Page 85 of Cruel Demands

Dima’s hand is still at Taylor’s waist.

She straightens, brushing snow from her skirt. “Jesus.”

“You are welcome,” Dima says.

“I was fine.”

“You were falling.”

“I was gracefully adjusting altitude.”

Viktoriya laughs. Taylor does too. The sound loosens something in my chest and tightens something lower. Relief at hearing it collides with something hot and ugly at the sight of his hand finally leaving her.

The reaction is unlike me. Worse, it refuses to settle into anything clean enough to dismiss. I have spent weeks inventing cleaner names for it.

Security.

Concern.

Interest.

Possession, perhaps, when I am being less dishonest.

I know better now. Jealousy is humiliating because it requires another person to have power over you. A man cannot be jealous of what he does not value. He cannot feel threatened by losing what does not matter.

Taylor matters.

That is the part I cannot forgive.

They reach the entrance.

“Good afternoon, Governor,” Dima calls pleasantly.

I look directly past him.

Taylor’s smile begins to fade.

“Miss Hayes.”

She slows. “Yes?”

“My office.”

Her brows pull together. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

“Now.” The word cracks across the pavement.

Taylor freezes. So does Dima. Viktoriya turns her head slowly toward me.

I know immediately that I have spoken too sharply. There is no emergency. No mistake Taylor has made that requires correction, certainly not in front of her coworkers. I know all of this. I do not take it back.

Taylor’s expression hardens. The warmth disappears from her face, replaced by something far more familiar. Defiance. “I said I’d be right there.”

“And I said now.”

Silence settles around us.

Dima shifts beside her, like he might speak.