Stone Cold Knockout (House of Pain Book 1) (11 page)

“
You are funny tonight,” he said, following her up, enjoying the view of her long brown legs climbing the stairs in her high heels.“I think you will not be so funny after I have finished with you.”

“
Oh?” She raised a sculpted eyebrow at the top of the stairs. “Why's that?”

“
Because you will not be able to think straight,” he whispered in her ear as he passed. She rolled her eyes, but smiled at his bravado. He stopped at their table, downed the remaining vodka, and then turned to the bar. He tapped on the heavy oak slab, getting the bartender's attention. He requested their food be wrapped up and delivered to his apartment in rapid Russian, impatient.

“
Yes, sir.” The bartender, Boris, nodded. Mikhail gave a curt nod, acknowledging the younger man's respect, and turned back to his Gennifer. He lifted her leather jacket off the hook and held out his arm for her.

“
Come.”

“
So, after all that, we're not even going to eat?” she asked, sardonically. He closed the space between them, pressing his mouth to her ear.

“
Do you want me to take you over this table right now?” he whispered, his control slipping.

“
Well, when you put it like that...” She pulled away, bending over the table, her luscious ass in the air. He felt a feral sound rip from his throat. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, teasing him. Always teasing. He had no patience for it. He stepped into her, making sure she could feel his hard cock pressed against her and grabbed her arm. She got the message, loud and clear. She rocketed upright, her purse now in her hand. “Let's go,” she purred.

***

Mikhail straddled the bike and turned back, patting the seat behind him. Gennifer crossed her arms.

“
No helmet?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No. It is only short ride.” She shook her head.

Nope
.

“
You are crazy.”

“
Come.” He waved her closer. She smoothed her lips together, debating on whether she was really going to get on the back of his bike. She might be a fighter, but she wasn't that much of a risk taker. The man in front of her was dangerous, she reminded herself. He was dangerous on two feet. Who knew how dangerous he would be on two wheels?

“
How much vodka have you had?” She put on her leather jacket and zipped it up, taking her time.

“
Vodka is like water for me.” He waved her off, unconcerned. She raised an eyebrow and he chuckled again. The bike roared to life, and he glanced at her. “You come or not?” Taking a deep breath, Gennifer hiked her dress up on her thighs and straddled the bike behind him. She clenched her arms around his waist, tight.

“
I better not die tonight,” she said, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. The bike vibrated under her as he accelerated and his laughter rang in her ears as they took off. They rounded the corner so fast her stomach jumped into her throat and she squealed. Her hair flew around her, and her knees dug into his ribs. Eventually, Gennifer forced herself to open her eyes and watched as the city flew by. Taxis drove so close, she could reach out and touch them. She looked up at the tall buildings, their lights glittering like stars. It was somewhat magical, and the air on her face felt good in the humid night.

When they pulled to a stop at a red light, Gennifer let herself relax a bit. She pushed her hair out of her face. “Where do you live?” she asked him.

“28
th
and 5th,” he answered, his gloved hand stroking her thigh. “You are scared?”

“
No,” she said, quickly. “Just slow down a bit.”

“
I go slow, okay?” He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her palm. She smiled at the gentle gesture, then clamped her hands around him again when the light turned green. If he drove slower, she couldn't tell. He wove through traffic, a nimble driver. As they made their way uptown, she couldn't suppress a smile. She couldn't deny it—she actually liked riding on the back of his bike.

When he made a sharp turn onto 28
th
, she giggled as her stomach did a flip-flop. He glanced over his shoulder. He gave her a wink, then revved the engine and sped down into an underground parking garage. The tires squealed as he pulled into an empty spot and killed the engine.

“
You're a maniac,” she said as he stood and dismounted the bike.

“
You love it.” He tipped her chin up and brushed his lips against hers. He dropped a hand between her legs, her panties exposed to his touch because her skirt was hiked up. “We are alike, you and I. We crave danger. We need it.”

“
Do we?” she whispered into him as he ran a hard fingertip up the moist fabric, sending a jolt of lust up her spine. She clenched the bike with her thighs as he stroked her and kissed her, his other hand tangling in her hair. She bucked against his hand, the
tigra
in her rearing its wanton head. She felt like she was starting to lose control—hell, she hadn't had control around him in a long time. She didn't give a damn that they were out in the open.  She would have fucked him right there, in public, but a firetruck rode by on the street outside, the loud sirens echoing in the concrete garage. She jumped, her bubble burst. He chuckled, disentangling himself from her.

“
Come.” He took her hand and helped her as she slid off the bike. Unsteady on her feet, she leaned into him and he hooked an arm around her waist. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. She was acting like she was drunk, yet she hadn't had anything to drink. The high of the motorcycle ride combined with the almost painful arousal that he had stroked in her had her on the edge of giddy. He pushed through a metal door and held it open for her. Suddenly, they were in a fancy slate-tiled lobby, a doorman smiling at them from behind an expansive wooden desk.

“
Good evening, Mr. Ivanhof,” the older black man said, standing. Mikhail gave him a nod and Gennifer mustered a smile for him. The man blinked, perhaps surprised to see them together. However, he was trained well enough to keep his face neutral. She wondered what type of girls Mikhail usually took home. Did she fit the profile? Yanking on her dress to make sure it still covered her ass, she followed Mikhail to the bank of elevators around the back of the lobby. Furrowing her brow, she realized that the doorman had called Mikhail “Mr. Ivanhof”. She realized she hadn't known his last name until that moment. Shaking her head, she groaned inwardly. She'd had hot, dirty sex with the man and she hadn't even known his full name!

