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But walking away now is not an option. Not when those hazel eyes of hers are begging me to fuck her.
“Kolya…”
That does it. I pull her face to mine and slam my lips down on that supple mouth of hers. She tastes of salty pickles, of lemon soda and sweetness. Of forgiveness. Of redemption.
Of the greatest mistake I’ll ever make.
My hands slip down to her ass as she takes two fistfuls of my shirt and starts to pull it off of me.
I push her hands away twice, but she still doesn’t seem to get the message. “June…”
My voice comes out ragged and rusty. Her fingers tremble with unease, but she pauses and looks up at me. She still doesn’t suspect a goddamn thing. And why would she? This secret is buried far deeper than all the others.
Her face is puckered in a tempting little frown. “Why not? You’re the one who walked in here, remember?”
“And I’m not going anywhere. But my shirt stays on.”
That seems to snap the dream-like expression right off her face. “I… I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand.”
Her fingers pull back tentatively, breaking contact between us. The heat that just a moment ago felt addicting and unbearable at the same time is completely gone now. The room feels cold. Arid. A tundra where neither of us belong.
“What don’t you want me to see?” she whispers.
I don’t bother answering, mostly because I don’t know where the fuck I’d even begin with the story written on my skin. I just turn and leave. I go as far as I can, all the way to the opposite side of the suite. But no amount of distance will be enough.
Not now.
Not that I know how she tastes.
30
JUNE
I’d hoped that a night of sleep would help wash away the residual shame and humiliation after what happened.
Instead, I wake to find a third emotion to add to the mix. Shame, humiliation, and—drumroll, please—guilt. It’s the freaking trifecta and I’m smack dab in the middle.
I know. Fun.
I lie in bed for much longer than necessary, trying to figure out how to face Kolya this morning. Do I give him the silent treatment, or do I just pretend nothing happened?
Childishness or denial—you know life is going well when those are your only two options.
I’m momentarily distracted when the sounds of muted chatter filter their way through the bulky wooden door of my room. Is that a woman’s voice I’m hearing?
The swing of conversation sounds much too familiar to belong to one of the hotel staff. Is it possibly… Geneva?
I tug on the white robe with the hotel logo embroidered on the breast and rush to the door in a juvenile attempt to eavesdrop. I press my ear to the wood, but all I hear is faint laughter that’s entirely too cultured to belong to my sister.
She wouldn’t be laughing anyway. Not in Kolya’s presence. I’m fairly certain about that. I check my phone and find one lone message from her, riddled with typos.
Geneva: hye bum busy—c you at teh party.
Sighing, I head into the bathroom and get ready for whatever is waiting for me outside this room. Once I’m dressed, I pull my hair up into a high bun. It wasn’t lost on me that Kolya kept staring at my neck yesterday the whole time my hair was up. I’m reasonably sure it was only partially to do with my scar.
Which, of course, he’d noticed. The man notices everything, especially the things I’d really prefer escaped his attention. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so damn infuriating.
