Cognac Villain (Pushkin Bratva #1)

by Nicole Fox

“Uh-oh,” Jorden warns with a wicked grin. She points down at her hips, which are starting to shimmy from side to side like they have a life of their own. “Jor…” “Uh-oh!” she repeats in a delighted cackle. “I can’t help it, Cora! It’s—I’m—They’re aliiive!” “We’ve been here for twenty minutes and you’re already wasted?” “No,” Jorden claps back, “I’m having fun. You should try it sometime.”

“Screw the ‘strength of the relationship,’” Jorden says. “He was an athlete. That means stamina, Cora. Power. Flexibility. Are you hearing me? Are you understanding?” I wrinkle my nose. “Everyone understands. You’re gross.” “Says the skank who came home in nothing but a man’s suit jacket!”

“Did a cold shower help?” Yasha asks. He’s sitting in my office with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, a shit-eating grin on his face that makes me think he knows exactly what I was doing upstairs. “It would be great if you could at least pretend to be professional for once in your godforsaken life.” “Do you mean actually pretend? Or do you mean the way you’re ‘pretending’ to marry Cora? ‘Cause I think I can manage the first one.” He places his feet flat on the floor and sits tall with a faux-serious scowl on his face. “How is this? Yes, sir, Mr. Pushkin, sir. Right away, sir. Very good, sir. Pip-pip cheerio, tally-ho, sir.”

I snort dismissively. “You gave me her work address, her apartment number, and a useless interview you conducted with her neighbors.” He shrugs unapologetically. “Angela and Geoff were really nice. They said Cora is like the daughter they never had. They asked if I was her boyfriend. They said we would make a handsome couple. What do you think?” He laces his fingers under his chin and smiles like a debutante.

His eyes glimmer with mischief. “Everything you need to know about, anyway. If you get lost, it’ll be because you were sticking that little button nose of yours where it didn’t belong.” He reaches out to tap my nose and I slap his hand out of the air. “Don’t touch me.” From the other side of the kitchen, there’s a stifled laugh. I turn to see who it was—and have to bite off the beginnings of a scream.

I eat lunch—an incredible pork taco that I would give my left nipple to have the recipe for—and then experiment with a stroll around the yard.

She floats down, sighing and holding onto my neck for dear life. I keep her there, pinned between the wall and my hips. The bride I never asked for. The queen I never saw coming.

Then he sees what’s in my hand. I glance at it, too, and wince. I’m holding a rather long, quite girthy purple dildo. “Sorry to interrupt you two,” he drawls. I hurl the toy back in the bag and face him, my arms crossed over my chest. “You aren’t interrupting anything. I was just finding somewhere to put all this stuff.” His other brow joins the first. My body burns with the awareness of what I’ve just said.

“I always get what I want, Cora. And what I want is you.”

We’re still lying in bed a few minutes later when my door bursts open and my sister comes barreling in. “Where in the hell have you been all day? I’ve been calling and—” She careens to a halt in the middle of the room. Her mouth curves into a dizzying smile. “Oh,” is all she manages. “Oh.”

I ignore him. “I want you to oversee security at The Coop. That way, you can be close if I find anything. Otherwise, I want your eyes on Cora the entire time.” “Sure. Either my eyes or your eyes will be on Cora at all times tonight. I’ll make sure of it.”

glare at him. “Your eyes. I’m not going to interrupt the bachelorette party. I’m there strictly for business.” Yasha shrugs. “Business, pleasure—who can really tell the difference these days?”