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  Plenty of time.

  Lauren knocked on the door, content in the knowledge Alena would open it seconds later as they’d discussed.

  The door whipped open far faster than she expected, and she nearly swallowed her tongue to find Dmitry filling the frame with his enormous body. Her gaze roamed up from his thighs to his pecs to his face.

  She winced and took a step back when she met his gaze. His right eye was swollen. Not a shocker. And there was a fresh cut above his brow, held together with two butterfly Band-Aids. Also, not a shocker. Without altering his facial features, however, his gaze told her he was pissed.

  Dmitry grabbed her by the arm and yanked her almost too hard into the room, slamming the door behind her hard enough to make the wall shake. His fingers wrapped all the way around her biceps, startling her at the contact of his warm hand against her cooler arm. He so rarely touched her. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  She swallowed, blinking at the rage she saw in his eyes. Well, eye. She couldn’t count the one that was swollen almost shut. What she hadn’t expected was for him to be home so early—and sober.

  She sucked her lips in between her teeth and jerked her arm free of his clutch. “You’re hurting me.”

  Dmitry jumped, glancing down at his hand as if he’d burned it, or burned her with it. “Shit.” He backed farther from her and ran both hands over his shaved head. His face softened for a second, and then he furrowed his brow and stared at her again.

  Lauren glanced around the great room. Everything looked normal—just like it always did—glass kitchen table with all four chairs pushed in and placemats in their spots, white bar stools lined up along the pass-through to the galley kitchen, black leather sofa and matching arm chairs with the glass coffee table perfectly between them. Yep, everything in its place. The only thing out of whack was the atmosphere. Ominous. Foreboding.

  Mikhail stood in the adjoining kitchen leaning against the island, a beer in his hand. He was never as stoic as Dmitry, but tonight he appeared to have a similar level of aggravation.

  “Where’s Alena?” Lauren asked.

  “In her room.” Mikhail righted himself, uncrossed his legs, and turned toward the hallway. Seconds later he disappeared into Alena’s room and shut the door.

  Great.

  Sure, leave Dmitry to deal with the naughty girl who dared to leave the apartment.

  Several seconds ticked by that seemed longer before Dmitry pointed at the couch. “Sit.”

  Lauren narrowed her eyes. “Stop ordering me around. I’m not a fucking puppy, nor am I a doormat.” She stomped to the kitchen, dropping her shoes next to the couch on the way.

  Suddenly her denim skirt seemed much shorter, her blouse too tight. She jerked open a cabinet and grabbed a glass. As she filled it with tap water, she considered what to say next.

  Finally, she spun. “I’m moving out.” Her hand shook, sloshing the water she hadn’t take even one sip of.

  Dmitry gasped. “Like hell you are.”

  She rolled her eyes this time. “Are you saying I’m a prisoner here?”

  “Of course not. But it’s not safe for you to be seen. You know that. It’s not negotiable.” He was so infuriating. He stomped toward her, his hands balled into fists. “Go take that ridiculous outfit off and put on something less slutty so I can talk to you.”

  Her blood boiled. She couldn’t stop herself. She yanked the glass of water upward and doused his face with it. “Fuck you, Dmitry. Go to hell.” Instead of giving him the satisfaction of following his instructions, she slammed the empty glass down on the counter, rounded to a chair in the living room, and plopped her ass down, letting the skirt ride even higher. She knew if she separated her legs, she would give him an eyeful. She crossed her arms under her chest, pushing her breasts up higher to annoy him further.

  She’d endured what seemed like a lifetime of scrutiny by the man currently staring at her with his jaw hanging open in shock over her defiance. It was a wonder she still had enough self-esteem to don this outfit and enter the bar tonight to beg for a job.

  Dmitry wiped the water off his face with one hand, rounded the couch, and eased himself gingerly onto the corner. He tapped the arm with his left hand and took several deep breaths. “Where were you?”

  “I got a job.”

  “Where?” He gripped the arm of the couch so tight his knuckles turned white.

  “At a bar. Not far from here.” She lifted her chin rebelliously.

