“Wait.”
A firm grip seizes my arm, but I’m already halfway to the door, my fingers pawing for the knob.
“Hey! Listen to me.”
Listen.I’m years in the past, going through the motions with a client while Piotr coaches me—sometimes symbolically through the pulsing camera’s lens. Sometimes he booked a bird’s-eye view right beside the bed if the customer was into that sort of thing.
“Give the man his money’s worth,” he’d growl into my ear. “Make him beg for more…”
“Hey.”
The gruff tone doesn’t drag me back to the present as much as the gentle touch trailing down the length of my arm does. I wrench the limb back only to lose my balance and trip forward. A startled grunt bastes my skin, and I feel rather than see an unfamiliar hand slide down to my waist.
“Don’t move,” the man warns the moment I resist his grip. “Unless you want all of them out there to realize who you are.”
Ksei, back from the dead?
No. A cop—that’s what he thinks, anyway.
“Give me a dance,” he suggests, his breath warm against my ear. “Something quick and easy. Then I’ll leave, and you can slip out—”
“Why?” I draw back enough to see his face. “Why help me?”
“To be fair, I don’t think we have a lot of time to waste ontalking.”
I swallow hard. He’s right.
“Get on the bed,” he says, following the same train of thought. Letting me go, the stranger backs up a step, tilting his head so that his expression is hidden from the camera’s view. He sinks onto the mattress, watching me during the entire descent.
He’s on my level now, and thoughts of escape come more easily, more tempting than before. I could hit him and make a break for the exit before Vlad could even rise from his chair.
My legs spur into action, bringing me forward, and his scent floods my nostrils. Sharp. Acrid—like smoke. The camera’s still watching from the corner, its steady, red light blaring a silent warning.
“Lie down,” I whisper.
A shadow descends across his face, hardening his features with every ounce of space I gain on him. I’m almost taken aback at how easily my body reacts to the role I have to play. My hands slowly slide across my bare torso, and the motion catches his attention. His eyes flicker down to my exposed breasts and a flash of heat jolts through my body—but that statuesque expression never wavers, even as I brace one knee on the side of his left hip.
Our postures now mirror each other’s. Both tense, both untrusting. There is a stiff chill that shrouds the heat emanating from him.
I blame it for the shiver racing down my spine.
“Let’s get you a bit more comfortable,” I murmur as if Vlad is listening outside the door. “Maybe take your shirt off?” I run my fingers down to his chest, using the act as a cover to feel for a weapon. I find only coiled muscle that twitches, ready to spring into action, as I hook my hand beneath his shirt and lift.
I can only pray that Vlad doesn’t see what they’re really doing from his position. They’re clenching. They’re shaking.
Memories flood my brain one after the other, riding the telltale stench that lingers in the sheets. Piotr only ever wore one brand of cologne.Krov’Volka.Wolf Blood. I smell it even now with every frantic breath I take. He’s inside me, whether I want him there or not. Just like old times.
No.You’re here for Anna,I mentally chant.Anna, Anna, Anna.
“Wait.” Suddenly, the man beneath me rears up, knocking me against his chest. His nearness triggers a million uncomfortable sensations. Unfamiliar body heat. Raw skin on coarse fabric. I almost miss what he says next. “What’s that?”
I scramble back. “W-what?”
Faint thuds come from behind the closed door. Shouting. Glass breaking.
Vlad is throwing quite the party tonight.
“Shit.” Blue Eyes lunges to his feet. It’s the prime position for the dingy, artificial light to glance off the planes of his back revealed by his displaced shirt. Scars. The grouping of welts rises from his skin, more striking than any tattoo.
