33
CORA
I awake from dreams I don’t remember with a sticky, pulsing ache between my legs.
Ivan Pushkin is a hard man to escape.
Even in my subconscious.
I slide out of the sheets and pull the comforter over the evidence of my shame. Niles is probably far too decent to say anything, but I know he’ll notice that the bedding smells like sweat and God only knows what else.
Shower. That’s what I can control right now. I need a shower.
I pad into the bathroom and my plans change immediately when I remember the tub my en suite is outfitted with. It’s big enough for two people. Even me and someone as big as Iv—nope. No. No. No. I won’t let him ruin this for me.
While I don’t appreciate being trapped here—correction: while conscious me doesn’t appreciate being trapped here, although Dream Me seems to disagree—I have no intention of turning my nose up at the amenities. I spent too many months living on the street without so much as a toilet. I know the joy of a hot bath.
Steam swirls from the faucet as the tub fills with scalding water. All the better to burn away the remnants of last night and the last few days.
I vow not to think about where Ivan’s hands gripped me two nights ago at the party as I slip out of my borrowed clothes and kick them into the corner of the bathroom.
I’m so focused on not thinking about him that I’m also not thinking about the unlocked door that connects our rooms. I’m certainly not thinking about the fact that the bathroom door is wide open.
So when I hear a latch click and release, I spin around just as Ivan walks through that door and looks through the bathroom doorway.
At me.
At all of me.
He slides his gaze down and back up, then one more time for good measure. “I’m having déjà vu,” he rumbles at last. His voice is raspy and low.
I should find something to cover myself with. Slamming the bathroom door closed would also be a normal response to a man standing in front of you while you’re naked.
But Ivan isn’t just standing in front of me.
He’s standing in front of me shirtless.
If I thought his bare arms were a temptation, the full expanse of his chest is a full-on seduction. The tattoos that swirl across his biceps and creep out of the collar of his shirts also delve down, down, down.
I’m seconds away from actually walking towards him to try and step through it, when he clears his throat.
“See something you like, moya zhena?”
His deep velvet voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I jerk back and do a pitiful job of trying to cover up my more delicate bits.
“I could ask you the same question. You’re the one who keeps barging in on me while I’m naked.”
His eyes trail down my body again, dripping over my skin like honey. “I made it abundantly clear the night we met that I liked what I saw just fine. As did you.”
My face flushes. I cross my arms over my chest to hide the evidence of exactly how much I like what I see. “What do you want, Ivan?”
Delicious amusement curls in the corner of his mouth. “I think I’ve made that abundantly clear, too.”
“Do you have something to tell me?”
“You need to get ready.”
“That’s what I was doing before you barged in here. Without knocking, might I add.”
“What were you getting ready for, looking like that?” He drops his chin, his amber eyes looking up at me through lashes far too pretty for a man so brutal. “I had my own plans for how to legitimize our marriage. But if you want to get a head start on the consummation… well, your adoring husband would never deny you something like that.”
His words ooze sarcasm, but I burn up with them anyway. My body is on fire from the inside out, and I’m sure he can see it written in the blush coloring every inch of my skin.
“You and I have very different priorities.”
He nods in agreement. “My priority is to keep you alive; yours is to make your own life as difficult as possible.”
He isn’t wrong. I could have stayed home the night of the party.
I could have left after Ivan offered me his jacket.
I could have told him who I really was and not begged him to fuck me until I scream.
Again and again, my choices make my life more complicated.
But Ivan isn’t helping, either.
“You can’t just walk into my room. We may be pretending to be a couple, but we aren’t. I’m a guest in your house, according to you.”
He strolls closer and leans against the bathroom door. “I say if we’re playing the part, we might as well get the perks.”
I gasp in disgust and snatch a towel from the cabinet behind me. I wrap it around myself and my “perks.”
“I say we need ground rules,” I fire back.
“Okay, ground rule: you do as I say, and I keep you and your friends alive.”
I clench my teeth. “That’s the deal we made, but we need to set expectations for how we treat each other. If I have to stay here—”
“Which you do.”
I bristle but I don’t let him throw me off-course. “If I have to stay here, then I need to know what to expect.”
I need to be able to prepare, on some level, for encounters with him. I need to know what’s expected of me when we’re in public—and, more importantly, what’s expected in private.
Living in this gray space of desire and disdain is not an option. I’ll burn to ashes.
Ivan continues to stare, waiting.
I blow out a breath. “First, I want privacy in my room. You can’t come in here whenever you want.”
“Our rooms are connected.”
“Then unconnect them,” I snap back. “You control everything and everyone, right? Lock the door.”
His jaw shifts back and forth. “No need for a lock. I can control myself if you can.”
What if I can’t? I stiffen my spine and nod. “I can, too.”
He adjusts his arms. The muscles flex and shift beneath his smooth skin. I chew on my lip as a lightness fills my chest. Connected door or no… I don’t stand a chance.
Ivan arches a brow. “Is that all, or do you have more—”
“No sex,” I blurt.
His mouth snaps shut, his amber eyes narrowing. “I thought you could control yourself?”
“This is a business arrangement, right? That’s what you called it.”
“I’m aware of what I called it,” he growls.
“Okay. So do you regularly have sex with business associates? I’m guessing not. So I’ll do what needs to be done when we’re in public to sell the story. But behind closed doors, no sex.”
“Fine,” he barks. “I agree to your terms so long as you hold up your end of the bargain. You have to sell the story, Cora. When I need a smitten wife at my side, you need to be there.”
“Fine.”
“Then be ready in an hour,” he says.
I tighten my towel around my chest. “Where are we going?”
He half-turns on his way out and drawls, “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t get my wife a ring?”
Then he strolls out of my room and into his, his back rippling with power and definition all the way. It’s only when the door between our rooms snaps closed that I blink and break out of the trance.
I turn and drain the tub I just filled.
I need a cold shower instead.