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I watched him stomp out of the dining room that was fit for royalty and leaned back in my chair. Crossing my arms over my chest, I could only scowl in defeat at the food left on the table. I didn’t get my phone back, and he still refused to be seduced. Didn’t he find me attractive in this insanely sleazy dress?
When I first saw how nice my room was, it went a long way to ease my bad mood. As upset as I was over losing my computer setup and all my hard work, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Being pissed off only wasted the energy I needed to formulate a plan. It was best to find a bright side, as my brother Leo would have told me.
I wasn’t in danger of getting murdered by the Novikoffs. That was a certain bright side. And this was one of the most amazing places I’d ever stayed. I decided to explore the enormous suite. The bathroom didn’t disappoint with its giant claw foot tub, waterfall shower the size of my kitchen back in Moscow, and the thickest, softest towels I’d ever felt. High-end skincare products were at the dainty little vanity table, and a plush robe was hanging outside the walk-in closet door.
I almost forgot I wasn’t there of my own volition until I opened the closet doors. Dozens of slinky dresses hung on one side, each one racier than the next. Sexy, barely there lingerie was neatly folded in the center drawer console. Mile-high, strappy heels—fuck me heels, if ever any existed, lined the baseboard beneath the dresses. Casual wear? Sure. Booty shorts, halters that might have doubled as bikini tops, and, oh yes, actual bikinis.
It might have looked trashy, but I recognized expensive designer names on all the labels. A luxurious wardrobe designed to entice, but whose was it? Of course, they had to belong to his girlfriend.
It made me almost double over at the thought of Mikhail using this place as some sort of love nest. The idea of his woman wearing these outfits for him, and worse, him liking it, made me want to throw up. The overwhelming jealousy was ridiculous and turned my anger back onto myself.
Here I thought I had finally moved on from the crush on Mikhail that kept me from exploring genuine, meaningful relationships with guys my age. Was I destined to die single because none of them ever lived up to him? Not in looks, accomplishments, or character. He was the one I wanted, no one else. It was a relief when he left Moscow, even though it tore me to shreds not to be able to see him regularly and feed my hopeless dreams that one day we’d be together.
Of course, Kristina reminded me of him, and my feelings would be rekindled whenever I visited her, but the more time went by, the easier it was to bury them again. Now that I had to be stuck in the same house with him? Now that I knew he must feel something for me, even if it was only simple lust? Torture. Pure torture. Especially imagining what kind of sophisticated, worldly woman was wearing those clothes for him.
I really didn’t want to wear any of those outfits, but after a long, hot shower, I didn’t want to put on the grubby clothes I’d been kidnapped in, either. I picked out one of the more demure dresses, which was still anything but, and went downstairs when the cook urged me to try the meal she made. I was determined not to let him have any effect on me.
Yeah, that went well.
I picked at the remains of my dinner, which was a truly delicious blackened chicken with Cuban seasonings, reminded of how he looked when he appeared in the dining room doorway.
He was more handsome and sexy in faded jeans and a close-fitting t-shirt than in his tailored suit. The effect was immediate, but then he looked shocked and appalled at what I was wearing, probably comparing it to what it looked like on his girlfriend. Maybe wondering how I had the nerve to wear it in the first place? It wasn’t like I wanted to wear his stripper girlfriend’s clothes and be spilling out all over the place, and he should have shown me where the washer and dryer was if he wanted me to wear my own things.
He kept giving me those horrified looks the entire meal like he wanted to reach across the table and smack me. On top of that, he still refused to give me my phone back even when I told him I knew I was there for my well-being. It wouldn’t do any good to message my brother if he thought I was safest with Mikhail. For all I knew, my father was already coming to pick me up and drag me back to Russia.
My only chance was to access my secret backup files stored on the cloud. Then maybe I could salvage my project. But no. He was immovable. I was stuck with no chance of accessing my data and getting things back on track.
