“What’s going on? Is something happening?”
He chuckles, dark and cruel.
“You think you get to ask me something like that when you won’t even tell me details of a nightmare?”
“That’s different,” I retort, feeling my stomach twist. I can’t talk about that nightmare for my own sanity even if I were to lie about it; and if I’m to lie and pretend I’m upset over Adriana’s mother’s death, I can’t get that wrong.
“Baby girl, how is that different?”
“It just is. I don’t want to talk about my mother’s death.” That’s true, so I can speak from the heart. I never spoke to anyone about it because those who were close to me saw what happened to her. José wasn’t there, but Papa told him everything. “You hate me and mine. My mother meant everything to me. She had nothing to do with what happened to your family, so I don’t want to talk to you about her just so you can taint her memory, or her.”
He continues to stare at me for a few moments, then takes a long draw of his cigar before he puts it out and sets it down in the ashtray.
My nerves spike when he walks up to me and rests his hand above me on the doorframe. Inching closer, he stops a kiss away and hovers before me with a menacing smile.
“Did I tell you I hated you, Malyshka?” he mutters in a deep baritone.
I narrow my eyes at the question because it’s so weird. So weird I have to wonder if he’s screwing with me.
“I’m not stupid.”
“Then fucking pay attention, princess.” His large hands cup my face with a softness that’s almost creepy because I’m not used to him being gentle.
Whenever his hand goes anywhere near my neck, I always wonder if he’s going to snap it or crush my windpipe. I’m wondering the same now, even with the soft stroke he gives my cheek.
His touch sends a shiver of arousal through me, and I instantly remember how we were last night.
“I am paying attention.”
“No, you aren’t.” He leers at me. “If you were, you’d know that when a man tells you he wants to fuck your brains out, it’s not because he hates you.”
His crass words make my mouth go dry. Heat skitters down my spine, my cheeks flush, and I know I’m blushing.
When he notices my reaction, his eyes gleam with desire. They smolder with it and come alive with seductive fire.
Another stroke along my cheek kicks my heart rate up a notch, and my mouth waters.
This is not good. I shouldn’t react like this. I want to pull away, but I can’t make myself. The part of me that craves him overpowers my ability to think straight, and I can’t move.
“When a man calls you his, it’s not because he hates you, Malyshka.” He runs a finger down the edge of my neck and lingers over my cleavage. “But allow me to show you how much Idon’thate you.”
Paralyzed by the intensity of his words and those eyes, I don’t move when he leans in to kiss me. I receive the kiss like I’m starving for it and he’s giving me an undiluted dose of life.
The kiss sends a rush of pleasure through my body, and the enticement lures me to kiss him back. The moment I give in to the wild call screaming at me to give myself to this man, the first thing I notice is how different we feel.Ifeel different.
I feel free. No longer unhinged. And that itself is crazy. As our kiss turns hungry, my body bends to his will and prepares itself for his, prepares itself tobehis, and I don’t feel the hatred I spoke of. All I feel with each touch and kiss he gives me is desire and need. The need for more and more.
21
Natalia
Mikhail picks me up and carries me back inside the room.
Setting me down on the plush cream carpet, he pulls away from my lips momentarily to gaze at me. The molten heat blazing within the honey depths of his eyes melts me and traps me.
“Take your clothes off for me, princess,” he husks, his voice thick with arousal.
This is it. We’re doing this again.
