“Tell me,” he demands.
I exhale and stare harder at the ceiling. “She was offering to teach me how to cover up my scars better.” There’s no point in trying to dodge the question, but I hope by saying it so baldly he’ll let it go.
“I hope you told her no.”
The edge in his voice makes my jaw clench. “I’m working,” I say. “I’m not paying for a makeup artist.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His fingers trace down my jaw, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of my face. “I hope you told her no,” he continues, “because you don’t need to cover them.” His thumb brushes my skin, almost reverently. “They show your strength. And I think they make you even more beautiful.”
My throat tightens. I shiver, eyes closing for just a second, wanting—needing—to believe him.
His lips press gently against the side of my jaw.
My body jackknifes upright.
“We’re working,” I say, breathless. “We can’t do this here.”
Liev sits up slowly, facing me now, his eyes dark and heated. “I know.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment, then lets the tension ease from his shoulders.
“I won’t push you,” he adds, voice steady. “However, don’t mistake my patience for hesitation or disinterest.” A corner of his mouth lifts. “Thisisn’t the moment. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be one… soon.”
Heat rolls over me in a wave, and I hope I don’t look as flushed as I feel. I have to get away from him before I do something stupid.
“Better get back,” I strangle out, and lunge for the door.
The door clicks shutbehind me, and I take half a second to steady my breathing before I cross the living area. Dani is perched on a stool near the windows, and the hairstylistis standing behind Keke, fingers working through long blonde sections.
I drop onto the far end of the sectional and glance at my phone. The battery flashes 18% so I flip open my laptop and plug it in. I pretend to fiddle with it as a shield. I feel the second Keke’s attention slides to me.
“So.” She tilts her chin down as the stylist lifts another section of hair. “Are you two fucking?”
The question has the same effect as a dropped glass in the room. Everyone except Keke freezes and then looks around to figure out who she is talking to.
“You and the Russian god.” The hairstylist’s hand stops moving, and Keke breaks her stare down of me to look up irritated. “Why did you stop?”
“Sorry,” the woman mutters.
Dani doesn’t seem as shocked, but at this point I would imagine she’s used to Keke. I wonder if she told Keke what she saw.
My eyes return to the laptop, but I can still see her on the edges of my vision. “No.”
She studies me for a second, and then she smiles. “But you want to, right? It’s written all over you,” she continues. “That tight little thing you do with your jaw every time I talk to him.”
The other two women’s eyes flick to me now, curious.
You’re welcome for the entertainment.
Ugh, this not reacting thing is harder than I thought.
A malicious light enters Keke’s gaze, and I brace for whatever is coming next. In the short time I’ve known the woman, I can guarantee something offensive is about to come out of her mouth.
“Is he married?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
