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“That’s not the point.”
“Then get to the point.”
“Well—I think… The point is—” I turn my eyes on her and whatever she’s trying to say dries up on her tongue. “Forget it. I’m going to my room.”
She tries to slam the door behind her, but it doesn’t actually shut properly. I settle on the couch with my legs kicked up. The position offers me a direct view into her room, but since the door is currently only ajar by a quarter of an inch, it hardly matters.
My hand drifts to my chest, rubbing the scars there through the fabric of my shirt. I saw June eyeing me earlier. As if she could see what’s etched into my skin. The evidence. The proof. The story.
At some point, I fall asleep. But when I sleep, I don’t dream—I just remember.
I’m in the throes of old, unwelcome memories when I hear a moan coming from inside June’s bedroom.
I awaken and jerk upright, oddly affected by the sound. The door’s still slightly ajar. I walk over, careful not to make any noise.
Then I hear it again. Another moan. This one is far more definitive.
I feel excitement shimmy down my spine like a shot of whiskey on a cold day. I push the door open a fraction more, and I’m afforded a direct view of the massive four-poster bed.
Lying right in the middle of it is June. She’s wearing something thin and flimsy hiked up around her hips. She’s got her hand tucked between her legs and her head tilted back. Her lips are parted and her chest is rising and falling with the musical lift of her moans.
I should step out.
But instead, I find myself stepping right in.
I walk right to the foot of the bed. By the time I reach it, I’m painfully swollen and in danger of doing something really fucking stupid.
I take another step forward, but I’m so lost in the way her fingers are rubbing her clit that I’m not as careful as I should be. The sound of my shoe on the wooden floorboard creates a creak that causes June’s eyes to shoot open.
With a gasp, she launches herself upright and pulls the covers over her half-naked body. Her cheeks are flushed with color. A mix of exhilaration and embarrassment. There’s shame, but the moment the shock of seeing me wears off, it’s replaced with indignation.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I smile, but it’s a hard smile, strangled by desire. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Tell me something.”
“Oh, sure,” she says, all flushed and snarky. “Let’s have a nice little conversation right now, shall we.”
I ignore it. “Who were you thinking of?”
She’s so taken back by the question that she forgets to look furious. Instead, her eyes go wide and her eyebrows reach the peak of her glistening forehead.
“I… I—”
“Come on, June,” I encourage. “Give me an honest answer, and maybe I’ll leave.”
She swallows nervously. Her voice, when it finally emerges, is a delicate, husky rasp. “You know who I was thinking about. That’s why you walked in. It was you, Kolya. I was thinking of you.”
I walk around and stand at the side of the bed. She sits up, eyeing the foot of distance between us warily.
The crepe silk slip she’s wearing floats over her body like a breeze. She might as well be naked. Which is precisely why I rip it off her with one firm tug. One of her hands lands on her bare belly for a moment in wordless shock.
I grip the nape of her neck and I press my thumb against the scar that my fool of a brother left on her. Her expression has that dreamy quality that tells me that her better judgment has taken flight for the moment.
Mine left a long time ago.
