The rest of the dinner she was practically mute.
She would speak to answer my questions in one or two words. Her earlier curiosity about my work, or how I knew her brother, had vanished like smoke.
The mood had soured, and the food tasted like sawdust in my mouth. Her appetite must have disappeared with mine. She pushed her food around her plate but barely ate a thing, the beautiful curve of her lips set in a tight line.
When I put my hand on her lower back to escort her down the cold hallway to her apartment, she flinched from my touch before correcting herself.
I fought the urge to grip her tighter, to remind her who she belonged to.
The thin fabric of her dress did nothing to mask the heat of her skin beneath my palm. I could feel every breath she took, every subtle shift of her muscles.
She said nothing as I guided her, but I could feel the tension in her body, and how it intensified the closer we got to her door.
This time, I'd shoulder part of the blame. The meetings I had earlier hadn't gone to plan, and when I found out that some half-wit professor was tearing down my girl, trying to make her vulnerable so he could make a move, I nearly lost control.
Nearly. If it wasn't for the clumsy waitress dropping the plate and breaking my focus, I would have. This had to end. I couldn't have such a precarious grasp on my temper and still be the cold, effective leader I needed to be.
It was easy to see what changed.
Her.
Something about her brought unpredictability and emotions out in me.
I knew that. What I didn't know was how to solve the problem.
Did I need to claim her, make sure she knew she was mine?
Really mine—marked and claimed in ways she couldn't deny?
My cock throbbed painfully against my zipper at the thought of bending her over right here in this hallway, hiking up that dress, and showing her exactly who she belonged to.