Page 5

The main door was pushed open gently, and a wave of sickeningly sweet perfume drifted in, mixed with some deliberately manufactured seductive scent.

"Gennady." Ginnie's voice was silk-smooth, dripping with calculated charm. "Still working? It's so late."

I slowly raised my head to look at the figure in the doorway. Ginnie was leaning against the frame, wearing a semi-transparent silk robe with practically nothing underneath. Moonlight streamed behind her, outlining her body's curves. Her blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders, her lips painted deep red, looking sultry in the dim light.

This was her game. Using her body, using her resemblance to Isabella, trying to stir up my desire and memories—even though those memories had been worn down by time and reality until they were barely recognizable.

A nameless irritation mixed with something like a biological alarm began rising in my chest.

"You should be in your room." My voice was darker than the shadows in the room, without a trace of warmth.

"I couldn't sleep." She ignored my dismissal, slithering into the room like a snake, every step deliberately swaying her hips as the robe's hem gave teasing glimpses of skin. "This house is so big and quiet. You know how it scares me."

She walked to the desk, placing both hands on the smooth surface, leaning forward so her neckline gaped open. The deliberately displayed expanse of smooth chest was fully exposed in the moonlight. Her breathing was intentionally heavy, her chest rising and falling obviously, eyes locked on mine with naked invitation.

Heat surged uncontrollably in my lower abdomen—a purely physical reaction, an instinctive response to the living flesh before me. My muscles tensed instantly, fingertips unconsciously curling against the desktop.

Fuck. Three years of celibacy had made my body hypersensitive.

But this physical response only made me more disgusted—not disgusted with the desire itself, but disgusted with her arrogance in thinking she could manipulate me with such cheap seduction.

"You know what?" Her voice became even more sultry, with that bewitching huskiness as she slowly circled behind me, her cold, slender fingers like a snake's tongue lightly stroking my shoulder, sliding down my tense neckline. "The moonlight's so beautiful tonight. Watching it alone feels like something's missing."

I didn't move.

"Gennady," her whisper was like feathers scraping against my eardrums, hot breath brushing my ear. "You're always so cold. Can't you just relax for once?"

Her hand started sliding downward, through the thin shirt fabric, her palm burning hot as it slowly and teasingly traced circles on my chest. The sensation was like kindling, igniting every nerve under my skin.

Reason struggled to build dikes against the tide of desire. I forced myself to ignore the heartbeat accelerating under her fingertips, to ignore the primitive craving awakening deep in my body.

This wasn't about any sacred promise or loyalty—it was because I refused to be seen through and used by such a greedy, hypocritical woman.

"It's just the two of us here."

She circled to my front, with that self-assured confidence of someone who thought victory was guaranteed, slowly settling onto my lap, arms wrapping around my neck like serpents, her warm, soft body pressing close, radiating heat and fragrance. Her voice was pure, naked temptation.

"Nobody will know, nobody will interrupt. We can do whatever we want."

Her hands began unbuttoning my shirt, movements gentle but determined.

Just as her fingertips touched my bare skin, a wave of intense revulsion finally overwhelmed that lingering physical agitation. But what really killed it was her next words.

"Do you remember?" Her lips kissed my neck, leaving wet marks, her voice sickeningly sweet. "When Isabella was in that hospital bed, how I took care of her." She deliberately paused, feeling my muscles instantly stiffen. "I can take care of your needs, too."

Her hand slipped inside my shirt, palm pressed against my chest, feeling the heartbeat that was racing with anger, not lust.

Those words hit like a bucket of ice water mixed with acid.

She dared to use Isabella's deathbed vulnerability and her "care" as bargaining chips for lust! That sense of responsibility based on a promise was instantly replaced by towering rage and ice-cold disgust.

"Enough!" I shot to my feet, the movement barely containing explosive violence. Ginnie was caught off guard, crying out as she slipped from my lap, clutching her sliding robe, her smug smile freezing into shock and panic.

"Gennady?" She tried to maintain that pitiful act, her voice trembling with feigned hurt. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong." I turned away, my back to her, voice cold as Siberian permafrost. "But this isn't right."

"Why isn't it right?" She stood up stubbornly, trying to approach again. "We're both adults, we both have needs."