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His gaze sharpens further, a tinge of possessive darkness bleeding into the magnificent green depths of his eyes. “And before Budapest?”
That’s a truth I’m not prepared to share. I pull away, but he holds tight.
“Answer me, Mina.”
“I had a few flings after school. None of them were ever serious.”
“That’s not what I asked. Before me, when was the last time?”
I bite my lip. “I can’t remember.”
“I think you can.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
His hard features are thoughtful as he considers me. “Was it before or after you left the military?”
I know him well enough to know he’s not going to let it go. “Before,” I admit softly.
His hold is tight, his question unrelenting. “Why?”
“After the incident, I couldn’t let a man touch me.”
“Why me, then?”
“Why you what?” I ask, stalling.
“Why did you sleep with me? Was it a diversion to escape? Or did you think I’d kill you otherwise?”
Ilya’s accusation comes back to me. He said I slept with Yan because I believed it was fuck him or die. Now Yan wants to know if I only had sex with him to save my own skin. It’s tempting to lie to protect myself, but what we shared is too big to let him believe this.
“I slept with you because I wanted to,” I admit. “I thought my body was dead for all men, but you broke that spell. You made me come alive.”
Satisfaction and pure male possession darken his eyes. In a wink, he turns into the predator who stalks me. I’m pressed down and pinned underneath him before I can drag in a breath.
“I told you we were two of a kind,” he says against my lips. “I haven’t fucked another woman since you either, and your hands definitely make my body come alive.”
To prove it, he grinds his erection against me, letting me feel my effect on him. And this time, my skin heats in response, my breathing picking up as my body—the one he’d brought back to life in Budapest—comes awake with a rush, the earlier malaise disappearing.
“I want you,” he says huskily. “Still tired?”
“No.” And spreading my legs, I wrap them around his hips, allowing him to touch me, to make me feel all the beauty and pain of being alive.
When morning comes, I’m woken with a tender kiss on my shoulder. “Time to get up.”
I snuggle deeper under the covers as Yan gets out of bed. What’s the point? I have nowhere to be, nothing to do. I’ll just stay here until mid-morning, or noon, or evening.
“Ilya is making pancakes,” Yan says.
“I’m not hungry.”
I pull the sheet over my head, only to shriek when the warm comforter is suddenly jerked from my body and a rush of cool air contracts my skin.
“What the—?”
Yan throws a T-shirt and a pair of shorts at me. “Get up.”
I grab the pieces of clothing grudgingly. “What’s your problem?”
“We’re going jogging.”
“What?”
“You need to get out, to exercise. That’s why you’re so grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“You’re depressed.”
“I’m not depressed!”
He regards me with his hands propped on his hips, a frown marring his brow. “Denial is the first symptom of depression.”
“Fine. Label me however you like. I’ve been called worse.”
He grabs my ankle and yanks me to the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing?” I squeal.
“I’ll drag you outside in your T-shirt and panties, or you can get dressed. Your choice.”
“Asshole,” I mumble, sitting up.
He grins. “Call me that again, and you won’t sit for a week.”
I shut my mouth, because I don’t doubt he’ll make good on his threat.
“Now, Mina.” He has the audacity to snap his fingers at me on the way to the bathroom.
“Hardheaded mule,” I mutter, getting out of bed.
We dress without speaking, me sulking and him in an irritatingly good mood. When we enter the quiet living area, it’s clear Anton and Ilya aren’t up yet. I give Yan a narrowed glare. He lied about the pancakes.
“Don’t fret,” he says with a wink. “I’ll make you pancakes when we get back.”
He drapes an exercise towel around my neck and pushes me to the door. “Let’s go.”
I suck in the early morning air as we hit the street, and fall into pace next to him as he starts jogging toward the old town. His pace is taxing, but as soon as my body feels the tease of adrenaline, it perks up. My energy returns with a rush. I keep up, and even give him a run for his money. We jog for a good hour before we stop to do some resistance training, using an outdoor exercise area in a park.
I’m sweating by the time we’re done, but a lot happier than when we left his apartment. The strenuous workout was exactly what I needed.
“See?” he says, giving me a gentle punch on the shoulder. “I was right.”
