Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
I’d thought the whole cloak-and-dagger thing was a way of protecting Sandy. The pair’s business is up and running, so he tells me. Sleeping with his business partner’s sister might make things messy. That’s what I’d initially reasoned. Looking back now, I know I’ve been fooling myself.
I glance up and find Niko studying me through the dark window, his expression full of longing. When his gaze drops to his keyboard, I ask myself for the thousandth time if I’m deluding myself. If he wanted me, he need only turn and crook his finger and I’d throw myself at him. If he wanted me, truly wanted me, he’d find a way of breaking the news to my brother.
“Was Sergei his usual effusive self on the drive home?” He doesn’t lift his head, continuing to hammer away on his laptop.
“So so chatty,” I lie. “I had to ask him to be quiet.” Another new development. I get a lift to and from work every day, whether I want it or not. I mostly don’t. “Sergei loathes me,” I add with a shoulder sagging sigh.
“Sergei loathes everyone. It’s how he shows his respect.”
“He must respect the hell out of me,” I mutter.
“How about Korean for dinner.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I reply, pulling the hair tie from my ponytail. Dinner together. Alone. Again. Yet somehow, we become more like strangers with each passing minute.
I’m going to give my notice at work next week.
I want to say the words. Break the news. Tell him. But can’t quite manage.
Because I don’t want to go.
I want to be here. I want the Niko I only see in sideways glances these days. The man who strokes my hair when he thinks I’m sleeping, who whispers his pained feelings in languages I can’t understand. The man who holds me so tight when we make love, yet feels so very far away
I’ll be sorry if I break your heart, he’d said.
You’ll be even sorrier if I break yours first.
There are no winners in this game. I know he’s fallen for me, and I know that he hates that he has. But where he once looked at me with fondness, he now watches me with the kind of intensity that makes me wonder if he’s worried I might vanish.
He won’t make love to me in the light anymore, not without blindfolding me or turning me on my stomach. But when the night comes, and he whispers my name in the dark, I can only turn to him. Give myself over. Listen for the sound of his anguish over the cries of my pleasure. And wonder what’s going to happen.
Pushing my weary body up from the sofa arm, I stretch my hands over my head. “I meant to say, expect a call from Sabine next week. Another Bracquemond is coming in.”
“Will you fuck me in the photocopying room again?” The smirk in his voice turns my blood cold.
“Why not,” I find myself muttering, “it’s dark enough in there for you.”
“What did you say?” My insides flutter as he slowly turns, fixing me with a look of such intensity.
“I’m going to take a shower.” I take a step in that direction when his words freeze me in place.
“It isn’t about you, Isla. You understand that, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I don’t want to share you. I want you too much.” He shakes his head. It’s neither an explanation nor an apology. Not even if I squint. His possession is too intense—too much taking of me without the giving of him in return.
“Whatever. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s the only way you’ll fuck me these days. And this place is beginning to feel like a prison.”
I half turn but halt as he stands, a flicker of something heating my veins as he begins to loosen the buttons of his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“The shower. I thought you might like a little company.” He stalks toward me, pulling the cotton loose from his pants. Stripping it off, he drops it to the floor as he comes to a stop in front of me. “Have you fallen out of love with me yet?” There’s a vulnerability to his voice as his thumb skims my cheek. “You know I’m no good for you.”
I press my hands to his waistband, sliding his belt from the buckle. “Got to fall in love before you fall out,” I retort, whispering the lie of my life.
I’m not slave to these four walls, I silently acknowledge as I take his thick cock in my hand. I’m a slave to him. A little Russian doll, every moment we share together stored within my thin wooden walls.
24
Isla
THE MIDDLE - PRESENT
I take a deep breath as Van’s chauffer driven BMW pulls out into the morning traffic. One ordeal down, another more frightening one to follow. I can’t believe I thought it would be a good idea to travel with Van today. In such close confines, enveloped by such buttery, leather luxury, the opportunity to join the mile high club was just a whispered suggestion away. It took every ounce of my concentration not to fidget because he’s the one person who’d notice my state of nervousness.