Page 55 of The Lies Between Lovers

The joke didn’t even sting.

In fact, he grinned back. “I think they call me a beast, no?”

“Same difference, Vas.”

“Shave me, woman.”

He wouldn’t say it again.

“Or I’ll fuck you with this cream still on my face,” he added, “and then have you finish the job on your knees while I handle the razor, hmm? You’re not the least bit scared of me; I bet you’ll let me do it given how fucking wet you are. Try me.”

The playful narrow of her gaze—but an otherwise silent mouth—told him she would do exactly what he wanted. Likely how he wanted it, too.

“I’m not a patient man.”

His admission came quietly while she had just begun her work. The first drag of the razor was a little fast for his liking, but she slowed when the words slipped past his lips.

“I can tell,” Vera returned.

“I’m also not an easy one.”

That earned him one of her sweet smiles. “So I have also figured out, yes.”

He wasn’t entirely sure where he intended for this conversation to go, but the fact that she admitted to knowing those things about him and was still standing there in his bathroom, pressed between him and a sink while she shaved his face ... well, that said a lot.

Didn’t it?

“You’re also demanding, moody, and I bet that’s only scratching the surface,” Vera said while she cleaned off the razor and went in for another swipe of the back across his cheek. “No, that’s probably not right. I know it’s only the surface because I get the feeling you’re used to getting exactly what you want even if that means making people around you believe that they want the same thing.”

“I rarely take the time to make anyone believe anything, actually. Try again.”

She gave him a look.

Vas winked in response.

“Should I feel special, then?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve taken your time with me.”

She didn’t wait for his response, almost like she didn’t really need it, as she continued on her work with the razor and what remained of his beard. He might have challenged her, if he thought it would do any good, but it was clear she had already talked herself into the circle. Why would he help her find a way out?

Focused on her task, she moved his head with one hand to help pull the skin of his cheek taut, and dragged away another swipe of cream and thick facial hair. Slower that time—the razor didn’t pull as much, either. He was fine to let her work in silence and just enjoy the show and her proximity, but it wasn’t that simple.

He wanted to talk; needed her to talk, too. That made his bit in the whole thing easier.

“You might be surprised to learn,” he said while she cleaned the razor once more, “that my ulterior motive with you is that there isn’t one, kisska.”

“I never asked about any ulterior motives here.”

“You didn’t need to. It would be ridiculous of you to assume there wasn’t one. You’re the daughter of a gun trafficker, an infamous ballerina, for Moscow at the very least, and a woman far out of my league by all appearances. Of course, you think there’s a reason that benefits me to pursue you—”

“But there aren’t any,” she pressed. “According to you.”

“—beyond the fact I might just ...” Sucking in air like a hiss through his teeth, he finished, “Well, want you.”

Her gaze dropped from his. “Maybe I shouldn’t have interrupted.”