“Tell me what you really want from me, kotyonok. You can have it. Anything besides letting you go.”
A part of me desired to say I wanted nothing else from him, but it was a lie. It seemed I couldn’t force those words past my lips even to save my own soul. It was already his.
“You want to make it even and shoot me for real?” He pulled back and forced cold metal into my palm. “Go for it. It’s fully loaded this time.”
Just the weight of the gun broke a dam inside me, sending hot tears down my cheeks. I sucked in a shaky breath and shook my head, letting the pistol drop to the floor.
“That’s not what I want.”
“A treasure chest of fake diamonds?” He wiped a tear away with a thumb, and the caress pulled honesty from my throat.
“I want you to care . . .” The words settled so thick and uninvited in the room they made my ears ring. It went so silent one could hear a pin drop. Or a heart-shaped earring.
Ronan’s hand dropped from my face, and with a harsh sound, he pushed away from me. “You’re a goddamn headache, you know that?”
His reaction hit me in the chest. I was the headache? He was the one who was so hot and cold, he gave me whiplash. I may be embarrassing myself again, but at the end of this, I would regret not having told him the truth. I would regret acting as if I didn’t care. Now, he knew, and clearly, he didn’t mean I could have “anything” by his look of disgust. This was turning out to be a really shitty day.
“I guess I’ll take the fake diamonds then,” I muttered and headed to the door.
“I feed my captive vegan,” he growled.
The force of his voice stilled me.
“She spends her days doing yoga and playing in the yard and her nights reading classics by the fireplace.” His sardonic tone lacked humor.
I couldn’t decide if he was insulting me or showing he did care in his own twisted way. I wanted to hear more, but all I could do was turn around and accuse, “You’ve been spying on me.”
“Be quiet,” he snapped. “This is my monologue.”
I closed my mouth.
“Keeping you here is a slap in the face to my men, but it seems I don’t give a fuck about that.” The eye contact seared. “The longer I put off revenge, the closer I get to another war with your papa. And I don’t give a fuck about that either.”
My throat tightened at the thought I was a source of that kind of violence. I had no idea my presence here had caused so much trouble.
His gaze narrowed. “You pull a trigger on me, and I can’t even leave you out in the cold for fifteen fucking minutes. So you tell me, Mila, who cares more here?”
The words crept beneath my skin, wrapped around my heart like barbed wire, and tightened a fight-or-flight response in my muscles. I fought the impulse to flee even as he took a step toward me, violence reflecting in his eyes.
“You were going to catch a plane home without saying a word to me, weren’t you?”
I swallowed. He knew I was planning to leave after the night I spent with him in my hotel room. For some reason, the knowledge contracted my chest with guilt. Ronan moved closer. His animosity wrapped around my body as his fingers gripped my face, forcing a ragged exhale from me.
“Am I that easy to leave, kotyonok?”
My breath shallowed at the angry vulnerability he let me see. The worst part was, I shared it: the fear of being abandoned; of not being good enough. This weakness of his twisted my chest. It forced me to change my view of him forever. I’d never again see him as the monster I’d once thought he was but as the hungry, abused boy the worst part of humanity had shaped into a cold-hearted man.
My heart felt so heavy, it compelled me to frame his face with my hands and skim my lips against his scar. The soft action contrasted his rough grip holding me in place. He tensed like he wasn’t sure what I was doing; like he’d never been touched this way before in his life; like he was expecting pain to follow. His simple reaction was my undoing.
“You wanted my misery, but I’m giving you my forgiveness,” I breathed, voice thick. “When you let me go, I won’t turn you in even though I should. I can’t be the person to send you back to prison . . .” I inhaled raggedly. “I’ll walk away when this is over and I won’t look back—though not because I hate you but because I don’t. Not even a little bit . . .”
The words settled around us for a beat before he said drily, “This is getting too close to a Nicholas Sparks movie for me, kotyonok. I just wanted to convince you to let me fuck you again.”
“I’m an emotional fuck,” I replied. “Get over it.”
He chuckled roughly. When my thumb brushed over his scar, he nipped it hard between straight white teeth. I hissed in pain and pulled it free with a glare.
“I’m a rough fuck,” he returned. “Get over it.” The look in his eyes turned turbulent. “If you want to turn me in, so be it. I’d go back to prison for you, kotyonok, but when I get out, there’d better be an ocean between us.”
I suddenly couldn’t even imagine returning to The Moorings; to Carter and the lonely sounds of the Atlantic. A weight compressed my chest, forcing the word from my lips.
“Why?”
His fingers tightened on my cheeks, voice dark. “You have no idea what you would be unleashing on Moscow after years of celibacy.”
As his words sank in, a hot rush of jealousy evaporated all other emotion. The idea of him with other women kicked me in the gut. My entire body rebelled against the idea. I suddenly wanted to imprint myself on him; to make him remember me forever—no matter the consequences.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his mouth to mine, sliding my tongue between his lips. He hissed and lifted me so I could wrap my legs around his hips. I’d never felt so small; so feminine and complete. I suddenly knew I would never feel this again; never fit so well with someone else; never meet another man like this.
I may as well enjoy the happily-for-now while it lasted.
He pressed my back against the overturned table and licked the roof of my mouth. At the taste of him and the heat of his body, a fire brewed inside, searing need through me in thick waves. I hummed against his lips, dying for more—for everything he had. Grinding against him and unable to find the friction I needed, a frustrated noise escaped me.
“Fuck me,” I breathed, tugging at his belt buckle.
He groaned and pulled back. “Not here.”
“Here,” I begged, closing the gap again and nipping his bottom lip. “Any way you want. Please.”
“Nyet.” He tried to slide me down his body, but my legs tightened around him. I felt how hard he was and relished in his reaction—that is, until he gripped my ponytail and yanked my head back. “Don’t tempt me, kotyonok,” he growled. “I’m not noble enough to turn down the offer.”
“Then don’t.”
He watched me for a second. “Jesus Christ.” With a frustrated noise like he was in pain, he released my hair. “I’ve Stockholm syndromed you.”
I fought a smile. “Mmm,” I agreed and sucked at his neck. “Now you have to deal with the consequences.” I dragged my mouth to his, and after a second of kissing his tepid lips, he kissed me back, gliding his tongue against mine. An empty ache pulsed between my legs, and I grinded against him.