Page 98 of Mile High Ruin

He doesn’t come back.

Eventually, irritation wins over embarrassment. I slide out of bed and grab the hotel robe from the chair, pulling it around myself before stepping into the suite.

“Vadim?”

The sitting room is empty. The bathroom is empty.

I see light spilling through the glass doors at the far end of the room.

The balcony.

I cross the suite. The city beyond the windows glows beneath me, Bucharest spread out in gold and white against the dark, traffic moving in long streams far below.

Vadim stands outside.

Barefoot.

Bare-chested.

The towel is gone.

For one second, I stop.

He’s completely naked. Apparently whatever Anton said was urgent enough that modesty became optional. His back is to me, one hand braced against the stone railing while he looks out over the city. The sight of him should not affect me after everything that has happened, but it does.

His shoulders are broad enough to block part of the view. Muscle shifts beneath his back when he adjusts his stance, and the fresh dressing at his side looks almost obscene against the rest of him.

I open the door. Cold air slips into the room.

“Vadim?”

He doesn’t turn. “Who sent you?”

The question is so unexpected that I almost laugh.

“What?”

“Who made sure you were on my flight? Who made sure I met you?”

I stare at the back of his head. “What are you talking about?”

He remains facing the city. “You have one chance to tell me the truth.”

My confusion deepens. “The truth about what?”

He turns. The cold night air should make the sight of him less indecent.

It doesn’t.

His cock is still hard. The same cock that was pressed against me minutes ago, thick and flushed, the evidence of everything we were about to do still obvious despite the rage now written across his face. The contrast is disturbing enough that my body reacts before my mind does. Heat flickers low in my stomach.

I hate that.

I hate him for making it possible.

Vadim steps toward me. “Who contacted you?”

“No one.”