“
What?” he asked her, pressing the button for the elevator.

“
Your last name. Ivanhof,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“
So?”

“
You've been inside me and I didn't know your name,” she said, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “What else don't I know about you?”

A slow, devilish smile curved over his lips. “You do not know a lot about me.” The elevator arrived and they stepped in. She purposely stayed on the opposite side of the box, keeping her distance. She wanted to keep her wits about her.

“Enlighten me,” she said, hand on hip.

“
What do you want to know?” He jabbed a button, and they began to ascend. “You have twenty floors to ask your questions.” Gennifer raised an eyebrow, acknowledging his challenge. Then she dove in, curiosity taking over.

“
Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“
Two brothers.”

“
Are they here in the New York?”

“
One is here, one is not.”

“
What about your parents?”

“
Dead.”

“
Oh,” she blinked. “Sorry to hear that.” Mikhail glanced above at the digital floor counter.

“
Fifteen floors,” he said.

“
Are you rich?” she asked, not caring if she sounded gauche. The building was straight luxury. Even with her low six-figure income, she probably couldn't afford a closet in the building.

“
I came into some money. I make good investments,” he shrugged, his face not giving anything away.

“
Do you work? What's your job?” Gennifer knew she was being pushy, but she was beginning to realize that she knew little to nothing about him. She glanced up. Twelve floors. He snorted out a laugh, and she wondered if he was offended.

“
I own a Russian restaurant,” he said, his grey eyes shining with amusement. A realization dawned on her. The jerk. He had invited her to
his
restaurant. No wonder he was being such a dick earlier.

“
That was your restaurant?” She cocked her head as he grinned. “Ugh! Why didn't you tell me?”

“
It is of no consequence.”

“
It's called conversation.”

“
We do not seem to talk much when we are together,” he said. “Eight floors.”

“
I think you are purposely being secretive. Why?” She narrowed her eyes, wondering what he was hiding.

“
If I want everyone to know my business, I would stay in Russia,” he said, his smile gone. Something was smoldering under the surface. There was definitely something he was hiding.

“
Are you in the mob?” Gennifer gave him the side-eye.

“
No.” His answer was sharp. His amused demeanor was gone. She was getting closer. Or she was pissing him off.

“
Was that insulting?” she asked, backtracking. The Russian mob was apparently no laughing matter. “My bad.”

“
What about you? You have not told me about your family,” he shot back, turning his full grey gaze on her.

“
Not much to tell.” She looked away, shaking her head. He wasn't going to win that easy. She wasn't done with him yet. “Do you have any kids?”

“
No children.” He advanced on her, and she stepped back until she felt the wall. “You?”

“
No.” She gulped, her eyes on his lips.

“
Husband?” he asked, pressing his hips into hers.

“
No.” She could feel his hard cock between them and felt that familiar urge to drop to her knees again. “Wife?” she whispered, placing her hands on his chest. He shook his head, pressing his forehead to hers.

“
Four more floors,” he said, his lips centimeters away from hers.

“
This is why we never talk.” She darted her tongue out, tasting him. He growled, the sound low in his throat. “Because you're so damn pushy,” she teased as his hands began roaming up her thighs.

“
I think it is your fault.” He cupped her ass, his hands under her dress. The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors rumbled opened. “We are done with questions.” He stepped away from her and into the hallway. She followed him, her heels sinking into the thick lush carpet beneath her feet. A thought occurred to her suddenly.

“
Ivanhof... that name sounds familiar.” She tapped her chin, thinking. Then she remembered. “The Russian boxer, Igor Ivanhof. Any relation?” The name had been floating around the gym for years. The man was a legend, well-known in the fledgling Russian boxing scene.

“
My brother,” he said, coming to a stop in front of an ornate door. “We are not close.”

“
Oh.” Gennifer followed him into a white-walled foyer, empty of furniture, lit by a single hanging light. He closed the door behind her, a small smile on his lips.

“
No more questions,” he said. He turned a corner, leading into a white kitchen and living room, bare of furniture except for a large wool rug, a white leather chair and couch, and a black dining set. A vintage record player sat on the console below the huge flat screen TV.

“
Minimalist.” She took in the cold-looking room.

“
I do not have need for a lot of things,” he said. Gennifer kicked off her shoes, not wanting to dirty the white rug. She wandered around, glancing into the bedroom. The bed was huge, a fluffy down comforter folded at the end. In the kitchen, he unscrewed the top from a bottle of vodka, pouring himself a glass.

“
Pour me one,” she said, tossing her jacket onto the chair.

“
Now you want vodka?”

“
I'll try it.” She went to the picture window. The lights of the city glittered before her, stretched out for miles up Fifth avenue. “It's rude to not drink vodka in a Russian's house, I'm sure.”

“
You are catching on.” He nodded and poured another glass. She tore her eyes away from the city lights and joined him in the kitchen. She clinked her glass against his.

“
Cheers.” Following his lead, she tossed her head back, gulping the fiery liquid down in one fell swoop. She scrunched her face up at the taste, remembering why she hated vodka. When she was sixteen, she and Hector had gone to town on a cheap bottle of screwdriver that Big J kept hidden in the linen closet. She'd passed out hugging the toilet that night. Not one of her finer moments. Although Mikhail's vodka was smoother and, no doubt, much more expensive, she couldn't disassociate the taste with her earlier memory. She shivered in disgust as she swallowed.