I tilted my head. "That you think I won't be deciding who gets to be in my future."
Shoulders bunched with tension, he slammed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 10
"My alarm!" I shot upright in bed, knowing I was late for work, wondering why the hell my clock hadn't gone off. "Late!"
Rubbing my eyes, I gradually comprehended that I was on a plane, that all the events of last night weren't a dream.
What had happened in this bed wasn't a dream.
I turned toward the door, found Sevastyan hanging up garment bags, a suitcase at his feet. "Relax, Natalie. You no longer have those worries."
Whereas I was naked, wearing nothing but a sheet over my lap and my wildly curling hair over my breasts, he was clad in an immaculate three-piece gray suit and a long coat. It fit his broad shoulders flawlessly.
I blurted out, "You look incredible." Like a billion bucks, like the dream man who'd rocked my world. No, he'd knocked it off its axis. It was as if I'd thought pleasure was only rated on a scale of one to ten, and then this guy had seductively whispered, "Didn't you know? The upper end is infinity."
And then this guy, let's just call him Sevastyan, had demonstrated. Surely that deserved an encore?
At my compliment, his high cheekbones grew tinged with color, but he said nothing.
Roll with it, Nat. "Hey, we've landed? I can't believe I slept through it." I frowned to see that the curtains were closed.
Had he come back in here after I'd fallen asleep again and drawn them for me? Awww.
"How much did I miss?" I'd slept like the dead--how long had I been out, anyway?--and now felt rested for the first time in weeks. A quick inventory of my body told me I was sore, but in all the right places.
"It's overcast, so you wouldn't have seen much."
When I leaned over to peek out the window, he glanced away sharply.
Outside, the skies were gray, the airport of no particular note. A limo was parked, cool and indifferent, on the tarmac near the jet. It looked like a car the British monarchy might favor.
"There are clothes here for you," Sevastyan said. "Everything should fit."
I gave him a saccharine smile. "Because you broke into my house and took down my sizes?"
He narrowed his eyes. "And then I personally confirmed your measurements." With that, he left me.
Oh, did you ever, I thought as I dashed into the shower. Minutes later, I returned to find steaming coffee and warm pastries left for me. I sipped the coffee . . . loaded with sugar and soy milk. Just as I took it, which he would know because he'd invaded my privacy.
Ignoring my irritation, I tore into the garment bags and suitcase. Jess would've had a clothesgasm over the selections. Even I appreciated the designer sweaters and slacks, the boots of soft, soft leather.
And the lingerie? The stylish bras and panties weren't overtly sexual--despite their see-through lace and coy ribbons--but farm girls in Nebraska just didn't wear stuff like this.
I wasn't in Nebraska.
So I shuffled through the undergarments, donning a matching pair in peach silk. I pulled on a form-fitting jade-green sweater of the finest cashmere I'd ever felt and a pair of black ponte pants. Normally I would've balked at the clinging material, but the sweater hit me almost at midthigh, so I wouldn't be flaunting anything. Flirty ankle boots molded to my feet, completing the outfit.
I checked myself in the mirror, surprised by the color in my cheeks. My eyes looked clear, the green more vivid. I appeared . . . well-loved.
Almost dewy-eyed.
If one session with Sevastyan affected me like this, I couldn't imagine what sex with him would do to me. One way to find out.
I packed the remaining clothes, then awkwardly rolled/carried the suitcase from the suite. If I'd expected Sevastyan to compliment me on my outfit, I was mistaken.
"You don't carry bags." Once I'd dropped the suitcase like it was hot, he squired me to the exit.
At the head of the plane's stairs, I paused to inhale a deep breath, wanting to smell the country; all I smelled was jet fuel, and it was freezing here.
Anticipating my needs, Sevastyan said, "Here, I have a coat for you."
Fur, full-length. Decadent sable. "Oh, I don't do fur," I said firmly, even as I petted the silky expanse.
"In Russia, you do." I was opening my mouth to argue when he said, "It was your grandmother's. It's been altered for you."
