The Boss's Forbidden Obsession

The iron gates of the Volkov estate shrieked like a dying man as Nikolai's SUV tore through them. He didn't wait for the guards to open his door; he shoved it open, his boots hitting the gravel with a heavy, purposeful thud.

His skin was still humming with the afterburn of the girl back at the penthouse. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his tie discarded somewhere on the highway, and the scratch marks on his neck were a stinging reminder of the hollow release he'd just purchased.

He was in a foul mood. His mother's phone call had been a leash tightening around his throat. A wife. The word felt like ash in his mouth. He didn't need a wife; he needed a war to win, a body to break, or a bottle of whiskey to drown the restlessness that always clawed at his insides.

The mansion was silent, the air inside smelling of lemon polish and old money. He ignored the butler who tried to take his jacket, walking straight toward the back of the house. He needed a drink, and he needed it now.

He pushed open the heavy double doors to the kitchen, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

The kitchen wasn't empty.

Sitting on the high marble island was a girl. She looked like a hallucination-a soft, golden blur in the middle of his dark, cold world. She was wearing a silk tank top so thin it was practically a second skin, and her legs-long, pale, and distracting-swung back and forth as she ate a slice of apple.

Nikolai's eyes narrowed. He felt a familiar, predatory heat rise in his chest. Who the hell was this? One of his men's mistakes? A honey trap sent by a rival family?

"Who the fuck are you?" he growled.

The girl didn't flinch. Most people trembled when Nikolai Volkov spoke. Most women looked at the floor or tried to hide. This girl simply turned her head, her hazel eyes locking onto his with a calmness that bordered on insulting.

"I'm the person wondering why you're shouting in a kitchen at three in the morning," she replied. Her voice was like honey with a sting-sweet, but sharp. She didn't move. She didn't cover herself up. She just took another bite of her apple, the crunch echoing in the tense silence. "And you must be Nikolai. Masha said you were charming. I see she's a terrible liar."

Nikolai took a step forward, his shadow stretching across the floor until it swallowed her. Up close, she was even more irritatingly beautiful. She smelled like vanilla and rain-a scent so clean it made the filth of his own night feel heavier.

"You're in my house," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly register. He reached out, his large, calloused hand wrapping around her throat. He didn't squeeze, but he made sure she felt the weight of him. He pinned her against the edge of the marble, leaning in until his nose