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You are two of a kind…
She banished the thought to the darkest corners of her heart. She didn’t want to have anything in common with Lyonya Antonov. He was playing his game while she played her own, neither of them willing to show their cards to the other.
It was for the best that they couldn’t speak two civil words between them.
She let her body sink into the mattress, the chirping of the birds a quiet comfort that brought her back to the peace of the home she shared with her father. She let her mind wander over the long day: the wedding, Lyonya’s solemn face as he’d repeated the priest’s vows, the silent car ride back to the house, the reception, her sad goodbye with her father (would he be all right in the big house without her? without Zoya?).
And then, Lyonya, in this very room, staring at her with his fathomless eyes, his expression frustratingly inscrutable. She replayed the moment when he’d advanced on her, his anger suddenly palpable.
Her breath quickened at the memory of his looming physical presence, the brush of his body against her chest. She’d had to resist the urge to sigh when he kissed her cheek, to turn toward him in invitation, to slide her hands into his thick dark hair.
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, embarrassed to find that she was wet, her body humming with desire. How ironic that on her wedding night she would be ready for passion with no one to take advantage of it.
She sat up and took a couple of deep breaths, calming the heat in her veins. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to the man she’d married. The success of their business arrangement depended on keeping some kind of distance between them.
She was tired, and therefore impressionable. That was all.
She did not want Lyonya Antonov. Would never want him.
She was sure of it.
