by Julia Sykes
“Let me go,” I insisted shakily.
“What’s wrong?” He demanded an answer, but his voice was soft, as though trying to soothe a spooked animal.
The primitive part of me responded to it, and my fists fell away from his chest. Still, my fear didn’t fade. I wasn’t afraid of him; I was afraid of what he had awoken within me.
“I have to go,” I told him, my voice still trembling.
“Alicia.” He spoke my name more firmly, and I almost melted back into him.
I desperately clawed for my resolve, focusing on his hardness to remind myself of why I had to get away from him. “I’m sorry. Please let me go.”
His frown deepened, but he released me. I cringed under the weight of his displeasure, and I turned and half-ran from him like the coward I was.
Chapter 2
“Oh my god, he was so freaking hot!” Christine gushed loudly.
I shushed her, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. “You’ll wake up our host family,” I warned as we tiptoed through the front door to the small apartment.
Well, I tiptoed. Christine’s high heels clicked heavily against the floor as she half-stumbled across the threshold. While I had been dancing with Dimitri, she had taken vodka shots with Roman.
“I mean, he was like, male model gorgeous. Have you ever even seen a guy that hot in person?” She whisper-yelled. I winced and shushed her again.
I waited until we reached our shabby bedroom and closed the door softly before I answered. “Yeah, Roman was really attractive. He had that bad boy thing going for him.”
Her eyes widened as though I was being deliberately obtuse. To be honest, I was.
“Okay, yes. Roman was hot. And he was a great kisser. But Dimitri. Holy shit, girl! I can’t believe you didn’t tap that!”
“Could you keep it down?” I asked, exasperated.
“Stop changing the subject. You liked him. I could tell. And he was so into you. You should be off banging him right now instead of running back home.”
“You know I don’t do that,” I said sharply.
“Ugh. Just because you want to stay a virgin till you’re married doesn’t mean you can’t do other stuff.” She glanced at my promise ring with distaste. “You could have at least kissed him. Honestly, I don’t know how you managed not to.”
“Stop judging me,” I said hotly, fighting to keep my voice down.
She sighed, her face shifting to something more contrite than berating. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I just want you to have fun.”
“We have different definitions of fun,” I hissed. I was hurt more than angry, and her talk about me having sex with Dimitri hit too close to home. I remembered my arousal in his arms and barely suppressed a shudder. I wasn’t sure if it was one of disgust of residual pleasure. That just got me even more upset.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I said, not looking at my friend. I could no longer meet her eye.
“Oh. Okay. Listen, I really am sorry, Alicia. I’m just being drunk and stupid. It’s not a good excuse, but I’m not thinking straight right now.” Her words were no longer slurred. She was sobering up as she realized how much she had hurt me.
“It’s okay,” I said quietly. “I just need to cool off.”
My skin still burned where Dimitri had touched me. An icy shower might help me alleviate the heat.
It didn’t. It was as though Dimitri had branded me, and his marks refused to fade.
Three days later, I still found myself covertly checking for red burns on my hips. Surely the shape of his large hands should have left a visible sign on my pale skin. It was the only way to explain the relentless heat inside me.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Christine asked as we left our Russian Language class. Throughout the three and a half hours, I had barely taken in a word. I kept wondering what his deep voice would sound like murmuring to me in his native tongue. Then I would think about his actual tongue, the way it had danced across my skin as he kissed my neck…
“Hey!” She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” I asked innocently, but my blush gave me away.
“You know what. Don’t think I didn’t notice that glassy stare and the way you kept crossing and uncrossing your legs. You’ve got it bad for Dimitri.”
My cheeks warmed further. Crud, was it that obvious that I was getting hot and bothered in the middle of class?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was days ago. And I don’t really know anything about him.”
So why can’t I stop thinking about him? I never would have thought I would be so shallow to fixate on a man just because of his looks.
It’s more than that, an irritatingly sage little voice whispered. Your sexual chemistry was off the charts.
Sexual. No. I had to stop thinking about him. This wasn’t right. I didn’t want to think about any man in that way. I was supposed to save myself for the man I would marry, not constantly fantasize about a beautiful stranger I would never see again.
“We should go back to Rossi,” Christine insisted, cutting across my distraught thoughts. “Maybe he’ll be at the club again.”
“No!” I said, alarmed. Who knew what I might do if I saw him again, if he touched me again. I cleared my throat. “I mean, we have class tomorrow. We can’t go out tonight.”
“Oh, come on,” she cajoled. “It’s just a pass/fail course. We get credit so long as we make sixty percent. You’re good with language. You’re a Lit major.”
“That’s English Literature. I’m not good with foreign languages.”
“All the more reason to go back to the club,” she retorted. “Immersion, right? We’ll learn more talking to locals than we ever would from that old windbag of a teacher. I swear, all she does is yell at us in Russian. As though we’ll understand what she’s saying if she says it angrily enough.”
“You’re hoping Roman will be there,” I said incisively. “I’m not the only one who’s stuck on a guy. And I know you don’t want to talk to him.”
