She hesitates, then swallows, her expression somewhere between curious and shy. She opens her eyes and smiles at me, and I swear the world tilts in that moment.
I pull her up and into my arms. Her body melts into mine, her heart thrumming widely against my chest.
I reach past her to adjust the water temperature, then run my hands through her hair and down the curve of her back to cup her perfectly rounded ass.
“You’re incredible,” I murmur. “What do you say I return the favor?”
A long time passes before we finally step out of the shower. I made sure to string out every last drop of pleasure from her. Hearing her cry my name as I tasted her was divine. Part of me wanted to stay there longer, but I had other plans—and a dwindling supply of hot water.
Anya smells of shampoo—something light and sensual. Her hair drips down her back, her skin flushed and dewy. I grab a towel and wrap it around her, drying her off slowly, deliberately.
“Get dressed,” I murmur against her temple, brushing a kiss there. “We’re going out.”
She blinks up at me, her expression half suspicious, half curious. “Out where?”
I grab another towel, run it over my hair, then wrap it around my waist. “Out there.”
She raises her brows, her eyes glinting with something playful. “That sounds like a very Alexei kind of answer—cryptic and bossy.”
“Maybe,” I say, reaching past her for her robe, sliding it over her shoulders. “But I want to spend time with you.”
As I turn away to find my clothes, she huffs a quiet laugh. “I don’t do well with orders, you know.”
“Oh, I think you do,” I say over my shoulder, and the blush that colors her cheeks tells me she remembers the shower just as vividly as I do.
She comes back out ten minutes later, dressed in a simple beige dress that clings to her curves in all the right places. Her hair has been dried and pulled into a loose knot.
“You look gorgeous,zayka,” I say, handing her a mug of coffee as I give her a once-over.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going, though.”
“I thought you could show me your London,” I say, buttoning my shirt. “The places that matter to you. The life you’ve built here.”
She blinks, clearly caught off guard. “You want to see my London?”
“I’ve only ever been to London for business,” I admit, stepping closer to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Meetings. Dinners. The occasional hotel bar.” I hold her gaze. “I want to see the city through your eyes.”
Her lips part slightly, and she lowers her mug. “You already know what my life’s been like,” she says quietly. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me all this time.”
Her words land like a blade—not sharp enough to wound, but enough to sting.
“Reading reports and seeing pictures isn’t the same thing,” I admit. “I want to know you, Anya. The woman you’ve become.”
For a long moment, she studies me, probably searching for a lie in my face. Then her shoulders soften. “Okay,” she says at last, “but on one condition.”
I tilt my head. “Which is?”
“Lunch with Bryant.”
My jaw flexes before I can stop it. “Bryant?”
“Yes.” She folds her arms, meeting my gaze evenly. “He’s been a good friend to me, and you’ll get to meet him properly this time. Besides, I still have his sheet music to return.”
I exhale through my nose, slow and measured. I don’t like it, but I can already see from the determined lift of her chin that this isn’t a battle worth fighting. “You want me to have lunch with your friend?”
She smirks. “Yes. And his boyfriend, if he’s free.”
My eyes narrow. “You said he was yourboyfriend—”
