BARON'S by Ford Shayne

Author:Ford, Shayne [Ford, Shayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Dark Mafia
Amazon: B09HX7TVB6
Goodreads: 59233687
Published: 2021-11-25T16:00:00+00:00

ANASTASIA

“So… Are you going to tell me?” Ivan barks behind me.

“There is nothing to tell you,” I say coldly, pushing the door to my bedroom open.

He follows me inside and shuts the door.

I pretend I don’t notice his stance, his stare, although my heart jerks up and down, my hands trembling.

“Why did you make me wait, Anastasia?”

I spin around, my hand latched onto my hip, my eyes meeting his.

My moments of defiance have been few and far in between throughout our history together.

They’ve never led to anything good, and this is the worst time to start a battle with him.

But, you know what they say… The best defense is to attack.

I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t fear that what has happened between Baron Jackson and me this evening could somehow clue Ivan in.

He doesn’t seem to notice any change in my behavior. All he wants is to punish me for disregarding his demands.

The wise thing to do is to appease him. Get him off my back, and make him forget about tonight.

He shouldn’t suspect anything if I want to meet Baron Jackson again.

“I didn’t do anything. You know how these things work… Well, you don’t,” I say, gesturing faintly. “You don’t believe in fortune tellers anyway. You think they’re silly. They may be, but I got caught up in that woman’s story. I know it’s immature and childish, so I apologize for being late.”

His expression shifts to surprise.

“What makes you change your attitude all of a sudden?”

“Nothing.”

I gesture again.

“ I’m tired,” I continue, starting to unzip my dress. “Do you want tea? I’m a little cold,” I say, trying to defuse the tension in the room.

His eyes go down without expressing carnal desire, only dull curiosity.

I was betting on that.

I know him well.

If he has a new mistress in town, he’s not in the mood for sex tonight, especially if I’m hinting that I want sex.

Our bedroom activity has been sparse these past few months. We’ve mainly met between the sheets when he needed to reassert his power over me, reminding me that I was his property.

Suggesting that I might want sex would only make him pull back and leave me alone.

My intuition is right.

His eyes express no emotion when I slide my dress down and remove my shoes.

Leisurely, I toss a silky robe over my shoulders and run my fingers through my hair, heading to the vanity by the window.

I move and act as if we’ve reached an understanding. As if my second trip to the fortune teller is now a closed subject.

I wonder if that’s the case.

He rarely lets something slide. And I can’t see a reason why he’d do it now.

But he does.

It looks that way, anyway.

“I need to make a call,” he says in a gruff voice before exiting the room.

The hand-carved door opens and closes behind me with a thud a moment later.

I hear him talking before his footsteps start trailing the stairs, and as I part the curtains, I notice the headlights of a car and him swiftly sliding into the limousine.

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