Rockton, California

The buzz inside Café Illy, a cozy nook built a few steps outside a five-star hotel, was low but steady, occasionally sprinkled with soft laughter from its patrons. The café deliberately favored small groups of diners, with tables only either for twos or fours, while the combination of warm lights, velvet walls, glossy red chairs, and bossa nova music painted the air with intimacy.

29-year-old Fredericka Spears nervously hummed along to Susan Wong’s Saving All My Love for you, the lines of which were all too apt. It was almost like Cupid was mocking her, taunting her with the possibilities.

“Sorry, Freddie, did I make you wait?”

Oh.

She looked up just as Julian Alexeyev slid into the stool next to her. Even with his longish dark hair wet from the rain, dressed simply in a loose, long-sleeved shirt and black pants, the professor was still the epitome of careless elegance, a modern-day Byron, if one ignored the fact that he was Russian and an infamous womanizer.

But he’s different with me, Fredericka quickly reminded herself, not wanting to lose her courage when it had taken her forever to find the guts to ask Julian out.

Clearing her throat, Fredericka managed a cheerful smile, saying, “Not at all.” Actually, she had been in the café for half an hour already. She couldn’t help it. She had always been fastidiously prompt.

A smile curved on Julian’s lips. “So…what did you want to talk to me about?”

Can you be my first boyfriend?

Fredericka took a deep breath.

And another.

And another.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiit.

Why did passing the bar exam seem so damn easy compared to the prospect of flirting?

---

Seated several feet away, a couple faced each other across a round table, both of them easily recognizable to the other patrons inside the café. The woman was 29-year-old Madeline Carter, a vibrantly attractive brunette who, in the span of her fifteen-year-career, had succeeded in slaying the catwalks of Milan, Paris, Tokyo, and New York.

At that moment, she was also displaying her trademark pout as she asked her date, “Are you bored with me?” But while the tone was sweet and coy, inside the supermodel was seething.

It wasn’t like herself at all to ask something so insecure, but Madeline couldn’t help it.

Her date finally glanced up from his phone, and the dazzlingly sexy smile that curved on the younger man’s lips made Madeline’s body stir in a way that no other man had been able to. Even though Madeline wanted to hang on to her anger, she couldn’t, and she hated herself for it.

How could a mere 23-year-old make her feel so horny with just one damn smile?

Sergei Grachyov leaned forward, the small act more than enough for the supermodel to catch her breath even as a part of her was incredulous at the way she was so affected by every little thing the younger man did.

Madeline knew she only had a few years left if she wanted to retire from modeling with her head still held high. Before that happened, Madeline would need to secure for herself a permanent meal ticket, and that was where Sergei Grachyov came in.

As one of Fyodor Grachyov’s sons, Sergei had at least a billion dollars to his name. Even better, he was absolutely gorgeous, with ebony hair, magnetic dark eyes, and a classically handsome face. His bronze body was also to-die-for, with every inch rippling with muscles.

That he was younger than her didn’t matter to Madeline one bit. If anything, it would mean that she’d have an easier time manipulating him.

Or at least that was the plan…until that one night Sergei came to her place and fucked her until morning.

The seducer became the seduced, the manipulator the manipulated.

Sergei leaned forward then, and Madeline reluctantly pushed her lustful memories aside.

“Yes,” her younger date murmured.

She blinked in confusion. “Yes…what?”

“Yes. I’m bored with you.” Sergei Grachyov’s tone was polite and detached.

Madeline whitened. “Excuse me?”

A brief smile still on his lips, Sergei murmured, “But it’s not your fault, Madeline.”

Madeline’s face tightened in rage. How dare he? Just as she opened her mouth to curse him, Sergei suddenly reached for her hand across the table---

Heat, manifested in a single touch.

His fingers tightened around her, and Madeline swallowed, her rage turning into yearning in an instant.

So much strength and power in that grip, she thought hungrily. It reminded her of the way he had held on to her that night, not letting Madeline go even when she was begging him to stop because she couldn’t take any more of his wild, addictive lovemaking.

