Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Dear God,” she says, shaking her head. “How much do you lift?”
“Like, how often? Or how many weights?”
She shakes her head. “Never mind. I don't think it would make sense to me anyway. I wouldn't know what it looks like to bench press fifty or a thousand pounds. Your body speaks for itself.”
“Is that right?” I look down on my body. “What does it say?”
All traces of humor leave her. She looks from the top of my head, down my neck, and over my shoulders. The heat of her gaze skates down my skin to my massive erection, my strong thighs, all the way down my legs.
“Your body looks like it's been honed into an instrument of torture. Perfection.” She licks her lips and swallows. “It says you're trained to kill.”
She's not wrong.
I step into the shower. “It also says that you are incredibly turned on by me,” she whispers, almost surprised.
“Did you seriously need to see my hard-on to know that?”
I'm going to go to bed tonight with the worst fucking case of blue balls I've ever had in my life.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Honestly? No. Of all the things I've doubted about you and me so far in this short time that I've known you, your attraction to me has not been one of them.”
Yet she lets me hold her hand. She's let me comfort her. Lydia may be afraid of me, but if she is, she hides it well.
I reach for the bar of soap and scrub it on my back. Quickly wash and rinse.
I'm aware of her watching me. I'm aware of the way her breath hitches, and she looks away.
I want to touch her. I want to feel her. I want her to touch me.
She leans over me, reaching for the conditioner that Polina bought her. Her arm brushes mine, and I have to hold my breath to keep myself still. To keep myself from grabbing her and ravishing her right here in the shower, hours after I've taken her into my captivity.
I swallow hard, the rise of adrenaline making the blood pump in my veins.
“See? It's easy to read.” She turns and looks at me, her thick lashes dotted with droplets of water. She moves closer to me. “God, so many things I wish I knew.”
“You can ask me anything you like.”
“Really?”
“Mmm.”
“Do you speak Russian?” she asks in Russian. “I've always wanted a man to speak Russian to me.”
“Konechno, ya delayu.”
Of course I do.
“Why do you want me to speak Russian?”
She hangs her head and takes a step closer to me. “I think it's hot. I've always imagined my husband would speak my native language to me. I think it's my Russian blood. Something about that calls to me.”
“Then why aren't you speaking Russian now?”
She shrugs and doesn’t answer.
“Have you been with a lot of women? It seems like a reasonable thing to ask someone who’s going to be your husband.”
She takes a step toward me and reaches for the bar of soap in my hand.
“No. Some, but they didn't need anything from me.” I sink a world of meaning into that response, unsure of how she'll take it.
Without a word, she washes my shoulders and my neck and my chest.
“Aren't you going to ask me if I've been with a lot of men?” I shake my head.
“I don't need to. All I needed to know was that you thought fucking Yudin was worthy of your time and attention. I’ll remedy that. He didn’t love you and wasn’t worthy of you.”
Her eyes flash, and she snorts.
“And this is what real love looks like? This is the real deal, right? Who are you kidding, Viktor?”
I shake my head.
“You need to know that I fucking hate him, and I'm going to kill him. And I'm not going to lie to you about that. I thought by now you would've seen who he was.”
She shakes her head and turns away. “I'm starving. Let's get out of here and get something to eat.” I’ll have to remember she changes the subject when she gets uncomfortable.
We rinse and towel off, not saying a word to each other. I show her where Polina left some clothes, and I pull on a pair of boxers. The whole time I'm wondering, what does she think of me? Does she still think that asshole was worth her time?
I show her to the kitchen. She wears soft flannel pajama shorts and a little tank top. They fit her perfectly.
“These are nice. I'll have to thank Polina. Do you have a dining room?”
I shake my head again.
“I eat in the kitchen. I'll show you.”
In silence, we quietly get paper plates and napkins out.
“Do you like pink lemonade and Diet Coke?”
I shake my head. “I don't give a shit. My housekeeper got those.”
They are her favorite drinks. She's smart enough to know why they're there. She eyes me curiously and takes a bottle of water, leaving the lemonade and Diet Coke there. It feels like a moment of calm before a storm of emotions is about to hit. Lydia burns as hot as the fires she sets.