Her Russian Billionaires #1 VIKTOR

By: Susan Westwood

Viktor moved about the kitchen as if he cooked all of the time. He loosened his tied and rolled up his sleeves, revealing sculpted arms. Wow. She hadn’t expected that.

“How do you like your steak?”

She didn’t eat steak often so she didn’t really know. “Uh, I guess rare.”

“You guess?”

“I’m a bartender. Steak isn’t in my budget.”

“Then that bar isn’t paying you enough.”

“I get paid what most bartenders get paid. Plus tips.”

“I would think someone like you with those green eyes and that clean skin would get many tips.”

She wanted to blush. Her face grew hot. “I do okay.”

“Still, you need to find a place that pays better.”

“I don’t have a car so I’m limited by public transportation.”

“Then you save for a car.”

“It isn’t that easy.”

He had no idea of her life. How could he just say she had to save?

“I came here with three dollars in my pocket. Look at me now.”

“You own a nightclub. You are the American Dream aren’t you?”

“You Americans don’t realize the opportunities you have here,” he said as he put the steaks on the grill. They flared up and he turned on an overhead fan. She blinked.

“You know nothing about me.”

“No, I don’t, but I know what this country has to offer,” he said.

“I don’t need a lecture,” she said.

She’d heard it all before. Sounded good when you worked in Manhattan, but when you went back to your hovel in the Bronx, it didn’t seem so easy anymore.

“You’re right. You’ve had a tough night. Are you going to talk to the cops?”

She frowned. “I’m not one to get involved, but I think I need to.”

“Good. I can go with you later in the morning if you want?”

None of this made sense. She wanted to know what he wanted from her. There had to be a catch. “Why? Why are you doing all this?”

“Because you are under my care,” he said.

His gaze held hers, but she still didn’t understand. No one took care of her. She took care of everyone else. “Still. Why? I’m some stranger.”

“You are a woman in trouble. I am Russian and we don’t let woman fend for themselves. It is just how I am. I can’t help it.”

That was his accent. Russian. Made sense with the name Viktor and the high forehead that a lock of hair fell over when he spoke. “I would imagine you get taken advantage of in a city like New York,” she said.

He put a plate in front of her with a steak and two fried eggs. Her mouth watered. Her stomach rumbled again. She didn’t know which to eat first. Everything looked good.

Viktor sat down in the chair next to her, then shrugged. “Sometimes, but I have to be true to my nature.”


Viktor studied the beautiful woman next to him. With her mocha skin and those bewitching green eyes. She clearly didn’t understand his hospitality, but he wouldn’t feel bad. This was how his mother had raised him.

She put her first bite in her mouth while he waited for her reaction. The steaks had been an impulse buy and now he was glad he had bought two of them. He’d never know exactly why he did. He mostly ate alone or went to his mother’s house. Sacha lived there still. If you asked his brother, he would say his mother lived with him, but the lease was in his mother’s name. Viktor suspected that she paid most of the rent.

It bothered Viktor, especially since he paid his brother a handsome salary, but their mother could not be dissuaded. She would take care of her sons even though she’d raised them to take care of her.

Sacha was the baby and his mother had always babied him. Maybe Victor had also. They’d moved here when Sacha was young and his mother felt guilty about uprooting him. She shouldn’t have. He was more Russian than Victor.

Alia moaned, her eyes falling closed, and Viktor had visions of her during an orgasm. His dick woke up at that thought, but there would be no sex tonight. This girl was in his care. Young and vulnerable. He wouldn’t’ take advantage.

His mother did not raise him that way.

“You like?”

He waited to take a bite until she opened her eyes. “This is the best steak I’ve ever eaten. It might be the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”

He looked down at his plate. “It’s just steak and eggs.”

“Nothing about this meal could be ‘just’ anything, Viktor.”

That was the first time she’d said his name. He liked how it sounded in her mouth. He wondered what else he would like in her mouth. He shook away that thought. Very ungentlemanly.

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