She laughed, not at all offended by my accusation. “He taught me how to order vodka in Russian last time. That’s way more useful than learning to ask where the bathroom is.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you needed the bathroom.”
She gave me a smug smile. “If I do, I’m sure Roman will show me. And I could think of some hot things to do with him in a bathroom stall.”
“Ew, Christine! That’s totally gross!”
She shrugged. “Sex in public is something I’ve been wanting to tick off the list for a while. We’re in Europe. This is supposed to be an adventure.”
I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched at the corners. “You have a very interesting bucket list.”
She grinned, unapologetic. “Why, thank you. Now, let’s work on your bucket list. I think you should add ‘making out with Dimitri’ to it.” Before I could protest, she held up a hand to forestall me. “Just kissing. No hanky-panky.”
I bit my lip, teetering on the edge of agreeing. Her offer was tempting. Just the possibility of seeing him again made something clench inside me.
“Ah-hah! I knew it! You’re in.” Christine read me far too easily. I guessed that was what happened after sharing a tiny dorm room for three years. That, and the fact that everyone told me I was an open book.
I caved. “Okay. I’m in.”
She practically bounced up and down with her excitement. “Let’s find you something to wear. I have the hottest little black sequined dress that’ll be perfect on you.”
“Uh-uh. I felt so self-conscious last time. I’m wearing my own clothes.”
“What?” She scoffed. “You’re going to wear a cardigan and jeans? No way. You have assets, girl. It’s time to show them off.”
I shook my head. “That’s not me. I’ll wear my blue silk blouse.”
She frowned slightly. “Fine. It does make you
r eyes pop. But I’m at least doing your makeup.”
“It’s a deal,” I agreed. I gave her my first full smile in days. I couldn’t deny that excitement was budding inside me at the prospect of seeing Dimitri again. “I hope he’s there,” I admitted.
“Me too. I wouldn’t mind seeing that man candy again. Not that I want him,” she amended quickly. “He’s all yours. I just like to look. Besides, Roman is sexy in his own way. Did you notice that scar on his cheekbone? It’s faint, but it makes him look so dangerous. Like he’s a man who could do some major damage but he’s protective of you.” Her eyes took on a dreamy light. “Definitely hot.”
I giggled. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”
“Hey, let me have this one. If you get the world’s hottest Russian, I get the bad boy hero.”
“Okay, okay,” I relented. “They might not even be there.”
“Don’t try to get out of this,” she said sharply.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” It was the truth. Now the prospect of seeing Dimitri again was very real, and my desire for him was all too potent. Pushing aside my discomfiture at my lust for him, I focused on my excitement for the night ahead. I was going to start enjoying my European adventure.
* * * * *
I hadn’t realized just how high my hopes were until they crashed down. Dimitri wasn’t at the club. Christine and I had been on the dance floor for nearly an hour, and my would-be make out partner was nowhere in sight.
“Don’t look so miserable. He might still show up,” Christine comforted me, leaning in to be heard over the music.
I didn’t share her confidence. Without Dimitri to guide my movements, I felt awkward and out of place again, and every minute that dragged by without him made me more uncomfortable in my own skin. I had been a desperate idiot to come back to a place where I obviously didn’t belong in search of a man I would never see again.
“You know what? I think I could use a shot,” I admitted.
Christine’s eyes widened briefly before a slow smile spread across her face. “You got it.” She looped her arm through mine and steered me toward the bar.
She hadn’t been lying; Roman had taught her how to order vodka in Russian.
“Na zdorov’ye!” She clicked her shot glass against mine and winked at me before tossing it back. She winced for a moment and then let out a whoop. “That shit burns way worse than what Roman ordered for me. I guess he got the premium stuff.”
I sniffed at the clear liquid and flinched when it seared the inside of my nose.
“Just open your throat and you’ll be fine.” She gave me a lewd wink.
I rolled my eyes at her, but I did as she instructed. If I allowed the drink to linger on my tongue, the rotgut vodka might scorch it right out of my mouth. As soon as it went down, I gasped and coughed against the burn.
“You will get better with practice.”
Oh, no. I blinked hard to clear my watering eyes and turned slowly, dread cooling the vodka in my belly. Dimitri was standing right behind me. He had seen my ungraceful attempt at taking a shot. Had he heard what Christine said about opening my throat?
One look at his mocking black eyes confirmed my fears.
“Hello, myshka.”
“Hi.” My greeting was barely audible. His lips curved up at the corners.
His haughtiness should have been galling, but the heat that had lurked within me for days surged in response.
“I hoped you might be here.”
“You did?” I breathed, thunderstruck. I had spent the last hour convincing myself that I was a pathetic stalker, but he had come back looking for me as well.
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about you.” He casually reached out and tucked my hair behind my shoulder. His tempting heat burned through the silky material of my blouse, and I leaned into his touch. His smirk widened to a grin as he slowly pulled away.
The now-familiar sense of feminine gratification swelled in my chest. I wasn’t the only one who had been hung up on a stranger for days. Dimitri – the mysterious, gorgeous Russian – had been thinking about me, too.
“You see?” Christine butted in. “I told you it was a good idea to come back here.” Her smile skipped past Dimitri. “Hi, Roman.”
