Aye. Damn, right. But she’d made a vow to herself. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re waiting until you get married.”
Natasha cackled. “Don’t quote me.”
“You texted me that when I sent the address to the Waldorf Astoria.”
“How was I to know you’d created me, my very own gallery? Your video was on my mind. Shoot me.”
“So you saw my video?”
“No.”
“Every minute of it?”
“Lach, keep at it. I will deck you!”
I reached down and grabbed the back of her knees, lifting her over my shoulders. Too easy.
I planned on torturing her all night.
Myself included. Just a different method from the first couple of nights we slept together.
I’d try to tickle her crazy so my thoughts didn’t pulverize my heart for failing her that night. Should’ve stayed instead of leaving to take my agent’s call. Wasn’t thinking with my head that night. I’d thought some grand gesture, like rose petals on the floor, at my apartment would get her undressed for me. I was so stupid. I should’ve been there.
17
VASSILI
I droppedthe conditioning ropes at Vadim’s Gym, a short huff leaving my chest. Just a short one. Inside, my heart hammered ribs, the same as when I was twenty and every UFC fighter wanted to break me.
Vassilievich pumped the heavy ropes for a few minutes, sweat glistening, a cocky grin plastered on his face as if he’d won.
Arms folded, I waited for his ropes to slap the wood floor. “You done?”
“Da.” He winked.
“Not bad.”
“Nyet. Not bad is you,” he said. “I’m better.”
I snorted. “I did five more minutes at your age.”
He rolled his eyes. Instantly, I gazed into a mirror, reflecting arrogance and youth. To be that age again.
“Whatever.”
“Do not,” I growled, stepping closer, “ ‘Whatever’ me, Vassilievich.”
He squared his shoulders. “What. Ever.”
I lashed out, palm up. He blocked, quick.Khoroshiy. His counter hook grazed my ribs. I caught his wrist, twisted. Heducked under, sweeping my leg. Halfway down, my forearm locked against his throat, forcing him against the floor. His grunt was sharp, frustrated.
“If you wanted to fight, Vass, we could’ve hit the cage.”
He shoved hard, and for a second, strength met strength.
I released, stepping back with a wolfish grin. “You should’ve gone the mixed martial arts route.”
Vassilievich wiped sweat from his jaw. “I prefer political science. Also, you don’t believe in me.” His eyes flicked to the rope. “Five extra minutes, huh?”
