The words smashed through her euphoria like a rock through a window.
Seconds later, Clair found herself shoved into the back of his town car, jolted by more than the sudden end to the snapping and snarling of the paparazzi frenzy. Aleksy gave Ivan sharp instructions to return them home as he jerked loose his tie and ran fingers into his hair, then made a call in Russian.
She stared at him, conscience squirming at what was going on in her mind, but she couldn’t help the reaction. That white line on his face seemed too revealing.
Murder?
His cheek ticked. He knew what she was thinking and his face hardened, but she couldn’t help how shaken she was. Adrenaline saturated her blood. She tried to scramble herself together, tried to stop trembling, but she kept asking herself, What kind of man had she attached herself to?
One who bought her a necklace she somehow still had gripped in her tense hands. Also a new laptop, new smart phone, a tablet. Clothes, meals, tickets to shows. There was no end to the generosity he bestowed on her, but he wasn’t really soft and kind. He was hard and angry if she cared to remember their first meeting and—her mind tripped to think of it—capable of murder?
No, her heart cried, but his expression wasn’t that of someone who was incensed at being falsely accused. There was too much resentment. Too much bitter resignation.
“We’ll go to Piter,” he said once they’d made it into the safety of his flat. When she only stared blankly, he clarified, “St. Petersburg. Things will be ugly here for a while.”
Uglier than right now? He was like ancient iron, all pitted darkness with grim angles in his face. Her mind was grappling to process the impossible. One question burned on her tongue: Is it true? Her heart pounded.
“We?” Her lips felt numb.
“You’re not going back to London if that’s what you’re thinking.” Implacable.
She gave a near-hysterical choke that wasn’t anything like a laugh. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.” Her gaze circled wildly, searching for a place to land, glancing off the illusion of a home she’d begun to see in these flawlessly decorated walls.
If she hadn’t been with him outside and heard those shouts, would he have told her the reason they were leaving Moscow? Or would he be selling this sudden trip as a romantic getaway?
Would she have bought in? Was she that naive and desperate for affection?
“Pack for staying in.” Acrid hostility coated each word.
She swallowed, ears ringing. She’d never felt so alone in her life, so aware that her complete disappearance would go unnoticed by the world.
“I need to know what happened, Aleksy.” Her stomach trembled, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she met his forbidding gaze.
“I told you that some people will do anything for money.” A vilified sneer pulled at his lips.
“Like lie?” Please tell me it’s all lies.
He stared at her, his gaze not the hard, sharp, dangerous blade she expected. It was supreme blankness. Bleakness. Flat, unpolished bronze.
“Of course lie, but in this case it was a betrayal of official duty, exposing a truth that should have remained buried.”
His words knocked the wind out of her. She had to consciously force herself to draw a breath. It seared her throat and made her chest ache. Her skin grew clammy and her stomach tied itself into knots. She had one thought. Go.
As she looked past him, gauging her chances, his arm shot out, not touching her, but making clear he wouldn’t let her leave. “You’re coming with me, Clair. Whether you like it or not.”
Everything in her gathered for the fight of her life. Before she could do more than engage his stare in a battle of wills, he ground out, “You have nowhere to hide and they’ll eat you alive. I won’t let that happen. But I won’t touch you either,” he added bitterly.
His statement was another shock, so oddly protective when her head was screaming at her that he was a danger to her. For some reason, her stupid brain stumbled on that I won’t touch you as if it were a trip wire that sent her metaphorically splatting onto her face, pride bruised. She should be relieved, but she just felt rejected. Again.
Words crowded her mouth, but her throat was too thick to voice any of them.
“I have security posted at all the doors to keep the paparazzi out.” He stepped back. “They’ll also keep you in, so you might as well give in. I really don’t need the extra humiliation of carrying you kicking and screaming to the helicopter.”
He walked away to his room, presumably to pack, leaving his words repeating in her head. Extra humiliation. As if she were in a position to injure him. Cause further injury even, because he was already hurting.