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  PURE

  Innocence was never more tempting

  A Novella

  By

  Lexi Buchanan

  Pure Copyright © 2017 Lexi Buchanan

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  Published by HFCA Publishing House

  http://www.lexibuchanan.com

  Cover Design: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Editors: Abigail Higson

  BETA Reader: Emma Clifton, Kathrin Magyar, Lynne Garlick, Nadine Winningham, and Sonya Covert

  This book is a written act of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1973765271

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  28 Days Excerpt

  Sizzle Excerpt

  Seduce Excerpt

  Chapter 1

  Hovering at the backdoor with her heart pounding in fear, India quickly glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one followed. She tried to listen, but found it difficult with the blood rushing through her head. Slowing her breathing, she concentrated. Not hearing any booted feet on the stairs, she quickly ran along the edge of the garden, and at the end of the manicured lawn, she slipped between two conifer bushes, and into her rose garden. As though seeking shelter from the words her father had uttered would help her situation. He’d had no idea that she’d been passing his office just as her name had drifted through the slightly open door. Curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d heard his plans.

  Her mouth felt dry as her breath caught at the back of her throat, no longer able to hold her heartbreak inside. Dropping to the ground, it only slightly registered that small, sharp stones were digging into her knees. Her hands supported her weight as her head dipped forward with her long blonde hair falling around her like a cloak. She wished it were a cloak—an invisible one.

  She slowly slid her fingers through the stones and made a fist, no longer caring if she got them dirty, or if her fingers bruised. She wanted to be damaged, and then maybe that man wouldn’t take her with him. He’d called her perfect. She wasn’t. No one was. She hated being around others. They made her jittery. People always wanted something from her. She’d realized a long time ago that she was better off alone.

  She wasn’t totally alone though because she had her roses. Her rose garden had been created when she was thirteen with lots of help from her beloved mother. She missed her terribly and not a day had gone by in the past four years that she hadn’t.

  Turning nineteen, she’d known that her father wouldn’t let her stay home for much longer. He wanted her to get married. Give him grandchildren.

  So she’d been waiting and waiting for a way to escape . . . and now, two years later, she knew why he still hadn’t done anything. He had plans even bigger than she could imagine.

  She sighed heavily and with a hiccup, raised her face to the sky and the light raindrops that had started to fall. Her tears got washed away while the rain started to soak through her clothing. She should go inside. But those men were in the house.

  Something told her that she was safer outside. Either that or it was the sense of peace that her roses gave her. Slowly looking around, her feet moved her toward one of her favorites. She leaned forward and inhaled the scent of the hybrid tea rose, Fragrant Plum. Her heart had finally started to settle from the racing of minutes before.

  Her heart was telling her that she’d misunderstood what she’d heard, but she didn’t think that she had. The weirdness of her father over the past couple of weeks really made sense when she thought about it.

  She’d been urged to purchase new clothing, shoes, and her father’s assistant had also made her appointments for hair, nails, and waxing, which had hurt like hell. Now she knew why. Her father had been getting her ready for that man who was currently drinking the finest Irish whiskey inside the only home she’d ever known.

  Shudders rippled through her at the thought of what he was going to expect from her because she knew there was no escaping the arrangement. Her father never went back on his word.

  Slowly moving through her roses, she admired the beauty of them, and inhaled the calming mixed fragrance while the sudden shower slowly came to a stop. She shivered in her soaked clothes, but minutes later the clouds opened and the sun beat down, warming her through.

  She lifted her face and soaked in a few rays of warmth before her eyes drifted toward the large house. It was a colonial home with balconies running around the ground and second floors. Half of the second floor was hers alone, the other used for storage. It had always been too big for them even with the few staff her father kept around, but it was home . . . sometimes it felt like a prison though.

  Thinking about her home, her father’s uttered words ran through her mind: “I’ve received your money. India is yours now.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. She shouldn’t know because her father’s secrets were supposed to be just that—a secret. But she knew and she’d kept it a secret for eight months.

  One night after a party at the house—one that she’d been banned from attending—she’d snuck downstairs out of curiosity and had overheard a conversation between her father and another man. He’d given her a really bad vibe and her stomach had turned at the thought of her father doing business with that man.

  Chapter 2

  The blonde beauty thought she was alone and Mikhail wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. She’d been snooping outside of her father’s office and hadn’t seen him hidden in the alcove a few feet away. The pure innocence radiating from her had caught him completely off guard and he’d found himself hard and aching with longing.

  It had been so long since he’d touched a woman but he couldn’t remember being so taken with one.

