"Sir," Maria says, her voice small. "The Madam... she requested to be left alone. She was very clear about no interruptions."
"I don't care," I say. I don't slow down.
Lisha steps half an inch in front of the handle. "She said she’s meditating, Mr. Morozov. She specifically mentioned you. She said if you?—"
I stop. I don’t touch them, but I step into their space until they have to crane their necks to look at me. I don't have to say a word. I just look at them until the air in the hallway feels like it’s about to snap.
"Move," I say. It’s not a shout. It’s a fact.
Maria pulls Lisha back by the arm. They both look at the floor, their faces pale. I don’t look back at them. I grab the handle and push the door open.
The heat hits me first. It’s thick, smelling of eucalyptus and charcoal, and it’s heavy enough to make my lungs feel like they’re shrinking. The room is dim.
Irina is sitting on the top bench. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back against the cedar wall. She’s wrapped in a white towel that covers her from her chest to mid-thigh. Sweat is slicking her collarbone, glinting in the low light.
She doesn’t open her eyes, but I see her fingers twitch. They dig into the wood of the bench.
"I told them no one was to come in here, Mikhail," she says. Her voice is a low, rough rasp. "Not even you."
"They work for me. Their job is to listen to me, not you."
I toss my suit jacket onto a stool. I start on the buttons of my shirt, my eyes locked on her. I’m tired of the clothes. I’m tired of the games. I’m just tired.
"You're tracking cold air into the room," she snaps, finally opening her eyes. She looks at me, and I see her breath hitch as she realizes I’m already halfway out of my shirt.
“You’ll have to deal with that,dorogaya." I peel the shirt off and drop it. The heat is already making my skin damp. I see her gaze slide down my chest, tracking the old scars and the tattoos on my arms.
"I spent an hour wondering if you’d found a way to climb out of a vent," I say, reaching for my belt. "Since the windows are bolted."
"I'm right here," she says, her voice a bit thinner now. She looks at the wall, but I can see her throat move as she swallows. "I'm contained. You checked. Now go away."
"I don't think so." I pull the belt through the loops. The sound of the leather is loud in the small room. I slide my zipper down.
I see her catch her bottom lip between her teeth. She’s trying to look bored, but her chest is moving too fast. I kick off my shoes and push my trousers down. I stand there completely naked, my body reacting to her presence in a way that’s impossible to hide. I’m rock-hard, and I want her to see it. I want her to know exactly what she’s doing to me.
I climb onto the bench and sit right next to her. Close enough that the heat from our skin is blurring together. Her smell is driving me crazy.
"Y-You're crowding me," she whispers. She tries to shift away, but the wall is right there.
"It’s my house. I’ll sit where I want." I look at the pulse jumping in her neck. It’s frantic. "You 're shaking. Why?"
"I’m not shaking," she lies. Her chin goes up.
"Yes, you are." I reach out and run a finger along the curve of her shoulder. Her skin is scorching and slick with sweat. I feel a jolt of pure lust go through me, sharp enough to make my hands ache. "You were real brave this morning when there were ten feet between us. But here? In the dark? You look like you're waiting for me to do something."
"I'm not waiting for anything from you," she breathes. Her chest is heaving now.
"Liar." I slide my hand down to the small of her back. I feel her whole body jump, but she doesn't pull away. She leans into the touch, even if she hates herself for it. "You’re sitting here reacting to me like you’ve been starving for my touch for six months. You can act like you hate me all you want, but your body is telling a different story."
"In your dreams, Mikhail."
"I don't need to dream it. I can feel it. Your heart is pounding." I lean in until my mouth is an inch from her mouth. I can taste the heat coming off her. "You think you’re so brave. You think you can provoke me and then sit here wrapped in a towel like it’s going to protect you. But we both know you’re dying to let it fall. You’re just too scared to admit it."
"I am not afraid of you," she says. Her voice is trembling.
"Prove it." I move my hand to the knot of the towel at her chest. My thumb brushes the top of her breast. "Take it off, Irina. Showme you have the nerve to be as bare as I am. Or keep it on and remain the little doll your father wanted you to be."
She glares at me. The defiance is there, sharp and angry. "You think a piece of cotton is what’s keeping me from you? You think I’m that fragile?"
