I shouldn’t have cried wolf so many times. Now, it was going to screw me over—literally.
“It takes one to know one, doesn’t it?” My voice shook. Each step he took toward me, I mimicked in the opposite direction until I stood behind the couch, a simple piece of furniture the only divider between us.
“Mm. We don’t know each other that well yet, but we will.” A shattered piece of porcelain crunched beneath his boot.
“You act like it will be memorable for me,” I retorted, forced to the front of the couch when he stepped around it.
“I’m sure it’ll be different than your experiences with pampered college boys.”
Frustration tunneled beneath my skin. That was the exact thought that led me into D’yavol’s arms, putting me in a position to be circling a couch to stay away from him.
“Ivan isn’t a college boy.” There Madame Richie went again, throwing Ivan under the bus.
His eyes narrowed dangerously as he braced his hands on the back of the couch. “Maybe not, but he is a pussy.”
“You don’t even know him,” I accused.
The subtle, dry look he gave me only affirmed my suspicion they knew each other, but the thought faded when fury reflected in his gaze, his voice harsh. “Mention him to me again, and you’ll be sleeping outside with the dogs.”
Uncertainty tugged at my throat. I countered one of his long strides, quickly taking a few steps to match it. “Stop sweet-talking me,” I said breathlessly. “I don’t think my heart can take any more romance right now.”
He almost looked as if he wanted to laugh—this man who was stalking me like a psychopath—but the darkness in him contained the humor.
“Your mouth isn’t going to save you this time.”
I didn’t know what he meant, but I also didn’t care at the moment. When I stepped to the side, he mirrored the motion. Nervousness radiated in my every cell, pouring out in winded words.
“I hope this isn’t how you normally get laid. It’s exhausting.”
A humored brow rose. “It’s a first for me, but thankfully, I’m open to new things.”
It was so nice he found the situation amusing while my heart was close to stopping. “I’m sure there are a number of nice women in Moscow who will accommodate you for a decent price.”
He watched me, shadowing each of my slow steps. “If I wanted another, it would take a single peach emoji text to have a woman here begging me to fuck her ass.”
The dirty mental image played behind my eyes, rose an innocent flush to my cheeks, and sent a cramped sensation to my chest. The feelings were so at odds with themselves that when he stepped around the couch, I faltered before finding my footing.
“I really can’t figure out how you get a woman after you open your mouth.”
“You’ll find out in a moment.” The weight of his stare made my throat dry.
I was growing a little dizzy from moving in a circle—especially with the small amount of food I’d consumed lately—but it didn’t stop my mind’s endless circus. I wondered about peach emojis and Nadia. I wondered if Ronan had been to the opera lately; if the singer wrote him another note and he took her up on the indecent proposition. The idea squeezed my lungs, creating a ripple effect from uncertainty to dejection to anger. Ronan could be having a threesome every night for all I knew, and I couldn’t even kiss another man without him turning into a virgin’s worst nightmare.
“Save your stamina for the next unlucky girl who catches your eye,” I said coldly. “Trust me, you’ll waste it on me.”
His stare threatened me to hold in what was on the tip of my tongue, but, admittedly, I didn’t take orders well.
“There are so many men in Miami. You’ll soon be forgotten along with all the rest.”
The words didn’t get the time to settle in the air. A single kick from him to the side of the couch sent it sailing across the floor, where it hit the wall and left me grossly unprotected. Holding his dark eyes, the coolness of the marble beneath my feet spread through me, my blood whooshing in my ears.
I took off for the doorway, but I didn’t make it that far. Ronan could have easily grabbed me by the hair and thrown me to the floor like the guard did, though he caught a fistful of my dress instead. I resented it more than if he had hurt me. I was suddenly desperate for pain; for agony to remind me of how little I meant to him before he stole my innocence and, in consequence, my soul too.
As he started to pull me back, I grasped at the side table, knocking things over in search of a weapon—or at least a way to push him to a point he’d make me recall I was nothing but his pawn. Clammy fingers found purchase, and before I could think it through, I spun around and shattered the vase against the side of his head. Glass fell to the floor around us, the room going deathly still.
In the movies, men went down.
Ronan didn’t go down.
My chest heaved, feet rooted to the floor as he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. When he opened them, I expected his retaliation; I didn’t anticipate him to silently wrap an arm around my waist, lift me over the broken glass, and drop me onto the couch.
When his body came down on mine, so did the guilt, blending with the heaviness of him on top of me. His legs forced my thighs apart, his hands holding my wrists above my head.
Regret thickening in my throat, I breathed, “I won’t apologize.”
He pressed his face into my neck, making a dark rumble of satisfaction. “So you are learning something after all.”
As the adrenaline faded, it left me sensitive, exposed, ashamed. I didn’t want to be the kind of person who hurt others just because they hurt me. Something inside of me hated the idea of hurting him more than anything, even though nobody deserved it more.
Inked fingers may be holding my wrists captive, but they’d also saved and avenged me.
Guilt inflated in my chest like a balloon, and suddenly, all I could see was a little boy in a car sinking to the bottom of the Moskva at his own mother’s hands. I wondered if it was how Ronan got the scar on his bottom lip. The fact I could be the person to add another mark made me feel sick. The pressure forced an apology up my throat, but when I opened my mouth, he skimmed his lips across mine, saying harshly, “Nyet.”
We only inhaled each other’s exhales for a second. A heaviness invaded my chest, pulling me into dark waters alongside him, where I’d sink, and he’d swim. My only question was: Would he grab my hand, or let me drown?
I wasn’t sure I cared anymore.
I kissed the cut I’d made on his bottom lip. The action flooded the room with my silent apology, eliciting a noise in his throat that reeked of displeasure, but the feeling swelling inside compelled me to continue.
I dragged my lips to kiss the corner of his mouth, then the thin scar, which I softly drew my tongue across. With a rough sound, he gripped my chin and angled my head back so I met his eyes.
“I thought you had reservations about kissing me.”
The Bible dug into my spine. I was sure there never was a clearer sign to resist sin than literal scripture burning one’s back, but the idea didn’t stop me from looking the devil in the eye and saying two words that would lead me straight to the gates of hell.
“I lied.”