“Even if I’m bored with you, it’s nothing that you have to worry your pretty little head over.” As he spoke, Sergei’s thumb started moving over her knuckles, a feather-soft caress that had Madeline shuddering.

Oh, oh, oh.

God, he was so damn good at this, he made Madeline forget she had any kind of pride.

“Once we leave this place---” Sergei’s heavily-lidded glance captured hers.

Ah.

She remembered the way he had loomed over her, his dark eyes drinking in the helpless ecstasy that had taken control of her as she came under him with a cry---

“I’ll be able to fuck you the way we both want---”

Madeline’s legs quickly pressed together under the table.

“And no one’s going to be bored then.”

Aaaah.

She gulped.

She melted.

She surrendered.

The Russian billionaire slowly let go of her hand, leaning back while his dark gaze remained on her. The way his eyes glittered was all too familiar. It was the way she looked at men she had wrapped devotedly around her little finger, men who would do anything for her.

The same way this boy could also make me do anything he wants, Madeline realized uneasily.

The old Madeline Carter would have grabbed the glass of wine on the table, tossed the contents on his face, and left the table.

But she couldn’t remember how to be that Madeline, couldn’t even make herself want to leave him, knowing that if she did---

She would never get to fuck him again.

After all, Sergei Grachyov didn’t do second chances.

The Russian billionaire’s phone suddenly rang, drawing his attention away from Madeline. He glanced at it and his dark brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, but I need to take this call.”

No!

Who do you think I am?

The moment you stand, it’s over.

These were the words that automatically brimmed to her lips, words that Madeline wouldn’t have hesitated to use on any other man...except Sergei Grachyov.

She forced a smile. “Of course.” It was her first time to be so gracious, and it didn’t sit well with her at all. But when the Russian billionaire slid to his feet, she came to realize that sometimes, it did pay to be nice.

Bending down, the billionaire whispered to her ear, “Thank you for not being a bitch about it.” He pressed his hand on her bare back as he said huskily, “I’ll make it up to you later.”

He walked way, and she could only stare at him, feeling herself get wetter as deliciously lurid memories slid into her mind.

Sergei’s mouth conquering hers in the deepest kiss---

Sergei driving into her with his massive cock---

Sergei’s relentless fucking forcing her, of all people, to beg for a respite---

Madeline gazed at him with naked hunger, no longer caring that other patrons only had to look at her to know how horny she was.

All she cared about was having the Russian billionaire between her legs, his cock inside of her, as soon as possible.

---

Choosing a private and empty corner inside the café, Sergei Grachyov answered the call from his younger brother, murmuring, “What is it, Misha?”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Nyet,” the billionaire answered. And even if Misha were, it wouldn’t matter. Family always came first when it came to the Grachyov clan.

While listening to his brother, Sergei noticed a familiar figure in the restaurant seated by the bar. It was his mentor in university, Julian Alexeyev, and the professor was talking to a woman who was obviously doing her best to flirt with him---

And failing.

Sergei almost raised a brow at the way the woman fluttered her lashes at the professor. Did she not know that such a tactic was reserved for girls in kindergarten? Even worse, the woman was doing it all wrong, blinking so fast that he heard the professor ask if she was having a headache.

“Do you understand what that means?” Misha’s abrupt tone forced Sergei’s attention back on the conversation even as his gaze stayed on the world’s most painfully awkward flirt.

“Misha---”

“Papa’s in love with her.”

Sergei frowned. “Aren’t you jumping into conclusions?”

“I know what you saw.”

Sergei wasn’t able to immediately answer, distracted once again by the woman beside the professor, whose attempts at flirting continued to be remarkably childish. This time, she had thrown her head back – so hard it was a wonder she didn’t end up breaking her neck as she did – with a laugh that sounded more like a neighing horse in the throes of death.

“Sergei?”

Misha’s impatient voice forced him to look away from the woman still flirting unsuccessfully with the professor. “Papa is old enough to make decisions on his own,” Sergei said finally.

“It still doesn’t feel right. She seems to be hiding something.”

Knowing that his brother’s instincts were rarely wrong, Sergei came to a decision, murmuring, “I’ll have security look her up. Let’s talk about it when I get home. But for now – don’t let Papa see you have any doubts about her.”

