Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
My phone rings and I take the call. It’s only more bad news. It is almost certain now that the Americans will move next and it is too late to get my money out. Moving that much money around could raise a lot of red flags. I still have some in Russia. That is my only safety net for now. I call an old friend from Cambridge and ask him for a favor. He agrees readily.
“I’ll get on it first thing in the morning,” he promises.
“Thanks, James. I won’t forget.”
“No, worries. You can count on me.”
“Good night.”
It’s late, I’m exhausted, and I have a headache as I make my way through the silent house up to the west wing. I open the door and there she is. Sitting by the lounge, her legs tucked beneath her, wearing a white silk nightdress that clings to her body in ways that send heat spiraling through me. Her eyes flick toward me as I enter, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move.
In spite of everything that has happened, my desire for her burns brightly.
“Nikolai told me about your feud with your father and how bad he feels about not being close to you.”
She really ruined my mood with those words, but my voice is pleasant. “Did he now?”
“Yes, he did. He’s a nice guy, Ivan. And his family. Families should stay together,” she says.
I’d come in here wanting her, missing her, thinking I’d find sanctuary in her body, and instead, I find she has taken Nikolai’s word for gospel truth. After the horrendous day I’ve had, I lose it. I feel fury burn like fire through my body.
“Well, if he’s such a nice guy, go fuck him then,” I snarl.
Her face turns white as a sheet.
“What a horrible thing to say,” she gasps and leaps up. Moving toward the bed with purposeful steps, she grabs the blanket at the bottom of the bed. She’s going to sleep on the day bed. That... that just pisses me off.
“You’re really going to ignore me?” I ask, my voice low, a dangerous edge creeping in despite myself. My frustration from the entire night, the entire day, is bleeding into this moment, and I can’t stop it.
Still, no answer. She carries the blanket past me, and something snaps in me. I step forward and snatch it from her hands, my movements sharp.
“Lara,” I growl, my grip tightening on the blanket.
She jerks the blanket back, fire in her eyes. “Is this the part where you get violent?” she snaps, sarcasm dripping from every word. But I hear the undercurrent of fear beneath it. She is a woman in a foreign country with a man she doesn’t know much about.
I let go immediately. The anger drains from me in an instant, leaving behind something raw and aching. “I would never hurt you, Lara,” I say, my voice full of remorse. “I’d rather burn myself alive than hurt you.”
The words surprise even me, but they’re the truth. They spill out, raw and unfiltered, and she just stares at me in shock.
“I mean it,” I repeat, stepping closer, my hand reaching for her. I touch her face gently, cradling her cheek in my palm, my thumb brushing over her skin. “You’re the only good thing I have right now. The only thing keeping me from losing my fucking mind.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her expression softens, and the tight tension between us shifts. She reaches up, her fingers resting lightly on my hand. The simple touch sends a wave of warmth through me.
“I know you’re going through hell,” she whispers, her voice so soft I almost don’t catch it. “I wish I knew how to help you.”
“You help just by being here,” I murmur, my other hand coming up to cup her face, pulling her closer.
I kiss her. Slow at first, but it deepens quickly, the old passion bubbling up to the surface. I kiss her like she’s my lifeline, like I need her more than air right now.
And God, I do.
I pull her into me, my arms wrapping around her waist, and her body fits perfectly against mine, like a key into a lock. The fury, the frustration, it all fades away, replaced by this need—this need to feel something real, something that isn’t slipping through my fingers.
But then the headache takes over.
The throbbing becomes so hard I can’t ignore it anymore. I pull back, collapsing onto the bed and rubbing my temples. I can’t even think straight.
“Hey,” she says, sitting beside me, silent for a moment. Then she offers me a glass of water. I down it in one go and lean back, closing my eyes. The silence stretches between us, but it’s a soothing silence.
“I’m sorry I made things worse for you, Ivan,” she says quietly, breaking the silence. “I feel so useless. What can I do for you?”