Chapter 6 She walks in like she doesn't have a fucking care in the world. Like I didn't just rescue her from a goddamn predator two nights ago, take her back to my forbidden flat, make her come, then watch her all fucking night as she slept between my sheets. And still-I watch her. My avenging, beautiful angel saunters in with grace that makes my throat tighten. She's wearing this low-cut white dress, the kind that clings to her like it was sewn directly on her. I honestly don't know how the hell she gets out of the house wearing that. She's got to have a decoy or something. I stifle a growl, eager to smack her perfect arse again for walking around on display like this. A halter top, V-neck, the cut dips low, deep enough to make my brain short-circuit. Perfect, soft cleavage peeking out, daring me to look and daring anyone else to try. I always feel her before I even see her. Zoya fucking Kopolova. My enemy. My obsession. She glides over to the table like she owns the room, her eyes locking on mine with that mischievous sparkle. She nods. "Didn't know if you'd make it tonight," I say, shaking my head slightly, trying to maintain my cool. "Why not?" she replies with a wicked little smile. "You are my Mr. Thursday." Her Mr. Thursday. Jesus. If her brothers ever heard her say that, they'd lose their fucking minds. She's completely oblivious to the way men turn and look at her as she walks by-how their gazes linger. But the moment they see she's heading to my table, their eyes dart away. Fast. Nobody wants to cross me. Good. I like it that way. I'm sitting in the same corner booth I always do. Just like back when she didn't even know my name. Back when this was still a game. I waited for her then, and I wait for her now. She smiles at me, like she always does. And I don't smile back. "What's the matter?" she asks, giving me that little pout of hers that should be illegal. It's too cute. Too perfect. I lean forward, my voice low and dangerous. "Do you have any idea what wearing something like that costs me? I ought to spank your little arse red for that." She swallows hard, her cheeks flushed. "Would you really?" she asks, leaning toward me. "Tell me." Are we really playing this game? "I'd take you over my knee," I say, watching as her pupils dilate and her breathing hitches. "Lift that skirt up. Tug down your panties⁠-" "I'm not wearing any." Jesus feckin' Christ on a cracker. She giggles at my growl. I'll remember that. Sobering, that adorable little divot forms between her brows. "I'm sorry about the other night. I'll repay you. Somehow." My mind goes straight to the gutter, my dick twitching in my pants. My little lass knows exactly what she's doing. Every button, she presses with precision. She always does. "You shouldn't have been there the other night, Zoya. You should've known better. Your brothers would've skinned you alive if they knew." She sighs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "If that was my sister, and she pulled what you did... I'd lose my goddamn mind," I mutter, shaking my head. "You have a sister?" she asks, surprised. "A couple," I snap. "Don't change the subject." She exhales heavily, and her voice softens. "I know. I don't even know how it happened. We were just hanging out... I was drinking a fucking soda..." "Language," I growl. "I don't like those words on those pretty lips." She nods, a playful smirk forming. "All right, okay. Honestly, though-I didn't mean it all to happen. And thank you again. You're right. My brothers would absolutely kill me. But I'm thankful. Really." "You think you're untouchable now?" I ask, my eyebrow raised. "No," she says. "I know I'm not." Her pout kills me. I want to wrap my arms around her, press my mouth to her temples, and kiss the bridge of her nose, all the way down to the curve of her lips. I want to hold her until she stops being reckless-and then flip her over my knee and punish her for being so damn careless. "Where I'm from," I tell her sharply, "women know their place. They're submissive to their men. They know not to put themselves in danger." "Is that right?" She pauses. "I think my brothers like to believe the same thing." My fearless, reckless little lass. She gives me a teasing smile, and I shake my head. Despite myself, I smile back. Fuck. "And if you were mine," I growl, "I mean it, you wouldn't sit for a week after pulling that stunt. Do you understand me? I'm not joking." I picture it-pulling back my chair, draping her over my lap, spanking that perfect little arse of hers until her voice breaks from begging. Please, Seamus, stop, Seamus! Her breath hitches. Her cheeks flush that irresistible shade of pink. She squirms in her seat and swallows hard. "You said that. Lucky for me, I'm not yours," she whispers-but there's a crack in her voice. A sliver of sadness she can't quite hide. "Not yet," I murmur. "Not yet." She leans closer, and her tone is soft now. Vulnerable. "Would you really punish me, Seamus?" My body tenses. Fuck, I live for this game with my little Zoya. "Would you?" she asks again, like she's innocent. But she isn't, not even close. "I would." I lean closer, my fingers brushing the back of her neck. I squeeze, just enough to make her shiver. "Tell me again what you'd do." She sighs, her eyelids fluttering shut. My fucking god, she's into this. "I told you, I'd put you over my knee," I whisper. "Where I'm from, the women are protected because they trust their men. And when they don't..." I lower my voice. "They pay the consequences." "Is that right?" she asks, her breath shaky. She's trembling, and I know how badly she wants this. How badly she needs it. "That's right." "Tell me," she says, reaching for my drink. She takes a slow sip, staring at me over the rim. "At least you don't lie," she murmurs with a smile. "Most men do." "What do you want to know?" I ask her. "Tell me exactly what a punishment at your hands would look like." She swallows hard, and I see the past in her eyes. Her brothers. The way she's had to harden herself, just to survive. But this-this is different. She wants to feel my strength. Wants to know what it's like to surrender. To be safe and still tremble. To submit to me. "I'd take you back to my flat," I murmur. "Ease you onto my couch, slow and possessive. I'd hike up that little skirt, inch by inch, feel the tremble in your thighs. And then, love, I'd spank your perfect arse until you're gasping. Until you're shaking. Until you're sobbing my name and begging me to do it all over again." I pause, letting the words sink in. "And every time you went to sit that week, every single time you thought about defying me, putting yourself in danger again-you'd remember... This isn't what Seamus wants. I do what Seamus says. Seamus takes care of me." "Then why are you doing this?" she whispers, her voice cracking. "We meet here in a bar, week after week. You don't own me. You took me to your place once because there were no other options, then watched me leave." I blow out a breath, exhaling the truth. "Because I want you," I tell her. "But you're my Mr. Thursday," she whispers, tears welling in her eyes. "Mr. Thursday only sees me on Thursdays. Why do you pretend like you want me? Why do you pretend like you want more?" "It's not pretend," I snap. My voice turns hard. "Listen, lass. Now isn't the time. We can't. Not with who you are. Not with who I am." Her eyes go wide, and she stares at me. Does she know? Does she fucking know? I sigh, reach across the table, and take her hand. "Come here," I whisper. "Please." She stands and walks to me. I slide her onto my lap and tuck her against my chest, breathing her in. I feel the way her racing heartbeat slows. "Nobody ever sees us. Nobody ever notices. I have men at every door. Watching. Tracking. I've come here every goddamn week. Rearranged my life. Lied to my father. Made up stories just to be back in Russia. I don't belong here, Zoya. I shouldn't be here." And yet-I am. All for one little taste of Zoya Kopolova. "I have to go," she says suddenly. "I wasn't even supposed to be here tonight. I've got a dinner thing I'm supposed to go to." My heart sinks. I nod. I knew she had somewhere to be, but I needed to see her. "Go," I whisper. "Next week. I'll be waiting." I watch her leave, disappearing like a ghost. Like she was never here. A Fated Encounter movie summary talks about Emma Brown who is forced by her father Henry to take her sister Bella's place and marry Tommy Anderson to save her business. Unlike the rumor Tommy turns ou...