You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (19 page)

Tasha Evanoff

A
fter Jake and the man exchanged a few words in a dialect so thick I barely could make out what they were saying, the crowd of intimidating, dirty, staring people, who I assumed must be the inhabitants of the caravans in the fields on either side of us, part to allow the car through.

The car comes to a stop in front of a plain bungalow with a red roof. Noah is sitting outside smoking a cigarette. To my great relief he looks well. When he sees the car he flicks away his cigarette and comes up to us as we get out.

‘I’ll be having a beer with the boys, but I’ll be back to pick her up in an hour,’ Jake says as he closes his door.

‘Thanks,’ Noah says.

‘No problem,’ he throws over his shoulder, his long, muscular legs already walking away.

I stand there, my chin slightly dipped, looking at Noah. In the cold light of the day I feel suddenly shy. A weak autumn sun struggles out from under grey clouds and shines down on us. He crooks his finger at me.

I pretend to look around, then raise my eyebrows, and point to my chest.

Grinning, he nods.

God, I love him so much. I run to him, my heart so stuffed with love it feels like it will burst. He takes my hand and twirls me around. ‘How come you’re more beautiful every time I see you?’

I grin like some kind of fool, and he gathers me in his arms and kisses me. Right there on the concrete driveway. A long, slow burning kiss that just goes on and on.

Oh, Noah, Noah, Noah.

By the time he lifts his head, my cheeks are hot and my lips are tingling.

‘I love you,’ I whisper.

‘I’d burn everything I own down to the ground for you.’

‘I’ve burnt everything I own to the ground for you,’ I say.

He caresses my face with his thumbs. ‘I want to wake up with a kiss like that every morning,’ he says.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really. Can you do that?’

I nod.

‘Good. I’ll hold you to that.’

‘Tell me,’ I say with a flirtatious grin. ‘When did you first know you loved me?’

‘Hard to say. I wanted you for so long, the lines are blurred.’

‘What kind of boring answer is that?’ I complain. ‘I can’t tell my grandchildren that. Make up something better.’

‘All right. I loved you before I was born, but I was forced to forget you because the pain of not having you was too unbearable, but all that time I knew that you were out there waiting for me. Many summers ago I saw you lying by the pool and I thought it was you, but I couldn’t be sure. Until the day you showed up in a pink cardigan and I knew, my magic had returned.’

I gasp. ‘That’s beautiful.’

‘I have so much to tell and find out from you, but I’m dying to fuck you,’ he groans.

‘What makes you think I’m not?’ I ask cheekily.

He laughs and takes me into the bungalow. It’s basic inside with cheap furniture and two rooms leading off from the hallway. Through one of the open doors I can see the bedroom with an unmade bed.

I look deep into his eyes. ‘We’ll have to be very careful. I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Fuck being careful. That’s for the others. Not us. Now will you take that dress off before I go mad?’

With a grin I unzip my dress and let it fall to the ground. Underneath I have on a skin-tight nurse’s outfit and garters. His eyes widen.

‘Well, well,’ he says softly.

‘Are you staring at me, Mr. Abramovich?’

‘I’m always staring at you, Beautiful,’ he purrs, his eyes swirling with appreciation and hot desire.

I flutter my eyelashes. ‘So you don’t think I look too slutty?’

‘Never.’

I lick my lips lusciously. ‘You’re not just saying that?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nope.’

‘You’re too kind, Mr. Abramovich.’

‘Actually, I’m not feeling particularly kind right now.’

I take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. I go to the bed and pretend to plump the pillows, bending from the waist to reach for them so he can see my naked bottom. I turn around and his face is a picture.

‘Come and lie down on the bed so I can take your temperature. You may have a fever,’ I say.

‘Yeah, let’s call it a fever.’

‘Now come over here quickly. The doctor will be here soon. I don’t want to lose my license to practice over this … episode. You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh good. It’s very important that us nurses keep our reputations pure. If not, every Tom, Dick and Harry will be wanting a little extra, if you know what I mean.’

‘Don’t worry. I totally understand,’ he says.

He walks over to the bed and lies down on it.

I get on the bed and start unzipping his pants.

‘I thought you were going to take my temperature,’ he says with just a hint of amusement in his voice.

I look at him sternly. ‘Give me a minute. I’m just about to.’

His cock is as hard as a rock and it springs up when I release it. Wrapping my fingers around it, they look very feminine and white against the blood engorged hardness of his shaft. I smile mischievously at him. ‘Hot and hard, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m glad you figured that one out, Nurse Evanoff.’

‘Are you being unnecessarily cheeky, Mr. Abramovich?’

He shakes his head.

I touch his balls. ‘Do they feel tight and achy?’

‘They do,’ he agrees solemnly.

