I catch a glimpse of her eyes as I turn into the next pose. This time her pointed chin, high cheekbones, perfectly upturned nose, and feathery brows paint a picture I didn’t notice before. She’s nervous. I find that funny– that she’s a Miu Miu model with nerves. It interests me more than anything that’s currently happening. Pulls me out of the moment until I’m lost in her eyes, and the camera flashes as she looks back into mine.
“Let’s get some sensual shots with you two. I want passion. Kissing. Make Dior jealous.” The nasal-voiced photographer is like background noise to me because this is not real. Nothing is real. I’m watching everything happen like a dream, but I know I’m not in a dream.
Fuck. I hope I’m not in a dream.
Nothing in me is opposed to kissing her, though my anxiously beating heart would prefer if I ran far away. And maybe I should— sprint so fast that I can defy those nuisances I spoke of earlier. I’m only looking into her eyes, but it doesn’t take a genius to spot the difference between this woman and every other person I’ve been with. There is something magnetic, almost cataclysmic between us. Despite my tightening chest and better judgment, I look her deeply in the eyes. Turn my body to her, so the camera can focus on this invisible force between us.
I think this is a sex thing. Like, I think I only want her because I want to fuck her. And I think maybe we’re sexual soul mates or some shit— that has to be why there’s this weird pull between us. The only person I’ve ever heard talk about that bullshit is my sister Olive, and I begged her to shut up, so I could never picture her with the guy she was harping on about. But, yeah. That’s definitely what this is.
Okay. I just have to stop focusing on why, and work. Kiss her, make it look good, hook up with her, and be done with this useless train of thought.
A flicker of disbelief that I’m inching forward burns behind her steady eyes. I lick my bottom lip, enter her space where I can breathe in her intoxicating scent, and feel her breath on my ready lips. Her brows turn up at the inner corners, and I notice a fight in her that I don’t understand. I shake my head, but only slightly, so the flashing camera doesn’t blur my movements.
My hand finds her small waist hidden underneath thin layers of fabric flowing down to her feet and collecting around us like a puddle. Her hand raises to my jaw, her thumb stopping at the dimple in my chin. I pull her closer and hear the photographer telling us something, but it's muddied by my desire for her body, making every light flash in my mind.
They aren’t lights telling me to do it, whisk her up and kiss her so fucking good she begs me to fuck her. They are warning lights, screaming at me to stop before I fuck myself over. Nuisances.
This is my job, so I can’t pussy-out now. I lean in closer, and the tips of our noses brush lightly as our breathing does the talking.Focus, Romeo.Just fucking kiss her. My lips brush against her soft, plump ones. Even just this touch sends an electric current through my body, and I taste her sweetness already, like a shock to my system. A jolt of some force I might be an addict of.
She rests her delicate hands on my chest; I know I’ve got to do this now.
“Kiss.” The photographer calls, and I lick my bottom lip, giving myself one last pep-talk before diving into the deep end.
I’m a fucking model. Fuck everything else. I can do this.
3
KIRA
Shit. Shit. Shit. The softest lips ever to exist, and they are brushing against mine. How is this work? How are people paid to do this?
If I can just focus on the mission and not this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach the size of the Grand Canyon, I can complete what’s expected of me with ease.
I had absolutely no idea that the exclusive meeting last night was about a critical solo mission— one that I would be heading up. All my dreams came together the moment Nikolai Mikhailov began to speak, words falling from his smile full of secrets that made my stomach flutter with anticipation.
By the time I was out of the meeting, I was promised I would rank up if I completed this mission well.
“It’s the single most important task we’ve given anyone since the conception of the Russian Bratva,” Nikolai had said to me, eyes narrowed as he tried to take in what I was thinking. I had already accepted it, though I couldn’t quite form the words to say so. It was to my benefit because they really wanted me. As a result, they kept throwing out offers. They nearly threw in Kias; I’m almost positive. I stopped them by raising my hands quickly when Nikolai said I could marry into his family, gesturing to Kias. So, I’m basically promised to be with him— that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. Even after their final deal reached my ears, I continued to stand there, awestruck and dumbfounded.
One briefing with my new security team (my very own), a fake ID by the name of Lydia Royce, and a perfectly timed run-in with the subject, and I should be feeling pretty great right about now. But somehow there is something nagging at me, and I can't quite figure it out. Maybe it’s the fact that Romeo is inches from my face, eyes heavy with more lust than anyone else could pull off. Is it normal to be this gorgeous? He's absolutely flawless– like inhumanly so.
Tall, lean, and muscular. Every curvature of his facial structure is chiseled. Jaw and cheekbones meet perfectly with soft indentations that sweep down on either side of his plump, pink lips. His green eyes are surrounded by a forest of thick lashes that line the top and bottom, blinking in time with the palpitations of my erratically beating heart. His dark brown hair is swirling around him with a life of its own, long, but nowhere near long enough to make a bun. It twirls in waves that lighten at the ends and frame his already sharp facial structure.
His nose is so immaculately straight and perfectly rounded at the tip and sharp in all the right places that I’m concerned about how attracted I am to it alone. I can tell they’ve concealed some of his tattoos as well. There’s definitely one behind his ear and straying down his neck, some on his hands, possibly a chest or upper arm connecting to a larger piece skillfully concealed. If he wasn’t so fucking hot, this might cost him a modeling job. I do wonder where else he’s hiding them, but I know I have to refocus on the task at hand before it’s too late– as in, I work myself into a frenzy or something embarrassing like that.
I fight the chills rising on the back of my neck and arms because I have to focus.
My objectives clearly stated; get close to Romeo (whatever it takes), find weak points within the San Giovanni’s mafia family that the Russians can prod, then help bring them down to claim their territory and alliances. Easy enough– sort of.
But right now, I have to look like a model who knows what she’s doing. I can’t be drooling over his perfection, or get distracted by the taste of his lips— chocolate and toasted almond, if you were wondering.He must have had a chocolate bar before the shoot? How is that fair? A model who can eat chocolate.
It’s all besides the point, which is that this man is my ticket, that’s all. And to be honest, I feel nothing for him. It’s just sexual attraction, I’m sure of it.
The moment our lips meet, though, I nearly fall over.Pull it together, Kira.This is your one shot at getting what you want. No man likes a woman who melts for him without a chase.I know enough about men to know when one likes the hunt, and I’m almost positive he’s the same as the rest. I know the way I responded to him earlier, the way I didn’t fall for his flirty bullshit, threw him off his game. But he seems to have recovered nicely, because he kisses like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
I’ve been kissed before, plenty of times. The Bratva aren’t shy about having their female members use their bodies to get what they want or need from targets. It’s part of our training–how to charm, how to kiss, how to fuck without feeling. The men don’t get the same training, maybe because, in my experience, they don’t need it. They don’t have any trouble fucking and leaving.
But then again, neither have I.