I finally left the dining room but was too wound up to be close to sleepy, and there was no TV or any books in my suite. This place was almost as big as a shopping mall, so I decided to explore. So what if Mikhail didn’t like it? What was he going to do? Scold me like the child he still thought I was and send me to my room?
The first half of the downstairs area was mostly locked doors and the big, modern kitchen. I offered to help the cook with the dishes, but she only laughed and told me where the media room was upstairs. It was just where she described, and I walked around the ceiling-high bookshelves, marveling at the selection. There was everything from illustrated fairy tales to weighty philosophy tomes. Overstuffed armchairs and couches beckoned for me to curl up in one with one of the books, but I was still too wired to concentrate. A big tv took up the better part of the opposite wall, with a recessed seating area and a fridge stocked with cold drinks and fresh fruit.
“This room is bigger than my apartment,” I said, almost expecting an echo.
Opening the curtains revealed a balcony, and I noticed I was looking out at the back of the house now. I pulled open the sliding door and stepped outside, getting hit in the face with a wall of humidity. No wonder everything was so green around here; all the plants got plenty of water. Making my way along the balcony, I turned a corner and saw a swimming pool tucked away in a grotto. Just a few minutes outside, I was sweating through my dress, and the azure water called me to jump in.
The scene became more inviting when a splash drew my eye to a spot between several palms obscuring half the pool. I leaned over the balcony to see Mikhail doing laps. Like a cartoon character, my eyes popped out of my head to see his back and arm muscles rippling as he sliced through the water. He flipped over to do the backstroke for a length of the pool, and I went into a trance at the sight of his taut six-pack and sculpted pecs.
How was this man forty-four years old?
My breathing hitched as I leaned far enough to tumble into the potted plants and the brick walkway below. There were no more thoughts about my backup data and certainly no more thoughts of escaping. I only wanted to watch Mikhail cut through the water with powerful strokes. I wasn’t even mad anymore, just… entranced. That was what he always did to me.
I suddenly decided a dip in the pool was the only thing that would get my nervous energy out. I simply wouldn’t be able to get to sleep without a refreshing swim. Racing back to my room, I found the selection of bathing suits, frowning at the thought of his girlfriend as I pulled on a red string bikini. It was foolish to despise a woman I’d never met just because she might have worn it before me. Foolish to hate her because Mikhail might have looked at her wearing it and been aroused.
What if I could make him forget all about her?
It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, not after what I’d felt pressing against me at the airfield. With my thoughts as jumbled as ping pong balls set free in a hurricane, I raced down the stairs and searched for a door that would lead to the pool.
He was just getting out when I found the path that led to the grotto, and I paused on the stepping stones to stare at him. He shook his head, sending water droplets flying from his tousled hair, finally noticing me standing there. His eyes widened as he took me in, almost every inch of me since I was wearing that scandalous swimsuit without a coverup over it. He licked his lips as if he wanted to taste me, and I shivered, emboldened by how much I wanted to be close to him.
Grabbing a towel from a rack, I quickly handed it to him. But once I was within touching range, I couldn’t stop myself and began to dry his chest for him. He seemed frozen, and our eyes locked. The feel of his hard chest under my hands made me step a little closer, moving the towel over his shoulders.
“How many laps did you do?” I asked. My mind raced, and I forced a teasing tone to my voice. “Do you think you could do a few more to keep me company?” I braced myself for the blow of his rejection.
Instead, he took the towel from me and lightly whacked me on the behind with it. “You never were a very good swimmer,” he teased right back.
I both loved and hated that he knew me so well. But at least he was getting back into the pool. I hurried down the steps from the shallow end with him, and we both eased beneath the cool water at the same time. I dipped my head back to soak my hair and turned in a circle with my fingers spread wide, sighing contentedly at how refreshing it felt to my heated skin.
I stopped turning to see him scowling at me. What did I do now to earn that look? My first instinct was to strike out before he did. Still, my feelings were in such a tangle. I really only wanted a peaceful evening. That is, if he wasn’t going to ravage me the way I wanted. Peace was my second choice.