‘I thought so.’

I bend down and plant a gentle kiss on his cockhead.  His cock twitches in response. I take him in my mouth and slide my lips slowly down the smooth, hot shaft while he groans with pleasure. Sucking him hard I pull my mouth away with a slurping sound. Then I lift my head.

‘Mr. Abramovich, have you ever done it with a nurse before?’ I ask, my voice all sultry and breathy.

‘No,’ he admits.

‘Have you ever wanted to?’

‘Mmmm … it wasn’t a great priority … until today.’

I yank my dress until it is bunched up around my waist. Then I spread open my legs and watch him stare at my freshly shaven pussy, with my clit poking out of its wet slit, and begging, just begging, to be fucked. Sitting down in his lap, I slide my pussy lips against his thick shaft.

‘Do our bits joined together look like a hotdog, Mr. Abramovich?’ I ask cheekily as I carry on running my crack up and down his hard dick.

‘Oh fuck,’ he swears, and tries to catch my waist and put me on his cock, but I slap his hands away.

‘Patience, Mr. Abramovich. We have to be careful how we go about this.’

Soon my slit begins to slop against him and I can tell by his face that he is getting to the end of his tolerance. I rise up over him and inch by inch I impale myself on his shaft. Just a few days without him has been like forever to my body. I feel him stretch me and fill me completely. It feels so damn good I lay my palms on either side of him, and throwing my head back, ride him hard and deep, working up a sweat. I don’t stop until my whole body starts to shake with my impending climax.

Sensing how close I am, he grabs hold of my bottom and pulls me more tightly against him, and more violently than can be good for his wound, thrusts upwards to squirt his seed as deeply inside me as he can. It seems as if it is ages that his cock spurts and spits inside me.

Panting, I grin at him. ‘Do you feel any better, Mr. Abramovich?’

‘Miles,’ he murmurs and, pulling my body closer, he kisses me deeply.

‘I love you, Nurse Evanoff. I really, really, really fucking love you.’

‘Well,’ I breathe. ‘I have to say, you are my best patient, Mr. Abramovich.’

‘There better not be any other or you’ll be dressing up as a morgue attendant soon.’

‘It was always you for me,’ I whisper.

Then I curl up against the unhurt side of his body and we talk. I tell him everything that has happened from the devastating moment I found Sergei, and he tells me about the doctor who found him on the street half dead. About the favor that Jake Eden’s brother owed to Alexander Malenkov. Finally, he tells me what his men have heard on the streets about my father’s disappearance.

‘What are they saying?’

‘That Evanoff’s daughter was seen at Dimitri Semenov’s nightclub the day before he disappeared, but they have nothing else. No one knows anything.’

Then it is time for me to get dressed again.

Jack Irish

One Week Later

I
look out of my window to the street below and I see the man dressed in a black leather jacket and black pants leaning against the lamppost across the street, smoking a cigarette.

The ground at his feet is littered with cigarette butts. I shrug into my jacket, stick my knife into the back of my jeans, and I go back to the window. He is still there looking as if he hasn’t a care in the world, but his eyes are sharp and alert.

I go down to the foyer, out into the crisp morning air, and cross the street. He straightens from his leaning position and flicks his cigarette away. He smiles showing nicotine stained teeth. His hands are full of tattoos. He opens his box of Marlboro red and offers it to me.

‘That stuff will kill you,’ I say.

‘It’ll be a great thing if it’s cigarettes that take me,’ he says. His voice is whiskey-or-rather-vodka gravelly, and his accent makes him sound like he just got off the boat from Russia.

‘What are you still doing here?’

He shrugs. ‘Just admiring the view.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah, it’s beautiful around here. Boss sends his regards by the way.’

I sigh. ‘I thought the danger was past,’ I say.

He grins. ‘When you smash the head sometimes the tail jumps around for a bit.’

‘Right. Tell your boss I don’t want to see anybody hanging around here after today. We’re quits. I did what was right and he owes me nothing,’ I say as I turn away.

‘It’s good to have friends. Maybe one day you need his help, da?’

I turn back and feel the knife in my waistband dig into my back. ‘Maybe never.’

‘Never is a long time, Mr. Irish.’

Tasha Evanoff

One Month Later

A
man slides into the seat in front of me.

I glance up and, showing no change to my expression, take a sip of my latte. ‘Hello, Inspector Stone,’ I say.

He smiles. He has a pleasant smile. I’ve wondered about him. If he has a wife and children. What he’s like when he is not facing someone he believes is a murder suspect.

‘You’ve been shopping I see,’ he says.

I was out shopping for a birthday present for Baba, but I’m damned if I’m going to give him an account of my shopping habits. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with him, or his investigation. I look at him steadily and without any reaction.

