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All my pent-up anger boils over, and I reach for a bedside lamp, hurling it in his direction. He bats it away before it hits him, breaking with a loud crash onto the floor. Regret immediately consumes me because I know there will be consequences.
He forces his next words out between gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Panic constricts my lungs, yanking away my breath. At one time, I believed he wouldn't hurt a woman, but now… The way his eyes flash with violence, I’m not sure of anything. I inadvertently step back, toppling a chair with a loud thud, but I can't tear my eyes away from Maxim to check the damage.
I’m shivering—whether from fear or cold, I don’t know. Maxim frowns as I wrap my arms around my shaking form. My nipples harden sharply, almost like diamond points, and Maxim doesn't fail to notice. His eyes linger, bold and unapologetic, and it sends a jolt through me—part embarrassment, part something else I can't quite name.
I wrap my arms tighter around myself, acutely aware of a weird kind of electricity in the air. A pull that's hard to ignore, even though every rational part of me is shouting to do just that.
“Let’s call tonight a misunderstanding.” His voice is low and menacing, and I know better than to argue. “But from now on, know that I expect you in my bed every night.”
“Why?” I demand, even as anxiety pulses in my chest. “We won’t be intimate. You said?—”
“We are married. Even if this is an arrangement, I won’t have my staff gossiping about us keeping separate rooms.”
I scoff. “I don’t care about appearances. This marriage isn’t what I signed up for, anyhow.”
His expression turns thunderous, and every instinct tells me to drop it, leave the issue be. But as is often the case, my defiance wins out.
I rear back to slap him but his hand darts out, gripping my wrist. In the pale light coming from the window, I catch sight of his battered knuckles, the heat from his touch like fire.
“You keep on testing me, Kira. I’m starting to believe you want a reaction. Are you so eager to see what happens when you provoke your husband?” His dark voice presses against my ear.
I refuse to question why his words cause moisture to flood between my thighs and an ache deep in my core. Nope. No way. Not going there.
Instead, I run.
Rebellion drives me as I bolt from the room. My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline fueling my sprint. I can hear Maxim hot on my heels. What did I expect? And what the fuck is my plan? He knows this place like the back of his hand, and I’m soaking wet, running into the abyss.
His voice is mocking. “You want to run and me to chase you, don’t you, lastochka?”
My breath comes in sharp pants, equal part fear and excitement.
“How about this?” he continues. “I’ll close my eyes and give you a ten-second head start. But guess what happens when I find you?”
His footsteps cease behind me, and I continue down the stairs—more places to hide on the first floor. Or maybe I need to go straight out the front door into the streets of Moscow. Butwhen I picture his legions of guards that stand at the entrance to the home, I think against it.
My mind races, trying to map out the floor plan in this labyrinthine house. My muscles scream in protest, but stubbornness keeps me moving. And the knowledge that, by running, I’ve already made the outcome worse.
Slipping into the kitchen, I quickly scan the room for a hiding place. The space under the island seems too obvious, and the cabinets are too small to conceal my frame. My gaze flits to the large walk-in pantry. Maybe it can lock from the inside.
I dart inside, pressing my back against the shelves laden with spices and canned goods. I fight to control my breathing, attempting to be as silent as possible. Even though I’m delaying the inevitable.
He’ll catch me, and I know my little outburst is going to come at a cost, but what that cost is remains to be seen. Will he take me over his knee or something worse? Tie me up and have his way— Shit, my mind is wandering into dangerous territory. Dangerous because I get a little thrill from defying him, the push and pull of power that underlies our every interaction.
I strain my ears, trying to discern his movements over the pounding of my heart. The kitchen is eerily silent, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator. Then the faint sound of footsteps on the tiled floor reaches me, slow and deliberate.
I hold my breath. The tension rises as he comes closer.
He doesn’t sound the slightest bit out of breath when he speaks. "You should have stopped to grab a towel. The water droplets from your clothes led me straight to you.”
I can feel Maxim’s presence on the other side of the door, mocking me. I clench my fists, cursing him, because he’s the reason I’m all wet.
As if he could see me, he chuckles softly, and it's a sound that sends shivers down my spine. “Are you going to come out or do Ihave to come in and get you? Because if that happens, I won’t be responsible for my actions afterwards.”
I grit my teeth. As if I have a choice. My best bet is to walk out of here with my head held high and scream bloody murder if he attempts to put his hands on me. Which, in this house, wouldn’t matter since it’s Maxim’s, but if he’s worried about what the staff think, maybe that’ll dissuade him from the worst of his plans.
Chin lifted, I push the pantry door open and step out, meeting Maxim's broody gaze head-on.
