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“But?”
“Would you stop interrupting? Not every ‘but’ is bad.”
“I know.” He slid one hand over my hip and squeezed my ass, biting his lower lip and looking sexy as fuck doing it.
I swatted his hand away on principle, despite the fact I liked seeing this playful side of him. “Oh, look who’s a jokester now. I’m trying to talk to you and you’re cracking jokes.”
He smirked up at me.
“As I was saying” — I stared at him for a beat, waiting for an interruption — “I don’t want this to all be over next week.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After I get whatever’s in that safety deposit box, I still... want to see you.” He inhaled a deep breath and folded his arms over his chest, turning his attention to the corner of the room while I continued. “Don’t act like I’m the only one who feels this way.”
“I don’t feel any way,” he said, completely monotone.
“Bullshit.”
His gaze snapped back to mine, as hard and unreadable as his voice.
“In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t have to pretend with me,” I added quietly. I wanted to touch him, or hold his hand, but the way his arms were crossed told me he wasnotup for that sort of intimacy. “You’re human. It’s ok tobehuman.”
He sat up, brushing the hair off my forehead and running his thumb over the scar near my temple. Did he remember how I got it? It wasn’t that long ago, but his brain had to be so compartmentalized to deal with the shit he saw — the shit hedid. I wouldn’t be surprised if his memory virtually erased itself everyday, like a computer rebooting.
“I’m more myself with you than anyone else,” he said at last, returning his gaze to mine. “But—”
“But?” I interrupted with a wry grin, trying to keep the mood light. Despite the fact he was usually serious, I didn’t like the look in his eyes. It wasn’t annoyance, which I’d come to expect. It was more along the lines of grief or sorrow — like he knew something devastating and I didn’t.
“But,” he repeated, rolling his eyes. Instead of looking at me again, he went back to staring at the corner. I didn’t know what was so fascinating about a black duffel bag sitting on top of a chair, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “It doesn’t matter... You’ll get the emeralds for Viktor and that is all. We’ll say goodbye. You will go back to your mansion and I’ll be on the first plane to Russia.”
“You’re going to Russia?” I jerked away from him. Now I knew why he was staring at the bag — it was already fucking packed! He wasn’t kidding. That was his plan all along. Use me for as long as he wanted and then hightail it to another fucking country. “Why are you going to Russia?”
“I’ve been here for too long. I need...” He muttered under his breath in Russian, his eyes darting skyward like he was searching for the right words. “The West is not good for me. I need to go back for discipline.”
“Discipline?” I stared at him, trying to follow his logic. “That sounds like the exact reason youshouldn’tgo back.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You told me this was a crime,” I said, gesturing between the two of us. “You said they killed your friend because of it and that washere. Why would you go someplace where theycanandwillkill you if they find out?”
“They won’t find out.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’ll get married.” He said the words and immediately swallowed. His gaze finally left the bag, only because it dropped to his clenched hand. “Once you have a wife, no one asks questions.”
I was sick and angry all at once. I had no right to this man, no right to his future, but what he was saying made my stomach roil. It felt... wrong.Heknew it was wrong. That’s why he wouldn’t look me in the eye, why his jaw was tight and his breathing quickened. It was one thing to stay in the closet, like he seemed hellbent on doing. But to actually go through with a marriage when it was all a lie?
Even though I knew it was ridiculous to be mad, I was. I felt like a cheap plaything, something to amuse yourself with before ultimately tossing in the trash — and worst of all, I practically begged him to do it. The fault was entirely mine for how far things went, I accepted that, but there was no way I was going to keep subjecting myself tomorepain, physical or otherwise.
Swallowing all of my questions, along with my need for understanding, I slipped off the bed. Grabbing my jeans from the floor, I pulled them on quickly, before he had time to put two and two together.
“What are you doing?” Sasha asked.
“I gotta go,” I mumbled, heading for the kitchen.
“What?”
