Criminal. Spoiled. Entirely out of control.
Roman Avdonin has heard it all. None of it stops him from crossing the line one more time. Sent to Chicago to answer for his wrongs, he’s an outsider beneath the cruel gazes of men who are nothing like his own. He should have minded his business and paid his dues—a better man would.
But then he laid eyes on her.
Karine Yazov.
She’s forbidden—already promised. Fragile in every way.
And he just can’t help himself.
Agreements like these? They can’t be undone.
*
The Agreement is book 1 in The Darkest Lies Trilogy.
It is a standalone trilogy; the books should be read in order.
Amazon: https://geni.us/Agreement
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iTunes: http://apple.co/3ojXtQx
Kobo: http://bit.ly/3pqrHm3
Google Play: http://bit.ly/37rHieo
Paperback: https://geni.us/TApaperback
Hardback: https://geni.us/TAHardback
Excerpt:
Roman blinked, glancing up to stare at the sun through the curved glass roof. He was about to shade his eyes when he heard a splash. His first clue to the fact that he wasn’t alone in the space.
He was too far away to see the pool clearly, thinking so far that he had been completely alone. Finally rid of the men who were milling about the place, and seemingly watching him from a safe distance, he moved toward the edge of the crystal clear, cerulean water. All he could see of his unknown companion in the pool was the flash of an arm—wet, cream-toned skin—and a dark head of hair bobbing below the surface.
The closer he got to the pool, the more certain he was that the person swimming in it was a woman. She sluiced through the water expertly, traveling with impressive speed from one end of the pool to the other without once showing any sign of fatigue. She only came up for air just quick enough to dip back down in the water, and not for long enough to notice that she was no longer alone.
One lap.
Then a second.
Roman came up to the edge of the pool, watching all the while. She still hadn’t noticed him because she hadn’t once looked up. Whatever was motivating her to keep swimming wasn’t about to slow her down yet. He couldn’t take his eyes off her even though he didn’t know who she was, and if he was even supposed to be watching her in the first place.
There were definitely rules in the Yazov home he wasn’t aware of, and he wasn’t in a position to break them. All things considered …
But Roman knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he had seen this woman’s face. At the end of the third lap, when she was on the other side of the pool, she finally stopped to reach up and grab the ledge, straightening herself slowly while she wiped her face with the crook of her elbow.
He hadn’t seen her face yet, but her slender back was on display for him now, distracting his attention as his gaze traveled over the curves of her shoulders and the water dripping down her spine. She appeared to be wearing a bra instead of a proper bikini top. The semi-sheer, white lace was nearly the same color of her pale skin.
Finally, she looked over her shoulder, and the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen found his. At first, all that stared back from her was distance—or rather, it was like she saw right through him. As if he wasn’t standing there at all.
But goddamn.
He had never seen eyes like hers before; shockingly beautiful from so far away and yet entirely blank at the same time. There was something striking—and haunting—about them.
Because he couldn't seem to look away. Even though she was in the water, he was the one drowning.
Only her voice broke the daze.
“Did they send you to come get me?”
She called out to him from the other end of the pool. Her voice had a slow and dreamy quality, like she was taking her time with each word before she let them escape her lips, a careful consideration of the things she chose to say. It made her voice all the more melodic because of it, too.
She turned to the side ledge of the pool then, and began to drift towards him. Her slender shoulders bobbed gently in the water, small waves kissing the column of her neck with each rise and lower.
A woman moving through water shouldn’t be an entire experience, but there Roman was … fucking experiencing it. Whatever it was.
“Well, are you?” she asked him again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She paid no mind to what he said, almost as though his words passed right through her. Her mind was elsewhere entirely—he could still see that distance in her gaze as it drifted from him to the doorway, and then back again.
But when she finally did stay focused on him, though—she truly saw him. For a brief second, he watched those big eyes of hers open further, and her stare looked him up and down. She tipped her head to the side a bit, a small grin playing at the edges of a plump, but tiny, mouth.
She didn’t know him.
Well, he didn’t know her, anyway.
But she looked at him like they did—like they knew each other very well.
Had they met before—was he supposed to know her? He was damn sure he wouldn’t have forgotten a face like hers, not even on his wildest of nights when his memories were left more fragmented than consistent. Even from this distance, he could see the tenderness of her small features, her sharp nose and bow-shaped lips. Dainty came to mind—she looked like delicate fragility come to life, but wrapped in the sensual package of the body of a woman.
