I realized he must know I went into his precious dungeon, and he was not happy about it. Yulia probably saw me at it with the eyes on the back of her head.
If Ronan didn’t want me in the basement, he should have put a lock on the door.
Chink . . . click. The sound broke the silence and squeezed the pulse point in my throat. My mind was a mess trying to decipher the product of the noise, but I forced myself to nonchalantly flip a page.
Ronan knew I couldn’t read Russian, yet he had nothing to say about the ridiculous, treasonable book in my hands. The room remained silent except for the incessant noise that frayed the edges of my nerves.
Chink . . . click.
I imagined this was worse than Chinese water torture. I suddenly knew he would continue whatever game this was for hours and that I would die in one. I gave in, flicked my gaze to him, and asked, “Do you need something?”
Elbows braced on his knees, his eyes held steady on a Zippo lighter in his hand, which he opened and closed. His demeanor was so cold a chill spread through me.
“Tell me why you are here.” His accent grated like sandpaper, but what made me tighten my grip on the Bible was the fact the demand was spoken in the voice of D’yavol—the immortal man who ruled Moscow and probably killed American cheerleaders for sport.
His order was vague, but somehow, I knew what he wanted. As always, my spirit ached to fight him, though a voice in the back of my mind cautioned me. I was no longer the only one he could crush beneath his expensive boot.
“I’m collateral.”
Chink. “Whose collateral?” Click.
I swallowed. “Yours.”
“Who else’s?”
The powerplay was beginning to blister. I may as well be on my knees at his feet just so he could reject me again. Je ne suis pas fière. Tu n’es pas fière. Nous ne sommes pas fières. I am not prideful. You are not prideful. We are not prideful.
With a shallow breath, I forced, “Just yours.”
“Just mine.” The words froze to ice, and his eyes finally lifted to mine, an immoral matte black. “Your misery, your attention, your body—all mine.” The caustic words settled on my skin, slowing each inhale. “I’m beginning to think I need to prove it to you.”
My heart plummeted when I understood what this was about. The kiss. A recollection came back, of Ivan looking at something behind me before he made his move.
Ronan and his secret cameras.
I was nothing but a chess piece being played in their vengeful game. My feelings didn’t matter. They never had. Heat washed up my back as resentment stirred, obliterating all traces of self-preservation.
I slapped the book beside me on the couch and stood. “I’m really not interested right now, but maybe tomorrow.”
The growl from deep in his chest resounded in my ears before he shot to his feet and flipped the coffee table over. The antique hit the wall and cracked along with my composure. Fine ornaments went flying, shattered on the floor, and skidded across the marble.
And he said I had a temper.
Heart in my throat, I held my ground and his stare. He took advantage of the now clear space between us to stride toward me, an unstable violence raging in his eyes.
Something drew him to a halt. He exhaled and ran a hand down his chest in such a refined way it was like he believed he was the composed one before grating, “Go to your room before I do something I’ll regret.”
A second ago, that was exactly where I planned to go, though since he’d demanded it, my room was now the last place I wanted to be. He’d probably have Yulia lock the door behind me, and if I had to endure another minute of solitude, I’d explode into yellow confetti.
He was giving me an out I should take, but my feet refused to move even as my mind told me to hightail it out of there. So many conflicting feelings tangled within, shoving my system off-kilter. Ivan had used me to get one over on his enemy. Ronan had betrayed, abducted, rejected, and confused me. I stared at him, digging my nails into my palms as the chaos inside begged for an outlet.
His eyes hardened, and, in a menacing tone, he threatened, “Go.”
I was warned, so, in essence, I had no excuse for what poured out of my mouth. On second thought, I blamed Madame Richie.
“Bite me.”
He watched me for a second that felt like an eternity, and then, a cruel, disbelieving chuckle escaped him, showing off sharp incisors. After wiping the mirthless laugh away with a hand, he gritted, “Don’t say you didn’t ask for it, kotyonok.”
In one stride, he grabbed the nape of my neck and pulled my mouth to his. The rough action stole my breath, which escaped in a hiss of pain when he bit down hard on my bottom lip. But as he soothed the sting with a soft lap of his tongue, a flame ignited, expanding liquid fire between my legs.
If the kiss was a chess game, I was the bespectacled novice. And he was the cheater who wiped the board clean and fucked me on top of it.
My mind disliked this man with a passion right now. I tried to shove him away, to turn my mouth from his, but the iron grip on my nape didn’t relent. My body held a different stance. It inhaled the heat of his, begging for more force, more intensity, more friction—so much more. The hot press of his lips and the taste of cinnamon sent a desperate hum through my blood, drawing me so close to the edge a cold sweat battled the inferno within. He slid his tongue against mine, creating a heavy ache in my core that scattered all thoughts for a feverish second.
Breath ragged, the struggle slowed, and my hands stilled on his chest. Vengeance bled into his kiss, which was soft yet furious and somehow cold—just like the look in his eyes before he left me on my knees this morning. He didn’t want me then. He only wanted me now to prove a point: I was his insurance, and only he could fuck with me.
Just as he thought the fight in me had faded, I bit down on his bottom lip so hard I tasted blood and threw my knee up. He evaded the hit to his groin with a growl and shoved me away from him. I caught my footing, the lack of his body heat making me cold.
“Where’s the passion you gave Ivan, kotyonok?” he asked harshly, wiping blood from his lip with a thumb. “I won’t believe you have reservations about kissing two men on the same day.”
A knot of anger stretched in my chest, forcing the insult from me. “The only reservation I have is kissing you.”
The next second of silence suffocated me, his eyes not leaving mine while a muscle ticked in his jaw. “I guess we’re both narcissistic then.”
Knowing his twisted definition of “lucky,” I swallowed and watched him warily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A sinful glint stole the heat from his eyes, the words cool and apathetic. “I’ve never been one to mix kissing and fucking.” The hiss of his Montblanc belt sliding through its loops dropped my stomach like a lead weight.
He didn’t intend for tonight to end with a cold shower.
Heart pounding like a racehorse’s hooves on dirt, I backed up until I bumped into the couch. The metal buckle hit the floor with a clank, stretching my skin taut. I told myself to stay strong and retain my dignity at all costs, but when he took a single step in my direction, I blurted, “I’m a virgin.”
He didn’t even consider it before laughing humorlessly. “You’re such a fucking liar.”