Honestly, his being mean again makes it easier.
We were getting too close. Heartbreakingly close. I could really fall for this guy.
Who am I kidding? I have fallen for him. And as much as I love how comfortable we are together—this friendship thing—I want the full package. And I’ve been clinging to the hope that with a little patience, he’ll realize he wants it, too.
But the closer we get, the more melancholy it seems to make him. His fingers are always on that little ring— twisting it around his pinky with an ocean of pain in his eyes.
“Where have you been?” He appears in the doorway to my room now. I didn’t hear him come up the stairs.
“I was right outside on the deck. What’s up?”
He hands me my phone. “You need to call Alex.”
“What?”
Anger radiates from Dima, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what his problem could be.
He makes an impatient motion with his hand through the air. “You need to make date with him.” His accent is thicker with his irritation.
“No.” I don’t really know what I did wrong here, but I’m not going to let him push me around. My emotions are too raw from a week of the Dima rollercoaster.
“Ravil’s orders.” His lips screw together in a grim line.
Ah. It dawns on me why he’s mad. He’s just the messenger. And he doesn’t like the message. He may not want a relationship with me, but that doesn’t mean he wants me going out with Alex.
Well, he doesn’t need to worry. I’m not dating Alex—ever again. Even if he hadn’t shot Nikolai, I won’t forgive him for making a fool out of me.
“No.” I make my voice even but firm. “I’m not going out with Alex.”
“Natasha.” Dima takes a warning step toward me. There’s a predatory threat to his movement that unfortunately turns me on.
The energy of our explosive punishment-and-reward play rekindles, sending a bold spike of heat straight to my core.
Dima catches my wrist. “Sorry, amerikanka. I don’t like it, either. Not one bit. But it’s not up to you or me. We need to know more about Alex’s motivation and target, and he offered to get together with you to explain. So now you have to go.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have to.” I’m feeling stubborn. More importantly, I’m testing boundaries here. Dima doesn’t want me to go, either. Will he really push me into this?
Dima’s brows dip. He tightens his hold on my wrist, walking me backward until my butt hits the wall. “You do, Natasha. It’s not up for discussion.”
“You can’t make me,” I dare. I shouldn’t push, but I crave his touch again. Relish the moments when he’s caved to his desires for me.
It doesn’t work. Instead of goading him, Dima appears genuinely troubled.
I regret pushing him until he counters with, “I can make you do anything.”
My nipples harden to tight points. Please?
“Natasha, I don’t want to threaten you.” I can hear the honesty in Dima’s words, almost like it makes him sick to think of putting the pressure on me.
Which must mean he’s refusing to engage sexually, the way he “handled” me before.
Disappointment churns in my stomach.
Maybe it really is all over.
I didn’t want to accept the friendship thing. I kept thinking he’d see that we have something together and realize that choosing a living, breathing woman is better than hanging onto a ghost.
But apparently, I was wrong.
“Why are you doing this?” He’s practically pleading for my cooperation. That’s how much he doesn’t want to take me in hand. “This isn’t you.”
He’s right, of course. I’m agreeable, sweet Natasha who does what’s expected of her to keep the peace above all else. Always seeking acceptance and approval.
“I like it when you’re mad,” I tell him. It’s my last-ditch effort to get somewhere with him.
It works. His eyes darken, brows shoot to his hairline. The air between us charges, and I sense every ounce of the friendship we were cultivating drain. We’re back to something else. Opponents in a sex war.
The one where blood is drawn at the same time satisfaction is delivered.
He rips my shirt off over my head in a single, swift motion. Punishment is on.
Tingles race down my arms as he takes in my black lace bra.
“Is that right?”
I press myself against the wall, not that I’m scared. Well, I’m a little scared. Thrilled is more like it. I give him a nod.
“You want me to put you on your hands and knees and spank that ass red?” He turns me around, facing away from him, and unhooks the bra, pushing the straps down my arms until it falls to the floor. He cups both my breasts, pinching my nipples hard. “Pull down your shorts.” His voice is rusty.
I unbutton my jean shorts, and they drop to the floor, too. My panties match the bra—black lace.