"You think I," anger spiked hot and sharp. "I don't want to get pregnant. Trust me."
"Then showing me the pills shouldn't be a problem."
I wanted to throw something at his smug face. "Fine. What else?"
"That's your condition, not mine. Keep going."
Right. I was supposed to be negotiating, not getting derailed by his…
Focus, Katrina.
"Third, you get tested before we do anything. Full panel. And I see the results."
"Already scheduled for tomorrow morning." He took a sip of vodka. "Next?"
"No claiming me outside of this arrangement. I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your," I struggled for the word. "whatever. This is business."
"Agreed." He set down his glass. "Though I reserve the right to be possessive during our arrangement."
"What does that mean?"
"It means no other men. Not for ninety days."
I laughed. "You think I have time for other men? I work sixteen-hour days."
"Good. Then it won't be a problem." His eyes glittered. "Anything else?"
Yes. A thousand things. But the big ones, the ones that made my skin crawl with memory.
"You don't choke me. You don't hit me. And if I say stop, you stop."
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Olek stood slowly, his full height suddenly intimidating in a way it hadn't been before. He rounded the desk, and I forced myself not to step back.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
I was already looking at him.
"No. Really look." He moved closer, and I caught the scent of his cologne—something expensive. "I'm going to fuck you in ways you've never been fucked. I'm going to push your limits and make you beg and take you apart piece by piece. But I will never,neverhurt you the way he did."
My throat closed.
"Do you understand me?" His voice was soft, almost gentle. "Whatever that piece of shit did to you, I'm not him. I don't get off on fear. I get off on pleasure. Yours and mine."
I couldn't speak.
"So here's what's going to happen," Olek continued. "You're going to give me a safe word. Something you'd never say during sex. And if you use it, everything stops. No questions. No consequences. Clear?"
A safe word. Not stop, because stop could mean keep going in the right context. But a word that meantactually stop.
"Red," I whispered.
"Red," he repeated. "Good. Use it if you need it. I won't be offended."
He meant it. I could see it on his face, hear it in his voice. Whatever else Olek Sidorov was—a criminal, a killer, a cold-blooded bastard—he wasn't Marcus. That shouldn't have mattered. It did.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"After ninety days, I walk away. You don't follow me. You don't track me down. You let me disappear."
