Page 25 of Lord of Passion

Why is the elevator taking so long?

Nikandr and I manage to pull ourselves back together in some sort of order but the elevator car still reeks of sweat and sex. I surreptitiously glance at the floor, hoping to god I can find my underwear. They are nowhere in sight and I close my eyes in mortification. That can only mean he has them. As the elevator chimes cheerfully at the sixteenth floor, I hastily step out as the doors are still opening.

"Well, good night," I say, not looking back at him andgoddamnit,he steps out too.

"I'll walk you to your door," Nikandr says, swinging his suit jacket over my shoulders to hide my torn dress. He's too close behind me, I can feel his breath on my shoulder.

"Not necessary." I walk faster, which is a feat because my legs are still wobbly and I had just slipped my heels back on. Shuffling awkwardly through my purse, I drag out my key card and I have it jammed into the door when his hand comes up against the wood, his huge palm spread wide.

"Let me come in with you," he murmurs in my ear. "I'll tidy you up."

"Yeah, I'm good," I babble, yanking on the door handle and stepping inside quickly, still refusing to look at him. If I look at his face, if he looks as fucking hot as he did in the elevator with his sharp eyes gone hazy and that generous mouth kissing my skin, I am doomed. I will never get him out of my room.

"Goodnight-" His words are abruptly cut off as I shut the door firmly. Not slamming, because that would show weakness. Just firmly. I click the latch and I can't stop myself from looking into the peephole.

Nikandr is still standing there, hands in his pockets and his tie hanging out of one of them. His hair looks rough, sticking up in spikes. I must have been pulling on it when he was inside me. He looks at the door as a slow grin spreads across his face like heknowsI am looking through the peephole, and he deliberately mouths"Goodnight, Bad Cat." And then he walks away.

"Well… Heh."

That sums up the entire night. Just a grunt, an awkward sound.

My shower is very hot and I'm absolutely appreciating the excellent water pressure and the modern design of the bathroom. How did Sergei manage to bribe the developers to get such good water pressure in Moscow? The city is notorious for a terrible water system.

Forcing myself to keep thinking hotel thoughts, I dry my hair and pull on some sleep shorts and a tank top, refusing to look at myself in the mirror. I'm not thinking about Nikandr again. I'm not thinking about the fact that he didn't wear a condom.

Damn it. I'm going to have to get tested. He's a man whore. Though there is something about Nikandr that tells me he's careful with his health, which makes our erratic behavior even more surprising. I didn't even think to ask him because I certainly wasn't planning on that moment. Also, I wasn't planning on the two orgasms, or the fact that I can still feel him inside me-

"Caroline! Go to bed, goddamnit!" There's no one else to tell me to cut this shit out, so I'll do it myself.

I flop on the beautiful four poster bed with good quality linen curtains, and a nice firm mattress. The mattress really is lovely, one of the main complaints from hotel guests is the firmness of a mattress. I continue to think more hotel thoughts until I fall asleep, dreaming of looming red numbers on an elevator panel and the harsh sound of breathing in my ear.

"There you are, my dirty fucking girl…"

***

I can stillfeelNikandr in me when I get dressed in the morning. I armor up in a nice dark green suit, high heels, silk blouse, severe ponytail. The morning is spent with the head of Sergei's catering department. I'm allowed a tour through the kitchen by the temperamental Chef Leonid, though he carries a cleaver in one hand, which I can't help but feel is unnecessarily threatening. A paring knife would have made the point but with less drama.

In the afternoon, I meet with the hotel's systems developer as he explains how they track guest preferences through their keyword program. In the evening, purely out of spite, I have dinner with Sergei. We eat in the hotel's restaurant and he generously orders six or seven different entrées so I can try them all. Looking at the crowded table, I laugh helplessly.

"I don't even know where to start."

He pushes a china plate in front of me, "Try the Kamchatka crab." It's shaped in a crescent moon, covered in greens and edible flowers.

"I rarely say this because nothing is too pretty to not go in my mouth," I say, admiring the perfect shape of the glistening crab. "But this is close."

The restaurant is on the second floor of the hotel, a huge open space that overlooks the lobby. "It's a bit like being in a box seat at the theater," I say, watching the performances of travelers coming and going below.

Sergei looks at me with a smile, his eyes are warm. "I've always thought so," he agrees. "The elegance of the couples who have been coming here for many years, or the sweethearts here for a weekend in the city. The exhausted business people who simply want to get to their room and have a drink."

"Ah, those two," I nod subtly at the reservation desk. "What's their story?" The woman standing away just a bit, hands demurely folded while he is hurriedly signing them in.

"Lovers, of course. It's too far away to see if there is a tell-tale pale stripe on his left-hand ring finger, but look at their body language. Too new to each other," Sergei says. "We seem to have a huge number of these sorts of meetings at The Tsaritsa."

I watch as the man turns to the woman again. They don't touch, but there's an intensity between them, powerful enough that they may as well be making out right there in the lobby. They match each other's hurried steps to the elevator and disappear. I can feel Nikandr's hands on me, the way he gripped my ass last night, squeezing greedily.

"Then, there are always the ridiculously wealthy characters," Sergei chuckles. I force myself to pay attention, smiling as a magnificently dressed older woman swans through the lobby, holding a yappy little dog as her exhausted assistant hurries behind her, carrying another quivering canine.

She has an entourage of men dragging luggage and two bodyguards, looking like they're ready to pull out a gun and spray the lobby with bullets. The woman is wearing a fur coat so enormous it's a miracle she's standing upright. Her nose is up, and her manicured hand is raised, clicking her nails together as she examines the lobby and clearly finds it lacking. Her little dog has not stopped yapping since they entered the hotel.