The sunlight streaming harshly through the glass dome reflected brightly on her face, spilling over her shoulders and through the water as she passed through a thick ray. It bathed her in a golden hue, making her damp skin glisten and adding a bit more color to her porcelain tone.
She couldn’t have been older than twenty, the smooth face that spoke of youth said life hadn’t quite taken her that far, yet. Although, he couldn’t forget that gleam he first saw in her eyes—that distance that spoke of an old soul.
They existed.
His grandfather swore it.
You have one, Anton told him once. You can see it in others, too—so look.
Apparently, he’d finally found another. Why didn’t she look at him the way other women did? If they knew him, well … Mob Prince. Mutineer. Womanizer. A man who might be the greatest lay, but someone not to be trusted. The thief. But if they didn’t know him, it wasn’t like he gave off the safe, kind vibe, either.
But that didn’t matter.
No, she was looking at him like she had never laid eyes on another man before, but as though she saw right through him at the same time.
Her stare did that.
Those blue, blue eyes.
It set Roman off balance. He bet that he wasn’t the first man to wander into this woman’s path and suddenly find himself entranced just by being in her presence. Some women held that appeal—or so he was told. This was the first time he’d ever actually experienced it.
Couldn’t say he liked it.
Lies, his mind taunted.
“He told me to wait, but I had nothing else to do. I was bored,” she explained as she continued to inch closer, drifting slowly in the water.
Her words didn’t match the way she examined him. Roman still didn’t know what she was referring to.
In that moment, he became painfully aware of how strange the scene truly was. A beautiful young woman whom he didn’t recognize was swimming alone in this gigantic pool inside the Yazov home. One he’d been told to explore. Did she not own a bikini or just hadn’t bothered with one? Was she even supposed to be here?
And shit.
Because she was in the pool, should he be there? The idea that she could maybe get in trouble for this—it bothered him. Roman stepped closer to the edge of the pool.
“Are you going to be okay?” he called out to her.
She was looking through him, too far away in her mind to meet his eyes, anymore. That small smile came back to tug at the corner of her mouth, as if he had just said something silly and should have known as much.
“Yes, I’m always just okay,” she replied, monotone. “They make sure of it. Masha makes sure of it.”
What the fuck was she talking about?
Roman was starting to get the feeling that if he asked her too many questions she would shut up, cut him off, even.
The closer she came to him, the more clearly he could assess her. Admire her, really. Honesty was the best policy, after all. She had the quality of a wildflower on the top of a hill being thrashed around by a strong wind.
Yeah.
Like a good gust might blow her right the fuck over. The very sight of her actually had his chest tightening with a protective urge he couldn’t explain. No woman had struck him damn near speechless and simultaneously confused all at the same time without doing much at all.
Drops of water clung to her skin like beads. Her dark hair was slick and wet, pasted to the sides of her face. All that exercise had caused her cheeks to turn a deep pink, the tip of her nose, too. There was no denying the fact that this woman was extraordinarily beautiful.
So much so, she deserved a second look. And maybe the kind of husband who would kill a man for daring to take a third.
He realized she was watching him too when she spoke, snapping him out of his dazed admiration of her body. He couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed at being caught, but frankly, she was studying him just as closely.
Roman even considered asking if she liked what she could see.
“Is this about the planner?” she asked, arching one dark brow high. “Is she waiting to see us?”
Roman’s own furrowed in confusion, his body responding to the fact that she was even closer to him, now. Close enough that he’d be able to touch her if she wanted. Because Lord knew he wanted to. He had a terrible habit of admiring beautiful things. And she certainly was that.
The woman continued to speak regardless of whether she got a response from him. Really, he just didn’t know what she wanted him to say when she was still talking in riddles that he couldn’t understand.
“What does it matter anyway? It’s not like I’ll actually be able to choose anything or make decisions. They’ll do it all for me. God. They’ll even pick my dress.”
He opened his mouth to speak, feeling the irresistible urge to ask for an explanation. Or maybe just to keep her talking. There really was a musical quality to the way she spoke, and how her words streamed together in her rambling.
Who is planning what?
A dress for what?
Before he could say anything, though, her gaze shifted to something behind his shoulder. Without warning, she hauled herself quickly out of the pool.
ABOUT BETHANY-KRIS:
The author of too many novels to count, Bethany-Kris is a Canadian, lover of much, and mother to four sons, a glaring of cats, and a pack of dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, a snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a spouse calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something … when she can find the time.
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