MY SHOPPING CART SQUEAKED AS I pushed it down the cereal aisle, absently knocking two boxes of Count Chocula into the basket. That score would have been the highlight of my day a week ago, but now, I couldn’t find any excitement in it because my mind was still stuck on my revelation from the night before.
“How could someone ever forget your face?” I’d asked him once.
For some reason, he thought that was funny.
I felt like an idiot. Though it wasn’t only that. It seemed he was always going out of his way to do nice things for me. Sure, it felt like he’d walk a mile to make me miserable as well, but ever since I’d stepped foot in New York eight years ago, he’d been picking me up off the floor—literally.
I could still hear the words he pressed against my ear after I’d announced he’d been at my wedding.
“I’m glad to see you remember, malyshka, because there is nothing I have ever forgotten about you.”
And then he’d dropped me to my feet and walked out the door.
I was halfway out of the store when I realized I’d only come for one thing and almost left without it.
With a bag on each arm, I sighed and turned around.
I needed eggs because I was teaching Elena how to make pasta dough today. And while I might have told Christian to expect my pilfering of his refrigerator the day I’d moved into his building, I wasn’t ready to face him yet.
My body was still reeling from last night with this breathless, nervous energy he always seemed to bring out in me. I’d told Aleksandra I wasn’t interested in him and then hours later sucked his fingers on command. Maybe the model and him weren’t exclusive, but they’d seemed comfortable enough around each other for me to believe they’d slept together. That thought alone made me sick to my stomach. And I wasn’t ready to analyze why.
“Mommy, Mommy, can I have it? Puh-lease, Mommy?”
I paused with an egg carton in hand to look at the tiny dark-haired girl who seemed so eager to have a . . . single banana. The answer must have been yes because the girl smiled real big and hugged the fruit to her chest. I drew my eyes to the mother, who was cooing at the cutest little giggling baby.
Warmth set in, yet a strange pressure ached in my chest.
I stood there for too long, watching the happy trio until they disappeared around the corner.
I swallowed, confused at the feeling that stopped me in my tracks. A feeling that bloomed like hope and, at the same time, wilted like despair.
Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty-eight, I’d forgotten what longing felt like.
“Mamma mia, Elena! Are you trying to burn the place down?” I put out the small fire on the stove by smacking it with an oven mitt. Grabbing a corner of the incinerated cloth from the gas burner, I turned around with a frown. “Towels don’t cook very well, I’m afraid.”
She bit her lip. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”
“I pride myself on being a positive person and would normally have something uplifting to say here, but . . . I think it’s time you hire a cook before you kill someone.”
I’d gone to the bathroom for two minutes and come out to my apartment in flames, while Elena stood in front of the TV, oblivious.
She sighed, dropping to the couch in a dramatic fashion. “If I have to have another Isabel in my house, I think I’ll scream.”
I nodded. “Screaming certainly helps in most situations.”
“You’re right, though. I just need to hire someone. It’s not like I have a passion for cooking—”
“Or safety,” I parried.
“Or, apparently, that.”
“You know, this is justice. Women who look like Barbie dolls shouldn’t know how to cook. You’d simply leave the rest of us in the dust.”
“Stop being ridiculous.” She flushed. “By the way, why is your TV in Spanish?”
I sighed. “Insolent housekeepers.”
“Have you seen my cell phone?” she asked, getting to her feet. “I’m sure Nico has texted me by now, and he hates when I don’t text him back. Especially when I’m with you. I think he thinks you’re a bad influence.”
“Oh, I’m glad you reminded me—I almost forgot to drag out the drugs and alcohol.” I winked. “It’s kind of amazing how you ignore him, though. He’s had women fawning over him for far too long.”
“I don’t ignore him on purpose—” She stopped to pick something small off the living room floor. “Hmm . . .” An edge of mischief played in her voice. “When did you start wearing cufflinks, Gianna?”
I kept my expression aloof and went to take it from her hand. “I’m trying out a new look.”
She laughed. “Sure. So . . . when was he over?”
“Who?” I acted innocent, closing the cufflink in my palm. It burned.
“You know who.”
My gaze narrowed on her, though, with a sigh, I gave in. “Last night.”
“I knew it!” Her eyes sparkled. “I knew there was something between you and Christian.”
“If something is sex, sure.”
“I think I would pay money for those details.”
“How much you got on you?” I joked, just as a knock sounded at the door. With a sigh, because I already knew who it was, I went to open it.
Nico stood there, practically glowering at me.
I grinned. “Oh, you made it just in time for the party! I was just about to let the male hooker out of the closet.”
He rolled his eyes and walked past me toward his wife, who stood by the couch looking guilty.
“Been calling you for an hour, Elena.”
