I should deny it again, but the truth sits too close to the surface. I have no strength left to wrestle it down. “You gave me my own room,” I say.
“Yes.”
“That’s very gentlemanly of you.”
“No,” he says. “It’s strategic.”
My pulse stumbles. “What does that mean?”
“It means you have had a long night, and I prefer women fully rested when they make bad decisions.”
The heat in my face spreads lower.
He says it calmly. Almost politely. As if he has not just set fire to the air between us.
I look away first.Coward.“I need to sleep,” I say.
“You do.”
“And shower.”
“That too.”
“And possibly pretend the last twelve hours did not happen.”
His voice drops. “You’ll fail, kitten. That I can guarantee”
My gaze snaps back to his.
He stands in the doorway, tall and composed, hands in his pockets, his shirt still open at the throat beneath his waistcoat. He looks like a man with infinite patience and none at all.
I want to touch him again.The thought is so clear and immediate that I take a step back.
Roman notices. “I will send for you later,” he says.
“Send for me?”
His eyes gleam. “Call you, then.”
“That sounds only slightly less medieval.”
“You came to Russia. Expect some tradition.”
Before I can answer, he leaves. The door closes softly behind him.
For a while, I stand there in the center of the room, surrounded by luxury, wrapped in Roman’s jacket, my skin still carrying the memory of his hands.
Then exhaustion catches me by the throat.
I shower first because I cannot bear to sleep with airport air and shame and airplane secrets clinging to me. The water is hot, the towels are warm, and the bathroom mirror does me no favors. My lips are still swollen. There is a faint mark low on my neck where his mouth was. I touch it once, then snatch my hand away as if the reflection has caught me misbehaving.
Afterward, I put on the robe hanging behind the door. It’s soft, white, and absurdly heavy. I mean to sit on the bed for only a minute.
I fall asleep before my hair fully dries.
When I wake, the room is dimmer.
For a panicked second, I do not know where I am. Then Moscow returns. Roman. The airport. The car. The woman in the lobby with the cold eyes.
