Page 5 of Assassin's Heart


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Fuck.I pluck the moth-eaten beanie off of her head, tossing it aside and unwinding the rough wool scarf after that.I knew graduate students were broke, but this girl dresses like she bought everything out of a rummage sale.The buttons on her coat are hanging on by a thread, and I carefully undo them, pulling off one outer coat to find another and two layers of sweaters underneath it.

Will there be an actual person under all of this, once I get it off?

To my surprise, there is. I peel back the layers until it’s just her in a long black wool skirt and a fitted black sweater with a V-neck. I pull off her battered ankle boots and socks and let them join the pile of clothes on the floor, and marvel at how different she looks with all of that peeled away. She lookspretty, petite and delicate, with her soft, stick-straight blonde hair around her face and her angular bone-structure, her pointed chin in a heart-shaped face. Everything about her is quite lovely, if a little shabby—I can see why Grisha Fedorov took a liking to her. Men like that like to feel needed, and this girl definitely could use a hot meal and a comfortable bed. I’m sure he told himself that he was giving her a taste of the good life, that it didn’t matter if he was keeping her as a side piece as long as he was giving her something good to look forward to.

Men like that find all kinds of reasons to justify their behavior. Cheating, in my opinion, is abhorrent. The lowest of the low—if you’re going to dip your dick wherever you please, just stay single. I like variety, and that’s just one of the many reasons I’ve chosen not to get into a relationship. But if Idid—though it’ll never happen—I would be faithful above all else.

Nothing good has ever come from lies. There’s a number of reasons why Grisha Fedorov deserves what’s coming to him, but as far as I’m concerned, this only adds to the tally.

I nudge the pile of clothes aside, looking down at her pretty face, wondering how difficult this is all going to turn out to be. Yesterday, I would have said that it might be easier to manage, but I’m pretty sure Lidiya Petrovna doesn’t ever want to set eyes on her ex-boyfriend again, and I honestly don’t blame her.

That’s not my problem, though. Grisha Fedorov is, and to deal with that problem, I need Lidiya.

For better or worse, she’s going to have to hear me out, and agree to help. Even though I can just about guarantee she’s not going to like it one bit.

She stirs then, moaning softly in pain, but the sound is nearly indistinguishable from one of pleasure. I feel my dick twitch inconveniently at the sound—it really has been too long—but I don’t have long to think about that.

Because a moment later, those wide blue eyes that I’d noticed start to flicker open, and only get wider as she sees me hovering over her, and catches sight of the hotel room—and the fact that she’s in a bed.

With surprisingly good lung strength for someone who just tumbled down a half-flight of stairs, she opens her mouth andshrieksat me, startling me enough to make me take a step back.

“Where am I? And who thefuckare you?”

Lidiya

“Where am I? And who the fuck are you?”

I’m glad not to be still freezing to death in a train station stairwell with a possible concussion, but I’m not any less alarmed by the fact that I’ve woken up in a crisp white bed that’s clearly in a hotel room, with that strange man with the piercing blue eyes leaning over me with a concerned expression on his face.

A man who, apparently, has removed a good deal of my clothing. Not enough to expose anything or be inappropriate, really, but it still feels uncomfortably intimate. Enough that I instantly squirm away from him, moving towards the other side of the bed as quickly as possible while getting a good look at this man who has—kidnapped me? Brought me back to his hotel as a good Samaritan act? Has nefarious plans for me?

I honestly have no idea, and my head is aching so badly that I feel like I can hardly think, but it doesn’t escape me how handsome he is. Without the heavy coat and cap and scarf, it’s clear that he’s lean and fit, wearing a thin grey wool sweater that clings to his muscled arms and flat abdomen, and slim-cut black jeans that cling to equally muscled thighs and an ass that definitely wouldn’t quit—if I were looking at it, which I’m not.

I’m not looking at his ass, or his long-fingered hands, or his strong stubbled jaw and long sharp nose, or those piercing blue eyes that are looking at me with a mixture of frustration and concern. I’m definitely not looking at them while feeling uncomfortably warm—that would be the wool blanket covering me and the fire a few feet away…right?

Definitely.

“Lidiya Petrovna.” His voice, saying my name, instantly makes all that warmth and thoughts of his strong jaw and round ass fly straight out of my aching head, reminding me that he’s a stranger, a stranger whofollowedme, and that I shouldn’t be thinking about him in any way other than what way I can manage to escape this room.

He shouldn’t know my name. I don’t knowhim. My first terrified thought is that he’s some friend of Grisha’s, come toconvinceme to give my cheating ex another chance. I half expect Grisha to walk through the door at any moment with an obscene bunch of roses, begging me to forgive him and blathering something about how he hates his wife and plans to divorce her when the kids are older, etc. etc.—

“How do you know my name?” I squeak, pulling the blanket up to my chest as I sit upright, ignoring the stabbing pain in my head and neck as I do so.

“How do you feel?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me as he completely ignores the question. “Your head, I mean.”

“It feels like I fell down a flight of stairs,” I snap irritably. As a matter of fact, the pain is spreading through my head, throbbing painfully behind my eyes, and I badly want to go back to sleep. I know you’re not supposed to do that with a concussion—I think?—but at the moment I don’t care. Idefinitelydon’t want to try to carry on a conversation with this strange man, who is unnerving me both with his presence and with the fact that I’m pretty sure this hotel room that I’m in is his.

“Half-flight,” he corrects me, his mouth twitching at the corners. Is he trying not to smile? Is he trying not tolaughat me? The thought of that is even more infuriating, and I narrow my own eyes right back at him—only to gasp in pain from the movement.

Fuck, this has to be the worst headache I’ve ever had.

“Try not to move around too much,” he cautions. “You don’t seem to be badly injured, but since you haven’t been seen by a doctor, I can’t be entirely sure. You probably have a concussion, and I’m sure you’ll be quite bruised for a bit. Still, it wasn’t a far fall—”

“The steps werefrozen,” I grind out through gritted teeth. I can’t believe this man is trying to make light of my accident. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck—or you know,fallen down frozen concrete stairs, and he looks like he’s about to start laughing at my distress.

“Yes, I’m sure it was very painful,” he says slowly, as if he’s talking to a small child. “But the fact of the matter is, nothing was broken, and you seem to be mostly okay. It would be better if you stayed awake for a while, just in case, but that’s for the best anyway since we have things to discuss—”

“Excuseme?” I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “The only things we need to discuss is why I’m here–in your hotel room I presume–how you know my name, and how far I’m going to have to go to get back to my apartment. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing else we need to talk about—”

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