I'd been in no mood for humor. "He wasn't here when I woke, and he left no word. Jess, why would he pull a nail-and-bail?"
"He's probably out racking his brain for his next play. One-upping Cirque du Cock won't be an easy feat."
After we'd hung up, I'd attempted to distract myself by watching the camera feeds, but it'd been no use. Here I was pacing again, marching from wall to wall across the plush carpet.
I'd paced more since I'd met Sevastyan than in all the years before him.
Each minute that he remained absent, my mood continued to plummet. Not going to call . . .
Pride--mingled with anger--gave me the strength to toss the phone on the bed.
Still freezing and achy, I took a steaming shower, then headed to the walk-in closet. Skirts and delicate blouses, heels and hose. If he'd reordered items from my vast wardrobe at Berezka, he must have cherry-picked these clothes.
I scowled at his selections. Sometimes I just wanted to veg out in sweats and a pizza-stained T-shirt. Sometimes I would prefer to wear jeans and clunky boots while trapped in my gilded cage.
When kink-hungover, I didn't automatically reach for a gauzy teddy. . . .
The sun was setting by the time Sevastyan returned. The first thing I noticed--his gaze was shuttered.
"Where were you?" I sounded remarkably calm, considering the fact that I wanted to bum-rush him with waif-fu.
"Meetings." He wasn't cold, but there was a marked difference between the dream lover of last night and the detached man standing in front of me now.
"So how was your day?" (Dear.)
"It was fine."
I stared at him with bewilderment. "Mine was fine too. Dandy really." This was how he was going to treat me after all we'd shared? How naive I'd been; just because we'd overcome our sexual hurdles didn't mean we could overcome our emotional ones too.
"Good." He turned away, removing his jacket and holster.
I got the sense that he was trying to distance himself. And if I were paranoid, I would even have said that he was . . . uneasy around me.
After we'd gotten on the same page at last? That couldn't be right. Forcing a laugh, I said, "Have you been avoiding me today?"
"No," he answered, but he was twirling that ring.
Chapter 38
"You're quiet," Sevastyan remarked.
"Just thinking." I stared out the limo window as we navigated the streets of Paris, passing lines of flickering gas lamps and chestnut trees. He'd said he had a surprise for me tonight, some unspecified destination.
It'd been four days since the club, and while Sevastyan and I had continued to make progress in bed, we'd been stymied in other areas. Namely: every single one.
We'd crested that night, and now seemed to be bottoming out.
"You're pensive." He drummed his tattooed fingers on the armrest. "I've never seen you so."
"Guess I have a lot on my mind." Misgivings. They were flooding in.
There was no denying it any longer--Sevastyan was avoiding me during the days.
Which was so different from the nights, when he would spoil me with pleasure, commanding me, guiding each interlude. Again and again, he'd demonstrated that our kinks were breathlessly well matched.
As promised, he'd had a collection of tools and gear delivered. It came stored in a sizable wardrobe--basically a BDSM closet. Though he hadn't broken out any hard-core gear yet--true to his word to take things more slowly--he had used different toys on me.
He seemed fascinated by my orgasms: how quickly he could force one from me, how long he could deny me, until I was pleading for permission.
At night, he was perfection. But during the day, if he was around, he was quiet and closed off. Which sucked in more than one way. Sevastyan was pressing for more sexual vulnerability from me, an ever deeper surrender, which left me raw the next day--just in time for him to be an ass.
Like catching a fly ball--with my face.
He drummed his fingers again. That drum drum drum was grating on my nerves. The night of the club, we'd meshed seamlessly. Now friction chafed between us.
"Tell me what you're thinking about," he said.
Oh, that was rich. "No hint of where we're going?" I asked, deflecting, letting him know how it felt.
"I meant this as a surprise."
Another sex club? Not really in the mood, Sevastyan. Yet I had to admit he'd put my curiosity on a slow boil. "For someone who hates surprises, you like delivering them well enough."
"Would you rather have stayed in? It is getting late."
My emotions were in such tumult that I might've balked at going with him, except for two things: I was desperate to get out of the house. And earlier, he'd acted differently with me.
When he'd returned from his meeting, he'd taken me in his arms without a word and held me like I was the only thing keeping him afloat. Like he was crossing a finish line to reach me.
It was so confusing!
He exhaled a long breath. "Sometimes you're an utter mystery to me." If he kept drumming his fingers, I was going to snap them like dry kindling.
"You're one to talk. Besides, I tell you everything that's on my mind."
"Not tonight."
"Maybe not," I conceded.
"I asked you to tell me what you needed. You agreed to."
Where to start? "You really want to do this?"
"Yes."
Here goes . . . "When you bailed the day after the club, I would've expected you to leave a note or a text. To reassure me."
"Of what? There can be no doubt of how I felt after that night."
"It would've been nice to receive any acknowledgment."
Drum drum drum. "Very well. And . . . ?"
"I want to know where you go every day."
"I have business concerns that I'm able to address from here."
"Syndicate business with that Maksim guy?" I asked. When he nodded, I said, "I know he gave you information about Berezka. I know you talk to him as much as I do Jess. Who is he to you?"
"Nothing more than a temporary ally. He's assisting me with work obstacles I've run into."
Again, I got the impression that Sevastyan was shielding me. Plausible deniability?
"What else is bothering you?" Drum drum.
"I can't stay cooped up and alone in the town house any more."
"Which is one of the reasons I'm taking you out tonight."
I glared. "How much longer will we stay here? I'm used to being around people, talking and laughing. I'm used to having goals and working toward them. I need an end date; this indefinite shit doesn't work for me."
"We'll return to Russia at the beginning of next week. Things will be different there, Natalie."
Why did I have the sinking suspicion that I'd be hearing that line a lot? "How?"
"You'll meet new friends. Your days will be full, and I'll feel more confident in your safety. For now, I need you to be patient."
I inwardly grumbled. I supposed I could make it another couple of days. . . .
When the limo slowed, I asked, "Are we there?" My voice sounded ridiculously expectant; curiosity killed the Nat.
Sevastyan drew a silk cloth from his jacket pocket. "As I said, it's a surprise."
"Fine." I let him blindfold me. Once we'd parked, he helped me outside into the blustery night.
As he guided me up a flight of concrete stairs, I asked, "Oh, so we're going aboveground this time?" Snark.
"I wouldn't get used to it," he snarked back.
We crossed a threshold into a warm interior. Aside from the echo of my heels, it was quiet inside.
When he removed my blindfold, I blinked my eyes, adjusting to the soaring area. Recognition hit, and I twirled in place.
We were in the Musee d'Orsay! I'd read all about this museum in my tourist guide, had seen pictures. It was a renovated train station housing galleries of famous French impressionists and other artists of the period.
Van Gogh's Starry Night over the Rho
ne, my favorite of them all, was . . . here. It blew my mind that I'd soon be viewing it in person.
I glanced around, saw not another soul. The lights were dimmed.
This was just for us? My irritation from before dissipated to a whisper, and I felt guilty for my impulse to snap his fingers.