Hidden Truths (Perfectly Imperfect #3)

“Do I really have to go?”

“You can’t ignore the Bratva’s pakhan when he calls you for a meeting.” The corner of his mouth tilts upward slightly. “Unless you’re hiding something really bad.”

“Of course not.” I try to pretend indifference. “What should I wear?”

“That’ll do.” He nods toward my jeans and T-shirt. “But bring a hoodie, and no flip-flops.”

“It’s ninety degrees outside.”

“You’ll get cold on the bike.”

I raise my eyebrows and laugh. “I am not getting on that thing.”

“Why not?”

“I like my body in one piece, thank you very much. Can we go by car?”

Narrowing his eyes at me, he places a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. “I would never put you in any kind of danger.” He brushes my chin with his thumb, and instead of pulling away, I have to fight the need to lean into him. “If you’re afraid of riding the bike with me, we’ll take the car. But, I’d like to take you for a ride on my bike.”

I look into his eyes, light and clear, so different from the way they were last night. Where does his mind go when he zones out? It can’t be a nice place.

“You promise you won’t let me fall off that thing?”

“I promise.” He brushes my lower lip with his thumb. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

I stare at the door he just went through, wondering why his closeness impacts me so much. Saying that Sergei is good-looking would be an understatement. But still, he’s keeping me a prisoner in his home. I shouldn’t be attracted to him. Just the opposite. Shaking my head, I rush upstairs to the bedroom to grab a pair of socks and sneakers, my hoodie from the recliner and head back downstairs.

I regard the huge red bike parked on the driveway in front of me and wrap my arms around myself. Nope. Not happening. I don’t even like bicycles. The idea of a vehicle that runs on only two wheels has never sat well with me.

Sergei approaches the bike, throws one leg over it, kicks up the stand, and sits down. “Hop on.”

It suits him. The bike. I wonder what he looks like when he goes to a meeting. Does he wear a suit? I find it hard to imagine him in dress pants and a jacket. Or wearing a tie.

“Cold feet?” He smiles at me, and a pleasant warmth washes over my body. The need to be close to him overrides my urge to hightail it.

“No,” I say. Taking a deep breath, I close the distance between me and that thing, and climb up behind him.

“Here,” he says and passes me a red helmet.

I look it over, then put it over my head. It makes me feel like a giant ant.

“Arms around my waist and hold on tight. We’ll go slow. If you want me to stop, just squeeze twice, and I’ll pull over right away. Okay?”

Leaning forward, I plaster myself to his back and wrap my arms around him, feeling his rock-hard abs under my palms. Sergei puts on his helmet and starts the bike, and as soon as the engine roars to life, I press myself into his back even more.

At first, I can’t think about anything except keeping my arms locked in a tight grip around Sergei, but after some time, I find enough courage to open my eyes and look over his shoulder. It’s not that bad. As he keeps driving, excitement surpasses my fear. I’ve never been into extreme sports because I had enough excitement at home with all the raid attempts and random shootings around the compound, but this… I could get used to this. But more than the thrill of the ride, I’m affected by Sergei’s closeness. It feels good, being plastered to his huge body in this way, and without actually intending to, I find myself leaning into him even more. I wish I didn’t have the helmet on, so I could press my cheek against his wide back.

I’m not sure how much time passes, surely not more than half an hour, when Sergei takes a side road that goes slightly uphill toward the estate visible through the iron fence. He stops at the gate, pulls off his helmet and nods to the guard. After we pass, he drives for a minute or so and stops in front of a huge, white mansion surrounded by finely trimmed grass.

Sergei helps me get down from the bike, and I need a few seconds to acclimate to the solid ground under my feet.

“All good?” he asks after he takes off my helmet.

“Better than expected,” I say and grin.

“Does that mean you liked it?”

“Maybe.”