She chewed her cheek. “I might have misplaced my phone.”
“Missed you,” he rasped against her hair, pulling her close.
Feeling like I was intruding on something, I went to clean up the kitchen.
“What’s for dinner?” Nico asked a few moments later, while Elena searched the place for her phone.
“Fried towel served with a side of half-cooked pasta.”
“Huh.” He rubbed his jaw and sat at the kitchen island, amusement playing in his eyes.
I turned the burner on to finish cooking the pasta and started chopping the tomatoes for the sauce.
“My wife likes you,” he said, voice low.
“Not surprising,” I said. “I’m a very likeable person.”
“She might have been brought up in this life, but she didn’t grow up like you and I, Gianna. She’s not . . .”
Damaged? Desensitized? Unsympathetic? Was there a word for all of them?
“Cold?”
He nodded, like he couldn’t find the right word either. “I’m asking you to remember that when you spend time with her.”
“You’re asking me? Why, Ace, did you hit your head on the overhang on the way in?”
“Sometimes feels like it,” I thought I heard him say, as he glanced at Elena with a volatile and vulnerable look in his eyes. I suddenly feared for anyone who dared to touch a hair on her head.
And then that feeling came back—that confusing feeling that had eluded me for eight years. Longing. Longing to be the subject of a look that intense. A look full of something so raw and vehement it could make anyone a believer.
That night, after the three of us had watched Channel 7 in Spanish and ate dinner in silence, I lay in bed unable to sleep. I was . . . perturbed. I was alive. My skin lit up like the noises and lights at a carnival.
The cards I’d been dealt would never line up just right for love, but if there was anything close to what it would feel like to be the subject of that look, I knew where to find it.
A ray of light from the crack in the bathroom door fanned across the room, spotlighting the cufflink I’d set on my vanity.
He only had sex with the same woman three times.
I still had one more time, didn’t I?
I got to my feet, grabbed the cufflink, and headed to the front door. I was only wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of thigh-high socks, but my destination was just on the other side of the hall.
Instead of knocking, I tried the handle. It was unlocked. I heard his voice, deep and rich and Russian, before I pushed it all the way open.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, his phone to his ear. His gaze lifted to me and narrowed, before dropping, touching the curves of my body and settling on my bare thighs. I inhaled a cold breath while my skin burned hot. I’d never known another man who could throw me off-balance with a single look. I’d resented it for so long—because it was him who made me feel this way—but now, due to a temporary bout of insanity, I was sure, I only wanted more of it.
He responded to something on the phone in his heathen language, his eyes following me as I walked toward him and set his cufflink on the kitchen island. And then I stepped closer. Close enough I had to look up to meet his gaze.
“I changed my mind,” I whispered.
He raised a brow.
Stretching up on my toes, I skimmed my lips across his ear, and breathed, “I volunteer.”
I watched his face as he searched for the meaning behind those two words, from a conversation we’d had eight years ago. The moment I saw dark understanding flicker across his expression, I dropped to my knees at his feet. Heat flared in his gaze.
I rubbed my cheek against his length that already seemed to be hard and thick. He ran a hand across his mouth, rumbling out some rough Russian words. The bastard wasn’t even giving me his full attention, but, apparently, my body didn’t need it, because anticipation still danced down my spine at the idea of what I would do.
I could feel his gaze on me as I worked on his belt buckle. The gentle clang of it falling open sent a shiver through me. As soon as I had his pants undone, I wrapped my hand around his shaft and licked him from base to tip. He pulled in a strained breath, but he didn’t let it out. He didn’t make a sound as he watched me with eyes that had grown dark and hazy.
I laved him with my tongue, making breathy noises of approval like it was the only passion I had in life. And it was starting to feel like it. Heat bloomed in my stomach, moving lower, in a wave that made me squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache. His hand tightened on his phone, the tension in him building to a crescendo I was dying to see fall.
“Da,” he said to whoever he was speaking to, sounding annoyed. “Ya slyshal vas.”
I ran my tongue across his crown and then finally slid him deep into my mouth, bringing my half-lidded, lust-filled gaze up to his.
“Fuck.” He threw his phone to the side and then grasped my face between two rough hands, caressing my cheek with a thumb like I was something special, something precious.
It momentarily stilled me. A raw wave of warmth flickered in my chest. It wasn’t until later I realized that was the moment the first wisps of devotion settled in and my downfall began.
“Voz’mi menya glubzhe,” he rasped.
He held my face and slowly slid in deeper. My eyes watered, and I couldn’t breathe whenever he reached my throat, but I remained still and let him fuck my mouth. Because I wanted him to use me however he wanted. Because I wanted to be everything he needed.
“Where can I come, malyshka?” he asked. “Your mouth?”
