Page 86

My entire body feels too warm, too sensitive, too awake. There is a slow, heavy pulse between my thighs, the leftover echo of his mouth and fingers, and I have to close my eyes because the memory comes back too clearly.

Nikolai on his knees. His hands holding my thighs apart. His mouth between my legs like he had all the time in the world and every intention of using it against me.

I make a small, mortified sound and drop my hand from my face.

This is not helping.

Across the room, his voice is low in the hallway. I cannot make out the words, but I know the exact moment something changes.

Maybe it is the silence. Maybe it is Kirill’s voice, too serious on the other side of the door. Maybe it is Nikolai himself, because even through a closed door he has a way of making the air around him feel different when he shifts from man to whatever else he is.

The man who kissed me is gone. The man outside that door is the one people lower their voices around.

I stare at the closed door. He told me to stay. Which, considering what just happened, could mean several things.

Maybe he is planning to come back.

Maybe he intends to finish what he started, despite telling me not tonight because I am still healing, and he is apparently committed to being noble at the most inconvenient possible times.

Or maybe finishing what he started doesn’t mean sex. Maybe it means more orgasms. My body reacts to that thought with pathetic enthusiasm.

I cover my face again. “Oh my God,” I whisper. “Get a grip.”

The problem is I have no idea where I stand with him now.

Five days of avoidance, then one conversation in a hallway, then suddenly he had me on his desk with my legs open and his mouth on me, making me come so hard I forgot every single concern I have had since walking into this house.

That cannot be healthy, or even sane.

Something about the way he stormed out tugs at me. There’s something wrong.

I know it the way you know a storm is coming before the rain starts. The hallway has gone too quiet around him.

I should stay. He told me to stay.

But sitting half-dressed on his desk while some mysterious crisis unfolds outside feels insane, so I quickly pull myself together. It takes longer than it should because my hands are not as steady as I would like, and my hip still complains when I bend too far.

I get my panties and trousers back on, tug my sweater over my head, then search for my dignity.

No luck there.

It’s probably under the desk with the file he knocked down. I smooth my hair with both hands, which does absolutely nothing, and open the study door.

Kirill is standing outside. He looks at me.

I stop.

He doesn’t look shocked. He doesn’t look judgmental. Honestly, his face barely moves.

But there’s something in his eyes. Not accusation exactly. Not amusement. Something more uncomfortable than both, like he knows more than I want him to know and has already decided not to say it.

My face heats. “Hi,” I say, because apparently, I have chosen death by awkwardness.

“Miss Bennett.” His tone is perfectly respectful.

“I was just…” I gesture vaguely behind me, then immediately regret the entire movement. “Leaving.”

Kirill gives a small nod. “Yes.”