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And what we’ve already done doesn’t change what has to happen next.
“I’ll keep her here.”
Nikandr’s brows shoot up. “You’ll keep her? She’s not a dog, Yakov. You can’t just keep her.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want, brother.”
He snorts. “Okay. So, what? You’re going to tie her up and throw her in the basement?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Nik wants to ask one hundred more questions. I see them burning behind his eyes. But he does have a little tact. “What about Akim?”
I smirk. “I think it’s time we sent him a message.”
9
LUNA
I wake up wrapped in Yakov.
Well, the smell of him, anyway. The other side of the bed is cold, so he obviously bailed on me a while ago. But he’s still on the sheets, the pillow, my skin—reminders of him and what we did last night everywhere.
Including in the form of a faint but persistent ache between my legs.
I roll over and bury my smile in the mattress. Last night doesn’t even feel real. I’m not sure who that was, but it can’t have been me. Luna McCarthy doesn’t do stuff like that.
His hand around my throat.
My body bathed in sweat and moonlight.
I want them to see us. I want them to watch and wish they were us.
Cue instant blush. Yep, I’m back to my old self. Blushing at the merest thought of something sexual.
But last night, at least for a little while, Yakov’s confidence rubbed off on me. I barely know him, but I trusted him. I knew I was safe.
Now, the harsh light of reality is pouring through Yakov’s insanely large windows and my stale breath and bed head are telling me it’s time to get back to the real world.
My dress is still lying on the floor where Yakov left it after he peeled it off of me. I squeeze myself back into it and look down at the damage. It’s wrinkled to all hell, but it also shrunk, if that’s even possible. Last night, it was a sexy, sophisticated little black dress. At eight in the morning, it might as well be a little black handkerchief for as much of me as it’s covering. I’m tempted to root through Yakov’s drawers and find some shorts and a t-shirt, but I’d look certifiably insane coming downstairs in his clothes.
We slept together; it was amazing—but I’m not about to waltz down and start asking questions about floral arrangements and joint bank accounts. I’m not going to be a weirdo who makes it more than what it was… no matter how much I’d be open to the idea.
I grab my purse off the nightstand and fish around inside for my phone. Kayla was probably texting me all night asking for updates. It serves her right, setting me up with a loser like Sergey. Maybe I’ll wait until I’m home to text her back. Let her suffer a little longer.
Although I may not have a choice in that department. I check every pocket and pouch in my purse, but my phone isn’t there.
I shake out the sheets and check under the bed, but it’s nowhere to be found. I don’t even remember the last time I had it. Maybe back at the restaurant?
Good. Just what this walk of shame needs: a pit stop.
I steel myself with a deep breath and open Yakov’s bedroom door. I avoid my reflection in every mirror and vaguely reflective surface I pass. There’s nothing I can do to improve the situation, so ignorance is bliss. Besides, it’s not like anyone else is going to see me, right?
Wrong!
Everywhere I turn, there is someone carrying a basket of laundry or a feather duster. Two men are standing in the entryway with gardening shears, passing a bouquet of flowers to a maid holding a waiting vase.
Maids here. Maintenance guys there. People every-fucking-where.