  In the past his father’s choice for the sick games that he liked to play had never bothered Mikhail. This time it did. This time his heart beat hard in his chest with fear for the woman, while at the same time his brain worked overtime to try and figure a way out for her.

  He knew what she’d overheard that had sent her running into the garden of fragrance. As he followed her though, nothing in the way of an escape plan came to mind. His father wasn’t a man to cross. But for knowing him, he’d even go as far as saying that his father was in love with her. Except, he did know him better than his father thought he did and he knew that the beautiful India was his father’s obsession. Which didn’t bode well for her to walk away after the year was out. His father had purchased her for the year because the asshole who was supposed to protect her had gambled with the wrong man. Now he owed more money than he had. His father had paid handsomely for the beauty, but after seeing her, Mikhail was more determined than ever to prevent his father from touching her innocence.

  You don’t have the power to stop him.

  The truth stung and his fists clenched at his side while he watched the sweet innocent beauty before him. His original intention had been to follow her to prevent her escape from his father, or so he’d told himself. The truth was that he’d followed her because she’d captured
his attention like no other.

  With a heavy sigh, he watched and found that he couldn’t move his eyes away from the lovely fair-haired India. It made him sick to his stomach to think of his father with this sweet girl in front of him.

  Her blonde hair that currently lay limp, soaked down her back and the paleness of her skin, even the way she acted, had him believing that she truly was as innocent as her father promised she was. She appeared gentle in nature by the way she caressed along the petals of her flowers with her slim and delicate fingers, just like his mother had once done many years ago in Russia. That was one of the only things that he could remember about her because he’d only been four when she’d passed away, and he couldn’t remember much else. His memories had faded over the years, like a lot of things.

  Sadness and helplessness ran through him at the thoughts of his mother.

  Looking for a distraction, he allowed his eyes to lower and gaze over the mouthwatering curves of India’s body. Her white dress was shear in places and had started to dry in others, but her breasts were high with tight nipples that pressed against the fabric. His breathing quickened, and as his eyes traveled lower still, there was a faint outline of her panties, leading to . . .

  His groin tightened painfully, tenting his trousers as he imagined her lithe body undulating beneath him while he made her a woman.

  But that will never be you . . .

  He was reminded of the one thing he wished he didn’t have to think about, and seeing the woman who had his father tied in knots caused his blood to thrum through his body. Anger, and he dared admit it to himself, jealousy, filled him with hatred for the man who he once had respect for. He hadn’t for a long time and he’d wanted to walk away from him and the family. But in the Vasiliev family, the only way to leave was death. Except now, he knew that he had to stay to protect the beautiful flower who was about to be taken into a house of prickly thorns.

  A house of thorns was apt considering the occupants back at his father’s estate. One wrong look and they wouldn’t hesitate to take a life. It was all he’d ever known but he wasn’t one of them. Not really. He might not be one of his father’s servants and he certainly didn’t know his flowers the way he suspected India did, but he did know his books. He loved to read and get lost in worlds that weren’t ruled by Konstantine Vasiliev.

  His books wouldn’t help with the dilemma that he found himself tangled in with the beautiful blonde flower. His father was a harsh man and would kill her without blinking if she dared to refuse him. His father’s temper was legendary. India appeared to have spirit, which wasn’t good if she was going to be in the Vasiliev house because that could get her killed.

  He needed to come up with a plan within the week because that was how long it took for his father to prepare the woman he was going to be with—a week of fear for India—a week of longing and planning for Mikhail.

  It only took one glance at her amongst the flowers to know that she would wilt and die if she was forced to be with his father for any length of time. His father had wanted her for years but a friend had warned him away. But now that the friend was far away, his father was done waiting. There was nothing and no one who could keep him away now. His father was the only one who could break the contract, and that wasn’t going to happen.

  So lost in thought, his focus suddenly cleared and he found himself staring into a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes.

  India gasped, startled. “Who are you?”

  She wasn’t the only one startled. He was never distracted enough to forget his purpose but with her it could be dangerous.

  His gaze caressed her face and he smiled slightly at the blush slowly creeping onto her cheeks, which made them rosy pink. “I’m a friend,” he replied to her question.

  Her eyes looked toward the house before she held his gaze. “I know you’re not him . . . but are you with him?”

  By the way she said, him, he knew she meant his father. Not wanting to scare her away he refrained from telling her who he was to him. She’d find out soon enough. At least he would have a few minutes, that was, if she’d allow them the time and not run away.

  “I’m nothing like him,” he admitted, unable to hide the anger he felt toward the man who he’d always called father.

