Her Russian Billionaire

By: Imani King

A BWWM Russian Oligarch Interracial Romance

An Excerpt from Her Russian Billionaire

“I haven’t met someone like you in a long time,” he continued. “You have this spirit… I don’t know how to explain it… You seem anxious sometimes, and yet I can tell you have loads of confidence in you abilities too. And you challenge me. You talk back if you feel I’m out of line. I’m not used to that. Usually, people around me fall over themselves to give me what I want. Not you—you won’t take crap from anyone, not just me. I admire that. And I promise I won’t allow anything unprofessional to happen again. I won’t give you any more unwanted attention.”

Something queasy slowly formed at the pit of my stomach as I realized that was the exact opposite of what I was hoping to hear.

“And what if the attention wasn’t unwanted?” I asked, barely able to believe what I’d just said.

“What?” Lex’s head snapped up as he studied me.

“I don’t want you to stop acting on your feelings. I… I feel the same way.” With that simple statement, I dove off the cliff of my doubts and anxiety.

Lex examined me for a minute more, then he was suddenly pressing himself against me, his lips meeting my own. The kiss was rough and sloppy and perfect as his tongue explored my mouth.

Chapter 1

“Come on Michelle,” I muttered to myself. “Get it together.”

Leaning against the wall of the employee bathroom, I took what felt like my first breath in half an hour. I rubbed my freshly-scrubbed hands across my face, trying to pull myself together. I’d always been high-strung. But it was that very personality trait that had allowed me to graduate from medical school at the top of my class and procure a great internship at a very competitive hospital in Miami. At the moment, however, my nervous disposition seemed to be acting against me.

As an Emergency Medicine intern, I had very little experience with operating room procedures – at least not practical experience. Sure, I’d observed a number of surgeries during medical school and a few emergency surgeries in the ER since I’d been here. But I’d never seen anyone die on the operating table before today.

I had only been there to hold the retractors. Half of the surgical staff at Miami General had come down with a massive stomach virus, and I had been loaned out from the Emergency Room at the end of my night shift to act as another set of hands during a routine surgery. At the time, I’d jumped at the opportunity – when would I ever get to see a cardiac bypass surgery?

Thinking about that fact now, I cringed. I definitely did not need that experience at the cost of my nerves.

Hazarding a look in the mirror, I couldn’t help but cringe again. My normally pretty face was ashen, and there were dark circles underneath my now-glassy golden brown eyes. My already kinky hair was frizzier than ever from spending the last few hours under a surgical cap. And, of course, there was blood all over my light blue scrubs. That was the final straw, and another wave of panic washed through my body.

Obviously, I had no problem with blood in and of itself – I would have no place in the medical field if I did. It was the memory of the death I’d just witnessed that had me trembling. I’d seen quite a few dead bodies over the years, but I’d never seen someone die right in front of me – while I was, at least partially, responsible for that person’s wellbeing. I had always known that death was something I would need to get used to as an ER doctor, but this, as my very first experience, had been jarring.

I knew that I should at least change, if not shower, before heading home. Right now though, I was just trying to focus on standing without shaking, which didn’t seem like a feat I could handle at the moment.

I heard the door of the bathroom open, and a cute girl with gorgeous seemingly pore-less caramel skin and short curly hair walked in. I recognized her as a resident in the surgery department, though I hadn’t actually talked to her before. I was glad to see that I wasn’t the only resident who weighed over one hundred and fifty pounds. It seemed that most doctors dealt with stress by not eating, while I was always known to turn to food to help me forget about the day’s problems.

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