‘Is the food in this place any good?’ he asks.

‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’

A waitress comes by with a menu. He takes the menu but doesn’t open it. ‘What’s good here?’ he asks her.

She shrugs and smiles. ‘I’m a vegetarian, but I hear it’s all good.’

‘Can I have a burger?’

‘We don’t really do burgers,’ she says with another smile, but slightly more forced this time. ‘Have a look at our menu.’

‘What about a cheese sandwich?’

If she could roll her eyes and not lose her job she would have. ‘No, we don’t do that here either.’

‘Pasta?’

She looks at me as if for help or for some kind of female solidarity, but I can’t help her. I’m down for worse than just exasperation. I fork another potato and put it into my mouth.

‘Um … we mostly just do Russian food. It
is
a Russian café.’

‘What’s she eating?’ he asks, jerking his head in my direction.

‘Red potato salad,’ she says, glancing at my plate.

‘Hmmm … Nah. Bring me something closest to a burger, or a cheese sandwich, or even a good pasta.’

‘How about meat dumplings?’

‘Is that more like a burger or a cheese sandwich?’

The girl starts to look irritated. She turns to look meaningfully at the other tables that need her attention too. ‘It’s more like a meat filled pasta.’

He grins innocently. ‘Great. That’s what I’ll have.’

‘And what would you like to drink, Sir?’

‘I’ll have a Coke.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be back with it.’ She escapes quickly.

I put my fork down, wipe my mouth, and look up to find him watching me. He has watery gray eyes, and he blinks very often. I have a strong feeling that underneath this Columbo type bumbling exterior he affects, he is actually very sharp and intelligent.

‘Your father’s disappearance into thin air is a funny, funny case,’ he says, picking up the salt shaker and looking at the bottom of it as if there is something of vital importance there.

‘Really? Why’s that?’

‘Mostly because it just doesn’t make sense.’

‘Oh?’

He spears me with those watery eyes. ‘Unless it was an inside job.’

‘That’s an interesting idea.’

‘Yes, I think so. For instance, all the security cameras were running perfectly except for camera 9.’ He scratches his face, then pulls out a little notebook. He opens it and flicks to a page. ‘It stops rotating from 10.24pm to 10.33pm. At first I thought it was a glitch, but when I checked the camera I found some paint had been chipped off the sides of it. As if, you know, someone had jammed a stick, or a piece of wood to keep it from swinging around.’

I look at him with interest.

‘And the other thing is your grandmother got a call at,’ he refers to his notebook, ‘10.58pm from a pay as you go mobile. A bit of a strange timing, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Did you ask her who it was?’

He smiles. ‘Wrong number.’

I smile back. ‘There you go then.’

‘There is another anomaly. Your grandmother’s call logs show that the only person she normally gets calls from is you, but on that night she received a call from a gentleman named Noah Abramovich at about 11.30pm. Yes, she claimed he hit the wrong button. Then she got another call at 2am from the same pay as you go number from earlier. Another wrong number. What are the odds of that happening?’

‘Well, the odds of being hit by lightning in one’s lifetime is millions to one and yet there are people who have been hit by lightning more than once and survived to tell the tale. I think there is a guy in the U.S. who has been hit six times.’ I smile. ‘We live in a weird and wonderful world, Inspector.’

He looks pained.

I affect a concerned expression. ‘Surely you don’t think my grandmother had anything to do with my father’s disappearance?’

He ignores my question. ‘Aren’t you the sole heir of your father’s estate?’

‘I have no idea, and since I don’t believe my father is dead but is simply missing, we won’t know the contents of his will until either his body turns up, or the seven statutory years to get a declaration of presumed death is up.’

He leans forward. ‘Why are you so eager to believe your father is missing and not dead?’

‘I am his daughter. I prefer to believe that he is still alive and well somewhere. Is that so hard to understand, Mr. Stone?’

His Coke arrives. He grabs the straw between his lips and sips at it in a desultory fashion. It makes me almost feel sorry for him.

I gather my purse and my bags. ‘I should be going, but you will let me know if you find out anything at all, won’t you, Inspector?’

He smiles cynically. ‘You betcha.’

‘Well, I’ll wish you a good day then.’

‘And you’ll let me know if you find out anything at all, won’t you, Miss Evanoff?’

‘Of course. I’m just as eager to find my father as you are.’

He smiles. ‘One day, Miss Evanoff. One day you’ll make a mistake.’

I stand and smile slowly. He has no dead body and never will. He has nothing. ‘I believe in karma. If I have done anything wrong, then I will pay the full price.’

‘Good luck.’

‘Thank you, and the same to you.’ I walk away, knowing his eyes are on me and feeling no fear in my heart.