  “You’re big.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and gasped. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” She looked like a deer caught in the headlights as her eyes searched from side-to-side, as though looking for an escape.

  His brows deepened into a frown as he wondered if his size really did scare her. He was intimidating and usually he’d use his size to his advantage, but with the girl in front of him, he’d hate for her to fear him.

  “You’re afraid of me?” he muttered.

  She tilted her head to the side and stared with curiosity shining in her deep blue eyes. “I don’t think I am,” she whispered before tugging her top lip between her teeth. “I’m not sure who you are or why you’re here at my father’s house, but I’m not afraid of you.”

  His thoughts scattered as blood rushed through his ears.

  She isn’t afraid of me.

  That’s all he could think about as he reached out and softly fingered a loose tendril of hair on her cheek. Her eyes dilated and her breaths became heavy as her chest lifted rapidly. His eyes drifted to the mounds currently pressed against the soft fabric of her dress. Her nipples were rock hard and very noticeable in her arousal.

  Chapter 3

  The man before India had her body reacting in ways that she had never experienced before. Her eyes traveled slowly and shyly over his huge frame. His thighs were like tree trunks and as she moved her gaze higher, it was impossible to miss his arousal that currently tented his trousers. Curiosity got the better of her as she tried to imagine what he’d look like without the material hiding him.

  Her tongue slipped between her dry lips, and that was when his penis jerked, and the big man cursed under his breath.

  With her cheeks feeling as hot as a flame, she quickly snapped her eyes up to his handsome face. His nose was crooked and he had high cheekbones with a jagged scar running along the high point of his right cheek, ending close to the corner of his eye. His lips called to hers and as she took that one step closer, she found his dark gaze focused intensely on her face. She couldn’t look away. The passion that flared within the black depths told her to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She wasn’t even sure that she wanted to.

  His hands came up and held her away from his body as he closed his eyes and inhaled a lung full of air. He then slowly exhaled while watching her from beneath his lowered lids.

  She found it hard to understand how the large man made her feel safe, amongst other things, and not necessarily in that order.

  With the need to know more about him and to have something to remember him by, other than the rugged man, she asked, “What’s your name?” knowing that she probably wouldn’t see him again, especially if her father really meant to do what she’d overheard.

  He searched her eyes and reaching out, traced along her trembling lips with a finger. “So soft,” he whispered and licking his lips, he added, “Mikhail Vasiliev.” His eyes briefly held sorrow before his expression went blank and he dropped his hands, stepping away.

  Vasiliev…

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. She’d heard that name before and not too long ago.

  Konstantine Vasiliev!

  “Oh God!” She hissed in shock. “Please tell me that you’re not related to that monster in there?” Her arms wrapped around her stomach as though that would protect her from this man and his . . . his . . . “Father?” Tears came to her eyes and slowly slid down her reddening cheeks. “That’s who that man is, right? He’s your father!”

  Her heart pounded and her breath caught at the back of her throat. Before she could think to run, Mikhail had his strong arms wrapped around her. He took the few steps to the garden bench and shoved her down into the seat with her head pushed between her kne
es.

  “Breathe India,” his rushed words were spoken with a strong Russian accent, and she felt so stupid that she hadn’t realized before now. “No matter what happens just remember that I am not my father. I’m nothing like him. I never have been. I never will be.”

  What does he mean?

  She pushed against his hand and he loosened the pressure, but his hand lingered as he caressed down from her neck to her lower back before he reluctantly pulled away.

  Her eyes stayed on his face expecting him to say or do something more. He did nothing though. Pain crossed his face before he looked away and rested his arms on his knees. He leant forward with his head dipped and minutes later he gave her a longing and sorrowful look. “When you leave here you will have seven days before my father expects something from you.” He hid his gaze once more.

  She rested her feet up on the bench and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her cheek on the top of her drawn up knees. Her gaze focused on the back of Mikhail’s head. He had a head of thick dark hair and even knowing whom his father was, it didn’t stop her from wanting to slide her fingers through the shiny strands. He rubbed at his temples and she had the urge to massage his headache away and then move down to his shoulders to take the tension away.

  “I don’t know why I’m still sitting here with you,” she mumbled, ending on a long sigh. “I should have ran back inside and locked myself in my room. Why didn’t I do that?” Her fingers twitched to touch the flowing lock of hair that fell on his brow as he finally turned to face her.

  He smiled softly when he realized what her intention was, he intercepted her hand and laced his fingers with hers. Her heart pounded at his touch and her attraction to him was just as strong, if not stronger, than it was before she knew his name.