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“It’s very simple,” he says, rising to his feet like he wants to highlight just how much bigger and taller than me he is. “I told him that if he ever laid a finger on his wife again or even spoke to her, there would be problems. I also explained how risky itwould be for him to stay in this city.” Dimitri says as he moves closer, “and told him he had to apologize.”
“And he just… did it? Why? Because you’re rich?”
Dimitri’s expression changes and becomes almost pitying. He’s looking at me like I’m some sad little kid without a clue. It’s like his expression shatters the illusion we’ve been building together or the thoughts that have been building in my mind.
He doesn’t want me. He thinks I’m immature.
“What?” I snap when he keeps staring.
“What?” he echoes, like he’s trying to gaslight me.
“You’re looking at me like I’m some pathetic loser.”
“Don’t you know who I am, Lia?”
That familiar, tempting tingle dances over me when he calls meLia. I have to remind myself not to lose my cool. “I get it, don’t worry. You’re a CEO. You probably paid him off or said you’d hire people to mess with him. I get it. I’m not some naïve little kid.”
Then that pitying look deepens.
“I’ve lived on my own since I was eighteen,” I tell him. “I’ve been alone, with no parents, siblings, or family since I wastwelve. I can take care of myself, sostoplooking at me like that!”
Suddenly, he moves forward, grabbing onto my hips. He sinks his hands into me as if he likes how curvy I am. I always have been. Even if I lose weight, my curves seem untouched. He leans down. His breath caresses me. My heart hammers hard inside my chest.
“You’re too good for me,” he says, leaning down.
I press my hand against his chest, trying to be strong, trying to push him away. I don’t need anybody. I haven’t for a long time, and I don’t now. Yet I can’t fight the feelings, the tingling shooting up my spine, the shivering deep inside that makes every piece of me sparkle hotly.
He presses his lips against mine. I gasp at the shock. The roughness of his lips. The instant triggering inside me, the instant longing, the instant hunger. The way he groans makes me feel so wanted as our mouths open, our tongues touch, and pleasure surges through me.
Suddenly, being with him doesn’t feel silly. Finding somebody, findinghim, doesn’t feel impossible; spending the rest of my life alone does. I smooth my hand from his chest to his shoulder, feeling his muscles pushing against my hands, hard, powerful, big, and making me feel safe.
Then he takes my arms and gently pushes me away. “I mean it,” he says.
“Mean what?” My head is swimming, making it difficult to think.
“You, Lia,” he says huskily. “You’re much too good for me. Too pure.”
“Pure?” I reply. “Who said?”
“You don’t have to say. I can tell by looking at you, being with you, and tasting you…” He kisses me again. This time, I move against him, feeling my body respond so fast. He breaks it off, but his lips are still against mine. “I-I have to go.”
“Is something wrong?”
He takes a step back. “No. That’s the problem.” He walks to the door and then pauses. “You can leave this here. Or I can have it sent to your apartment. It’s your choice.”
“Do I have to hide it?”
“Nobody will touch it,” he tells me, then leaves.
I stroke my thumb along my lips, tasting him again, reliving the kiss. I remember Mom’s funeral, just me and some people from the children’s home there for support. I remember going into the bathroom and, far too young to think like this, making a promise to myself in the mirror.
“I will never rely on anybody else. I don’t need anybody. When I lose, I’ll do it on my own. When I win, the same…”I rubbed at my face, thinking of Mom, trying to get myself together. “Just me.”
Suddenly, that’s changed already. It’s like shades and colors are blending within me, making new configurations, changing me even if I don’t want to be changed. Minutes pass, and then I decide to carry on with my work. I don’t want to go home, not yet.
As I work, I think about what he said when I asked if something was wrong.No. That’s the problem.It’s as if he’s just like me: scared to be happy, afraid for things to go right.
CHAPTER 5
