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CHAPTER 50
Dimitri
The first time I regain consciousness must be a dream because I’m drenched in hot water with the most gorgeous sight before my eyes. Arianna’s soaked through, wearing a cream dress that clings to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. Her hands are all over me as she peels my clothes off. When she shoves my jeans down, my raging wood springs free.
A deep chuckle sounds to my left, but I can’t tear my eyes from my kisa.
“He must know you’re here because that boner sure as fuck isn’t for me.”
“Maks,” Arianna chides. “Just hold him up so I can get his jeans off. That’s one foot. Now the other.” She stands, looking up at me. “Dima?”
“Kisa.” My vision darkens and fades away.
The second time I wake my head hurts so badly that I groan and roll over, letting sleep take away the pain.
“Kisa, please. Please. No, don’t go away.” I wake myself up, the nightmare fresh in my mind. A devastating sense of loss settles deep in my bones. My empty stomach twists and heaves. Squeezing my eyes shut against the raging late morning, or maybe afternoon, light, I reach for the vodka that must be here somewhere. Only my fingers don’t scrape against cool glass, they find warm skin instead.
I freeze.
Did I bring someone home last night? Did I cheat on my wife? Fucking hell.
That annoying voice in the back of my head reminds me that she’s not my wife anymore. She took off her ring and dumped my ass. One heart-wrenching conversation and we were done.
Over.
Finished.
Where’s my fucking booze? I know from experience that I have to drown out that little voice, those reminders of what happened before they take hold or I’d spend the day spiraling into despair so deep that it smothered out all possible reasons for living. But no matter how many fights I’ve gotten into, not one of those fuckers did me the mercy of finishing me off.
Life is just cruel.
I can’t find my fucking vodka bottle anywhere. Rubbing my eyes, I mentally prepare myself for whatever poor woman I brought home last night. She must be desperate to have wanted to jump in bed with me. Yeah, no, I have no memory of a woman or anything we probably did.
Jesus Christ. This is a new low.
I thought I’d hit bottom, but I guess not yet. Have I finally arrived?
Squinting, I glance at the woman lying beside me in bed. In… my bedroom. Not on the mattress on the living room floor. What the fuck is going on?
All I can see of her is half her face, but she looks so much like Arianna, with her dark hair, that my heart begins to race.
Now I’m picking up women who look like her? This is a form of self-punishment that even I didn’t think I was capable of inflicting. That’s just harsh. I’m a fucking masochist.
“You need to leave,” I tell the woman.
She startles awake. Fuck, I’m such an asshole, but I can’t deal with this right now. It’s too shameful. I never fucked another woman after the first time I saw Arianna and followed her into that alley. Every time I even thought about having sex with someone all I could see was her gorgeous face. I waited years for her, only her, and now in the span of a week I’ve…
“Dimitri?” Her voice drags my gaze to her. She sits up, wearing one of my T-shirts, her hair disheveled. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I stare at her, unbelieving.
Now I’m fucking hallucinating? How much vodka did I drink?
“You’re not real,” I tell this illusion. “There’s no fucking way you went from dumping me to being in my bed. That’s some crazy shit right there.”
Her low chuckle startles me. “I had to get you cleaned and patched up with Maks’s help. I wasn’t going to strip in front of Maks and then get in the shower. My dress is at the dry cleaners. As for being in your bed this morning, after we tucked you in you wouldn’t let me go. So I had to stay.” When all I do is stare, she continues, “I’m sorry, Dima. I freaked out and needed time and space to think things through.”
As soon as she called me Dima, my denial rushed away. Arianna. She’s here, in my bed, talking to me. I sit up and my head spins. But I ignore it as I focus on the woman I can’t live without.