My grandmother had worn this? Argument quashed. I slipped it on, not even surprised that it fit perfectly. As we descended the stairs, warmth enveloped me. "Why would Kovalev give me something like this?" He didn't even know me.
"Who else should this coat go to, if not the owner's only granddaughter?"
When he put it like that . . .
Down on the ground, a nondescript driver opened a door for me, but Sevastyan was the one who assisted me into the backseat.
Inside, a privacy screen separated us from the front. The tinted windows were so thick, I figured they had to be bulletproof. Sevastyan sat across from me--as far away as possible. As we pulled out of the airport, he refused to look at me, just kept his gaze focused out the window.
"So where is Kovalev's place?"
"Outside of the city, on the Moskva River. Around an hour away."
We were going to be trapped in this car together for an hour? With him in that mouthwatering GQ suit?
When we turned onto a larger road, I pried my gaze from him, longing to experience this new country. I glued my forehead to the window to see the sights, but all we passed were warehouses that could've just as easily been in America. Only the Cyrillic lettering differentiated them. "Will we drive through Moscow?"
"Not today."
"I'm not going to see the city?"
"Nyet, Natalie." Hard no.
In a defeated tone, I said, "Not a single onion dome?" I'd always loved viewing pictures of those quintessential Russian domes, so brightly colored and bold--even before I'd seen the two tattooed on his bicep.
"Perhaps you will," he said in an enigmatic tone.
Silence reigned; industrial parks dominated for mile after mile. The ride was a special kind of hell. "It's warm. Can I crack the window?"
"Out of the question," he snapped.
I crossed my arms over my chest. If I'd had a flower in hand, I would have plucked its petals: he wants me; he wants me not. Last night I'd been convinced he desired more with me. Today, not so much. "I want to talk to you about what happened on the plane."
With a glance at the privacy screen, he lowered his voice to say, "We agreed to put that behind us." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"No, we did not agree. You suggested it, and I vetoed. Besides, you're still thinking about it too."
"Why would you believe that?" he asked, his voice husky.
"Because you've been shifting in your seat, and you've kept your coat buttoned in this warm car. I'll bet you're hard behind that material."
He didn't deny it.
"You've got to be thinking about it, because I can't stop."
"Try," he said dismissively, turning away from me once more.
"It's difficult when my every movement reminds me of what we did." Because of this delicious, secret soreness. I admitted, "My ass feels like I've been horseback riding for the last two days." And I wouldn't trade the experience, or the twinges, for the world.
Gazing out the window, he languidly curled his lips, his expression the epitome of masculine satisfaction.
Oh, that breathtaking grin. Heart. Beat. Skipped. Was that manly pride on display because I was still feeling his corrections? His face was always so unreadable; he must truly relish what he'd done to me.
If he felt a fraction of the attraction that I did for him, then how was he denying himself a repeat? Maybe he routinely experienced that kind of pleasure with others. The idea made me seethe. "I guess you do things like that all the time with tons of different women? I suppose I'm one of many."
"You're
not like the women I've been with."
He'd said as much to me last night. Day and night. "How so?"
Nothing.
"Tell me."
He shrugged. End of discussion.
Fine. "I need to talk to you about logistics. Now that we've sorted out my clothing selection--"
"It's not sorted. That was merely to get you through the day. An extensive new wardrobe will be provided for you."
When he said things like that, I wished I was more interested in fashion. And, well, money.
"Am I going to get a phone? I need to call my professors."
"I've e-mailed all of them, explaining that you had a family emergency and must travel. Duration unknown."
"You wouldn't!"
He raised his black brows. Wouldn't I?
He'd basically unenrolled me. Even though I'd already planned to arrange for incompletes, this high-handedness rankled.
"You've always been responsible with your department," he pointed out. "It would be unusual for you to disappear without a word."
"They won't buy it."
"They will when the e-mail came from your address."
"That's what you were doing while I was in the bath! I heard you come in earlier last night."