My body stretchesas I wake up, not knowing where I am at first, only registering the soft sheets beneath me and the cloudlike comforter wrapped around me. The pillow smells like clean cotton and something faintly masculine, and that’s enough to bring it all back.
My eyes open slowly as the night returns in pieces. His hands on my skin, the sounds I couldn’t hold back, my fingers in his hair, the way he handled me like he knew exactly what he was doing.
I don’t even know the kinds of things I like. The lack of experience makes that difficult, but with Kirill, I discovered parts of myself I didn’t know I had. I can just imagine the world he’d awaken if we were together.
Too bad I’ll never find out.
Pushing the blanket off, I slide out of bed, the hem of his shirt brushing my thighs as I cross the room to the clothes I wore last night, folded neatly on the chaise.
My fingers roll over the fabric, caught between putting my dress back on and staying wrapped in something that still smells like him.
I pick up the dress anyway, my hands hesitating as I take in how short it is. I remember the way he pulled it off of me, the look in his eyes when he did.
But it’s all I have. Unless I plan on going downstairs in his shirt—or nothing at all, which would be uncomfortable for both of us.
I slide the dress on and smooth the fabric down over my midsection, cringing at how bare I am as I pad into the bathroom. The space resembles a luxurious hotel suite with its shiny marble and gold accents.
I look at myself in the mirror, trying to recognize the girl standing there. My hair is a disaster, my makeup is long gone, and my eyes are still a little swollen from sleep and everything that happened with him last night, but I push it down.
It’s over. It didn’t mean anything. We’re two adults. We can move on.
Except I can’t seem to do that.
Ignoring the mess in my head, I spot some mouthwash and decide to use it, trying to pull myself together. Seeing him again is inevitable, and that thought alone knots my stomach.
Screw it. There’s no way around this. I step out, grab my shoes and bag, and go downstairs. I need to get to Mandy’s, get my car, and make it to my interview with Greer today.
A shower would be nice, but I’m not about to do it here. Mandy would let me if I asked, so there’s that.
Halfway down, I notice one of Kirill’s men standing off to the side of the staircase, arms folded, posture alert. He straightens when he sees me, dark eyes flicking up and then politely away.
“Kitchen this way,” he says, his Russian accent thick, gesturing down the hall. “Boss ask you join him for breakfast.”
“Okay.”
A hard pulse starts behind my ribs. I could refuse and go home, but as soon as my stomach lets out a low growl, I know Ishouldn’t. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten, and who knows the next time I’ll eat again? Sometimes I’ll grab a little something at the diner when it isn’t busy, but it’s not all the time.
The guard goes back to his post while I square my shoulders and follow the hall he pointed down, telling myself I can handle breakfast. I can handle seeing Kirill in this house one more time before I go back to reality.
Even if my heart doesn’t believe the lie.
I step into the kitchen, off to the right, unsure what I’m walking into at first. The room is sunlit and bright, the kind of kitchen you only see in magazines.
But it’s not the space that knocks the air from my chest. It’s them.
Kirill is seated at the table as he takes a sip of his coffee, his dress shirt riding up his forearms, the veins there flexing. The sight of it makes desire roll through me, my body remembering exactly what those hands did last night.
In that moment, his eyes meet mine and his features soften.
Before I can even process it, Lev turns in his seat. When he notices me, his whole face lights up like it’s the best surprise in the world.
“Sloane.” The word comes out small, but it might as well move mountains.
He jumps to his feet and hurries across the room toward me. I don’t even have time to brace myself before he throws his arms around my waist in a tight hug, pressing his cheek into me like I’m someone who matters. Like I belong.
My throat closes as I comb my fingers through his hair. “It’s so good to see you, Lev.”
When I look up again, Kirill is still watching us, his expression unreadable at first. Then something flickers there—a tiny curve at the edge of his mouth that could almost be a smile. And somehow, it’s worse than if he looked away becauseit makes my heart ache in this sharp, slow way I don’t know how to stop.