I blinked up at him in acquiesce.
His groan rumbled from low in his throat, turning into a hoarse sound when he finished in my mouth. I swallowed and licked my lips, my skin growing hot under the heat of his stare. I now understood why women dropped to their knees without expecting anything in return, because, as humbling as the act might seem, nothing felt more empowering than bringing a man like this to the edge of control.
“Takaya krasivaya,” he breathed, running a thumb across my bottom lip.
I wanted to ask him what it meant but stopped myself before the question could escape. I didn’t want to know. I was sure tonight would be the end of us, as soon as I became just another third, and I knew those two words would only strengthen the attachment I seemed to be building for him.
He pulled his briefs over his softening erection and buttoned his pants. A small squeal escaped me when he suddenly lifted me by the backs of the thighs and dropped me on the island. An unexpected rush of nerves hit me. I’d been naked in his apartment once before—it hadn’t left me feeling good in the end.
“You didn’t finish your phone call,” I breathed, as he dragged my panties down my legs.
“Lie back and spread your legs.”
“Aren’t you going to kiss me first?” I blinked at him.
My heart burned when he actually did it. He grasped the back of my neck and pressed his mouth to mine, our tongues sliding against each other. A deep, empty ache pulsed between my thighs, and I knew of only one thing that would ease it. I moaned, dug my fingers into his hair, and kissed him deeper.
“So greedy,” he murmured against my lips.
His hand slid between my legs. When he pushed two fingers inside me, I groaned and dropped my head back.
He moved his lips to my neck and let out a rough sound. “You’re soaked.” He nipped my throat like he was angry with me for it. Slipping his fingers out of me, he spread my arousal around. Then, he grasped the backs of my thighs, jerked them up to his shoulders, and pressed his face between my legs.
I dropped back to the counter and closed my eyes as pleasure tore through me, filling my blood with an inferno. I shuddered and writhed as he licked and sucked a path around my clit, until I was so desperate, I’d sell my firstborn to get what I wanted. I banged my head lightly on the countertop, moaning, letting out frustrated, needy breaths.
He pulled back. “Tell me why you used at that dinner party.”
Now, I knew the bastard’s endgame.
“God, I hate you,” I gasped.
He didn’t respond because he was back to torturing me.
“My papà called me,” I blurted. “I have to go home to Chicago for my cousin’s wedding.”
I was a weak, weak woman.
“When?”
“Saturday.” I’d avoided thinking about it for as long as I could, but it was here now. I knew if I didn’t show my papà would come to drag me there, just as he’d said he would.
All it took for the orgasm to rock me hard was for his mouth to move over my clit and suck. Light shot behind my eyes, heat tightening in my core and releasing. I moaned, burying my fingers in his hair as I rode the rest of the waves.
He pulled back, eyes dark, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The action was so primal and hot a fresh wave of lust flared inside me. I suddenly wanted him inside me so badly I couldn’t think about anything else. I slid off the counter, ran my hand across his already hard erection, and kissed his chest through his shirt.
A small shudder ran through him. He fisted a hand in my hair and pulled my gaze up to his.
“I’m not going to fuck you tonight. I don’t have time.”
My expression fell.
For the simple fact of being denied him. But there was something deeper involved as well. If I didn’t get this over with him now, I’d never be over him enough to move on, to find another man who interested me.
I’d forgotten an important fact while sifting through my feelings. Christian was so perceptive he might as well be a mind reader. And I was sure he’d read my thoughts on my face.
His eyes narrowed on me before he reached for his suit jacket resting on the back of an island chair. “You been listening to gossip?”
I chewed my lip. “Sometimes, gossip just falls into your lap . . .”
He slipped his jacket on, in a casual yet kind of scary way. “Do you believe it?”
My pulse wavered like a plucked string. I didn’t say a word, because I didn’t need to for him to know that I did.
He adjusted his cuffs, eyes focused on his task, but something dark was coiling in him like rope.
My stomach turned cold. I went to take a step back but didn’t make it. A gasp of fear escaped me when his hand shot out and grabbed me by the throat. I’d been conditioned to expect the worst from men from a young age, and my heart thundered in my chest as I waited for what he would do.
I expected pain.
So much so, shock and warmth rocked me at my center when he pulled me closer by the throat and kissed me. A sweet pull on my lips and then a soft bite of teeth.
He pressed his lips to my ear, running his thumb across the fluttering pulse in my throat. “I’ll say when this is over, Gianna.”
He released me, and I turned to watch him head toward the door.
“I’m coming with you Saturday.”
I couldn’t even protest because I was still wide-eyed and shaken from the moment before.
“We’ll leave at nine,” he told me.
And then he shut the door behind him.
