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He stared down at her. “Well then, you’ll see what it really means to be a prisoner.” He glanced at her open legs. “For what it’s worth, you taste every bit as good as I remember.”
He started for the door.
“Fuck you, Lyonya Antonov.” She hurled the words at him like weapons.
Pausing, he glanced back at her, cursing the fact that he still found her beautiful perched on the edge of the bathroom counter, her dress up around her hips.
He laughed, which was better than what he wanted to do. “Not until I say so, Kira. I’ll be outside while you collect yourself.”
It was the most dismissive thing he could say, one of the few things that wouldn’t give away how much he still wanted her.
20
Kira was still fuming when she woke up the next morning in the hotel room.
Fuming and desperate for him.
Just when she thought he couldn’t get any lower, any more monstrous, he managed to defy her expectations. How could she possibly want such a man?
But she had wanted him. Did want him.
She rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. She didn’t know who she hated more: Lyon or herself.
After their altercation in the bathroom — her face burned to remember it — he’d put her in the car with Rurik and sent her back to the hotel. She’d asked him why he wasn’t coming with her, and he’d simply said goodnight.
She’d tossed for hours in bed, waiting to hear him return to the suite. She’d even contemplated pleasuring herself, relieving the tension he’d built in her body with his mouth and tongue in the ladies’ room.
But his words had echoed in her head:you don’t come until I tell you to come… and that includes by yourself. If you do, I’ll know.
It was ridiculous. How could he know? And yet… she felt the thrill of fear remembering his words. Fear and desire, the two things that always seemed to be intertwined when it came to Lyon.
Make that three things: fear, desire, and hatred.
At some point in the night, she’d drifted into a restless sleep.
She rolled onto her back and sat up. She wished she was a runner like Lyon, that there was some way to relieve the need coiled in her body, but she’d never had much interest in exercise.
Lyon had been secretive about the reason for the trip to Prague, about where he’d been the day before when he’d left with Rurik, and he was just as secretive about when they were going home.
She felt a pang of homesickness and was surprised to find it directed not at the home she’d grown up in, but at the penthouse. It was sleek and modern, some might even say cold, but she’d come to think of it as home, had even missed it while she’d been on the island.
She’d barely had time to settle in before they’d left for Prague.
She got up and put on a robe, then stepped hesitantly into the suite’s living room. It was empty, which meant Lyon was either still asleep — unlike him — or he hadn’t come back to the hotel at all.
The thought caused a bolt of jealousy to rush through her veins. She didn’t want to think about Lyon with another woman and she didn’t want to think about why she didn’t want to think about it.
She ordered coffee, pastries, and fruit — this time for one, let Lyon order his own breakfast if he wanted it — from room service. She splashed water on her face and brushed her hair while she waited for it to be delivered.
After the room service attendant had delivered her breakfast, she made a plate and poured herself a cup of coffee, then got comfortable with her phone on the living room sofa.
There was a time not long ago when would Kira would have called her father, eager to hear his voice, to be soothed by his steady presence. But her father was gone, and her mother had been gone for more than ten years. Zoya and Lina were all the family she had now.
She took a drink of her coffee while the phone rang in her ear.
“Where on earth are you?” Zoya asked by way of a greeting.
“Prague,” Kira said.