The imposing man was shadowing Dimitri, but I hadn’t even noticed him until that moment. He was beaming at my friend. The expression made his scar dimple, adding to the aura of danger around him.
I hoped for Christine’s sake that he really was a bad boy hero, and not actually as scary as he looked.
“Do you want to try again?” Dimitri asked, his dark voice holding a teasing edge.
“What?” I asked breathlessly. Did he want to dance with me? My body yearned for it.
He plucked my empty shot glass from my hand and twirled it between his long fingers. “Vodka.” He sniffed at the glass and wrinkled his nose. “I can get you something better.”
I hesitated, uncertain. I didn’t like to drink much, and the first shot had been disgusting. Caving to social pressure wasn’t something I usually did, but Dimitri didn’t wait for my agreement.
Just as before, it took no more than a sharp glance from him to bring the bartender running. He spoke to the man in rapid Russian. I couldn’t understand the words, but his harsh tone told me he was annoyed. The way the bartender cringed confirmed it. The man’s eyes were almost fearful when he glanced at me. He murmured what I recognized as an apology and gave a deferential nod.
Dimitri’s cocky smile sprang back into place when he turned to me.
“What was that about?” I asked, curious.
“He gave you the shitty vodka because you’re tourists. I told him you deserve the best. Free drinks for the rest of the night.”
“Thank you,” I said after a moment of stunned silence. Based on the reactions of the club-goers and bartender, it was becoming obvious that Dimitri was someone special. But what was really remarkable was that he was treating me like I was someone special, too. For a country girl from backwoods South Carolina, that was a heady sensation.
“Come sit with me. I have a table.”
Just like before, he didn’t ask; he commanded. It should have been disconcerting, but when his hand settled on the small of my back, I forgot my nervousness. He steered me away from the bar, toward one of the darker corners of the club. I heard Christine’s flirtatious giggle behind me, and I glanced back.
“Aren’t they coming with us?” I asked, confused as to why our friends weren’t following us.
His hand skated across my back, his fingers curling around my hip and pulling me closer to his side.
“I told Roman I wanted to be alone with you. He will look after your friend.” He spoke dismissively, as though the whole situation was handled. He gave my hip a little squeeze, and something quivered inside me in response.
“Oh,” I said simply. I should have protested. I was in a foreign country, going off alone with a man I barely knew. It wasn’t safe to leave Christine.
But she was just across the club. It wasn’t like I was leaving her alone. Roman and Dimitri were both big guys. No one would mess with my friend or me.
We reached a corner booth, and Dimitri gestured for me to sit. He slid in after me. The booth was large, but he settled right beside me. His thigh pressed up against mine, and I automatically shifted to break the contact. His hand rested on my knee, trapping me against him with a firm hold.
My breath hitched, and I found myself caught in his black stare. Suddenly, I couldn’t have moved away even if he weren’t holding me. The weight of his dark gaze was enough to pin me in place. Instinctual fear prickled at the back of my neck, even as heat swelled at my core. He smiled, but his amusement didn’t warm his eyes.
“Tell me, Alicia. Do I frighten you?”
“I…” I swallowed. “Should I be frightened?”
He said nothing, but his lips twitched up further. My palms began to sweat, and my breathing quickened. Still, I didn’t move away.
He leaned into me, and my gaze riveted to his mouth. I couldn’t stop staring at the cocky curve of those perfect full lips as they neared mine. He paused a hairsbreadth away.
“That depends on what scares you.” The softly spoken words teased between my parted lips.
He hovered there, mere millimeters separating us. He was so close that my eyes couldn’t focus on him, so I closed them and leaned in incrementally. I wasn’t bold enough to make the first move, but my body couldn’t resist his magnetism.
My eyes snapped open when cool air washed over my face. He had moved away from me, and he let out a low chuckle at my slack-jawed surprise. Embarrassment colored my cheeks. He was toying with me again. For a moment, I considered leaving. Not only was I mortified; I was offended.
I shifted away from him. His hand drifted higher on my thigh before squeezing. No man had ever touched me so close to my sex. Even through my jeans, his gentle grip felt far too intimate. Erotic.
“I asked you a question,” he prompted in a low voice. “Do I frighten you?”
My back straightened and my chin lifted. I didn’t want to play his game. He had me so off-balance, and he seemed all too pleased with himself.
“No,” I lied.
He eyed me critically, and I struggled not to squirm under his scrutiny. “All right, then,” he said after a moment of tense silence. “Have a drink with me.”
“You could ask, you know,” I pointed out. Between my rising irritation with his presumptuous behavior and the disconcerting heat of his hand on my thigh, I was getting snappish. Because I was afraid. I was afraid of how he made me feel, of what he made me want. I had never imagined attraction like this was possible, and it was filling my head with decidedly sinful images of his body moving against mine.
His smirk returned. “I could,” he allowed. I waited, but he didn’t amend his order.
I rolled my eyes. He laughed.
“You’re very cute, myshka.” He told me with satisfaction.
“What does that mean?” He had used the word a few times now, and my Russian was at a beginner level, at best.