“Da.” It was testament of Misha’s infinite trust in his older brother that he didn’t even think to question Sergei’s decision.

When the call ended, Sergei remained where he stood, Misha’s revelations putting him in a brooding mood. A night spent fucking Madeline Carter had completely lost its appeal, but Sergei knew canceling would slight the model’s vanity, which would then likely lead to a scene he didn’t look forward to getting involved in.

A familiar sound distracted him from his thoughts – it was that wince-inducing, braying laugh from the woman again, and Sergei looked up just in time to see the woman flip her hair over her shoulder---

Sergei had seen countless women do the same thing to attract a man’s attention, and his lips tightened in a strange sense of disappointment at the sight. She might not be different from other women, after all.

But then something odd happened.

The woman succeeded in catching the professor’s eye with her hair flip, but she did so literally, the tips of her fiery locks stinging the professor’s eyes and nearly making him blind instead.

Sergei’s own eyes widened in fascination as the professor grunted in pain.

I take it back, Sergei thought. This woman was different from the rest, after all. In his endless history of dating, Sergei had never once met a woman who could be such a danger to herself or other people while flirting.

Amazing.

“I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” The woman’s shrill voice drew gazes from other patrons, and realizing she had only made more people stare at her, she crossed and uncrossed her legs, visibly nervous and self-conscious. When she did it for the third time, it was either haste or her anxiety getting the better of her, and the woman started to fall off her stool.

---

Professor Julian Alexeyev blinked in surprise when another pair of arms reached for Fredericka Spears at the same time he did. Although he didn’t feel particularly possessive towards his friend, he didn’t let go either, unwilling to relinquish his hold on Fredericka to a stranger.

When Fredericka was back on her stool, only then did Julian let go and turn to the good Samaritan who had appeared out of nowhere---

His gaze met the stranger’s over the top of Fredericka’s head, and Julian blinked, realizing it was not a stranger after all.

It was none other than Sergei Grachyov, a former student of his, and mild curiosity made the professor’s hidden ennui fade just a bit.

How unlike Sergei to get involved, the professor mused.

“I’m so sorry.” Fredericka’s embarrassed mumble drew the professor’s attention back to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

“Y-yes.” She deliberately turned her back to Sergei as she spoke, making it very clear that she only had eyes for the professor, and Julian’s lips nearly twitched when he saw Sergei scowl at the snub.

He wondered idly if the younger Grachyov was aware of how blatantly he was staring at Fredericka. Then again, Sergei’s interest was understandable. It took a special kind of man to appreciate Fredericka’s finer qualities. While she was not beautiful in the conventional sense of the word, Fredericka was still immensely striking, with her long fiery hair, smoky gray eyes, lush lips, and ivory skin. And while her clothes weren’t ever stylish, the coltish built of her figure made everything she wore appear effortlessly elegant---

Fire encased in ice, the professor thought. Only one with a practiced eye would be able to see Fredericka’s hidden fire, but it was clear to see that Sergei Grachyov had recognized the same thing he did.

When Fredericka finished with her barely coherent explanation about why she had fallen off her stool, the professor merely nodded, asking, “You’re certain you’re fine?” He spoke without guilt, not at all bothered by the fact that he was making it seem he had understood her when in fact he didn’t.

Fredericka Spears was a nice gal, and the professor had liked her just enough to be the woman’s friend.

But if Sergei Grachyov was interested in her, then Fredericka Spears was better off with the Russian billionaire.

---

Sergei’s lip curled as he heard the professor say in a soft, concerned voice, “I’m worried about you nonetheless. It seems you’ve drunk too much.”

At the professor’s last words, Sergei slowly turned to look at the woman’s glass on the table.

It was half-empty…of orange juice.

When he turned to the woman, he saw that she was staring at her glass as well. She was chewing on her lower lip, visibly torn between saying the truth and staying silent on the off chance that the professor would offer to drive her home.

How ridiculously juvenile, the billionaire thought, but a part of him was aware that his derision was rooted in something he had never experienced---

Sergei mentally shook his head.

Impossible.

He couldn’t be feeling jealous over this idiot.

“Perhaps I should drive you,” the professor murmured.

The woman’s face lit up, and Sergei had an unreasonable urge to shake some sense into her. How the hell could she be so damn obvious? Did this woman not have any pride at all?

“That w-would be nice,” the woman said finally.

Sergei’s teeth gnashed.

“I’m glad you think so.” The professor paused. “Unfortunately, I have a rather urgent need to go back to the university.”

Sergei’s gaze snapped back to the professor. What the hell? After making it seem he was about to offer the woman a ride, the older man was backing out just like that?

“The defense group I am advising has run into a bit of a problem,” the professor explained, “and I need to meet with them.”

It was perfectly plausible, and the professor’s tone was perfectly smooth, but Sergei wasn’t buying it at all. What was Julian Alexeyev playing at?

And almost as if the professor heard his question, the other man looked straight at Sergei, asking, “Would you mind taking my friend home?”

The woman squeaked. “Actually---”

But another voice cut her off. “What’s this all about, darling?” Madeline sauntered to his side, placing a possessive hand on Sergei’s arm. Her glance at Fredericka was cursory and dismissive, but her lips curved in a seductive smile at the professor, the model unable to keep herself from flirting with such a beautiful-looking man.

But both men ignored her.

Fredericka was sputtering in protest, but both Russians chose to ignore this as well.

“It would be my pleasure,” Sergei murmured to the professor.

“I appreciate it.” The professor shook hands with his student before turning to Fredericka. “Freddie, it’s my pleasure to introduce to you Sergei Grachyov.”

At the introduction, the woman had no choice but to face Sergei, and yet she still refused to meet his gaze. “Hello,” the woman mumbled to his tie.

The billionaire thought, I want to fuck her and shout at her for being an idiot.

How was this possible?

“Sergei, this is my friend, Fredericka Spears. She’s also a member of Tropinka.”

“I see.” Sergei was privately surprised. Tropinka, which translated to Pathway in English, was a non-profit exclusive club. Its membership was significantly small, being based on merit rather than one’s financial capacity.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Fredericka.” He gazed at her broodingly as he shook her hand, thinking that it was almost too good to be true. So not only was this woman the rare kind to stir his loins in such a powerful way, but now she also happened to be Russian and self-accomplished?

The professor cleared his throat, saying under his breath, “You are staring too hard at my friend, Sergei.”

The billionaire flushed at his words, realizing that it was true and he had been acting like an infatuated adolescent on his first date.

D’err mo. His cheeks flushed. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Fredericka.” He reached for her hand, causing her gaze to jerk up to his, just in time for her to see him bringing her hand to his lips.

As Fredericka yanked her hand away with a gasp, Madeline let out an outraged screech. “Are you flirting with this nobody in front of me?”

Sergei stilled, and when his chilled gaze went to her, Madeline realized too late that she shouldn’t have lost her temper so easily.

The billionaire turned to the professor and Fredericka, murmuring politely, “If you would excuse us for a moment?”

“Of course,” the professor said smoothly.

Sergei cupped Madeline’s elbow and forced her to walk away with him.

She started to stammer. “Sergei, I d-didn’t---”

The billionaire bent his head, whispering to her ear, “Get the hell out of my sight.”

Madeline stiffened.

“If you leave within this minute, I might be persuaded into overlooking your lack of manners tonight.”

Her lips tightened.

“It’s your choice.” The billionaire released his hold on her, and their gazes met.

A moment later, and the model wordlessly stalked out of the restaurant.

When Sergei walked back to the redheaded woman that had caught his interest, he saw that the professor had already left.

“He was in a hurry,” the woman – Fredericka – mumbled unnecessarily.

Sergei only nodded. He didn’t give a damn about the professor. What he cared about was the fact that he had this woman for the night. “Shall we go?”

She cleared her throat, unease written all over her face at the thought of having to hitch a ride with him. “I was thinking---”

Sergei cut her off, saying softly, “Let me take you home.”

The way Fredericka Spears’ eyes widened told him she wasn’t as dense as she seemed to be.

Good.

Fredericka knew that what he really was saying was, Let me fuck you.