  “You’re not moving out. Nor are you working in some bar in the fucking seediest section of Chicago like some whore.”

  Lauren gasped. He’d stooped to a new low. “Just because I made one fucking mistake in judgment and allowed myself to be lured into the trap of some Russian warlord does not make me a whore. Stuff it up your ass, Dmitry. What the fuck do you care? You clearly can’t stand to be in my presence. I’m a fucking impediment to your life. I’m costing you money you don’t have. You sleep on the fucking couch, for God’s sake. I would think you’d be glad to get rid of me. At least you won’t have to tiptoe around the apartment anymore cringing every time you get near me like I have leprosy.

  “It’s your lucky day. I got a job. I’m moving out. You can have the bedroom and one less mouth to feed.”

  His face turned beet red. “Is that how you see me?”

  She flinched. “How the fuck else am I supposed to see you, Dmitry? You stopped speaking to me months ago. I have no clue why you bothered to risk your life for mine in the first place if I’m so goddamn ugly you can’t stand to look at me.”

  His eyes went wide, his mouth falling open. It took him a moment to close his lips, lick them, and then speak. “Lauren, is that what you think? That you’re not attractive?”

  She shook her head vehemently. He wasn’t hearing her. “Not at all. Lucky for me I have a shred of self-esteem left over that you haven’t managed to smash into the mud and kill. Lucky for me, I remember that just six months ago men drooled over me when I walked by. Lucky for me, I’ve been told many times in my life that my legs were long and lean and sexy, my waist the perfect width for a man to wrap his hands around.”

  She leaned forward. “Most men like my breasts. I realize they’re large, but American guys are into that sort of thing. They also like long, thick hair. I have some of that too, not that you would have noticed. You haven’t looked at me for so long, I’ve forgotten the color of your eyes.” That was a lie, but he didn’t need to know. His dark brown eyes had sucked her into their depths more times than she could count.

  Dmitry winced further, not dropping her gaze for the first time in as long as she could remember.

  Brown eyes. Dark brown. Well, the one not swollen shut was brown.

  “So, no. I’m not the least bit concerned about my looks. In fact, the owner of the place I interviewed hired me on the spot. At least a dozen men drooled when I walked into the bar and marched with my head held high to the back. It’s you who has a problem. Not me.

  “And hey, like I said, it’s your lucky day. I’m out of here.” She stood, smoothed her skirt with the last shred of calm she could muster, and headed across the room. As she stepped into the hall, she grabbed the corner of the wall and turned back around. “I would ask that you give me a few weeks to pull together enough money for a down payment if it’s not too much of an imposition. And then you never have to see me again.”

  Chapter Three

  Dmitry stared at the empty hall for so long without blinking his eyes burned.

  Holy mother of God.

  He’d been steamrolled by the finest female on earth, and he’d allowed her to walk away from him believing all the shit she’d spouted.

  On his behalf, he was still searching in his head for one last brain cell.

  Finally, he blinked and blew out a breath. He had no choice but to face her. And it couldn’t wait until morning.

  As if he weighed two thousand pounds, he hauled himself off the couch and padded down the hallway to t
he first door on the right. His brain was still not working properly, because he opened Lauren’s door without knocking, his only thought centered on setting her straight.

  Apparently, he had approached quietly enough down the hall, and the door hadn’t made a single squeak as it opened, because Lauren didn’t turn around to face him until he sucked in a sharp breath.

  When she whirled his direction, she was even more furious than before. “What the fuck, Dmitry?” She covered her beautiful naked tits with one forearm as she grabbed for the T-shirt lying on the bed with her other hand. She wasn’t quick enough, however. He didn’t miss a thing.

  Dmitry’s mouth went completely dry. For more than six months he’d fantasized about Lauren’s naked body. And now that she stood before him trying futilely to cover herself, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton bikini briefs he remembered purchasing, he was stunned.

  Jesus, mercy. She was so much hotter in person than in his dreams.

  She pointed at the door. “Get the fuck out, Dmitry.”

  Instead, he shut it with a snick behind him and forced his legs to cross the room. Or perhaps if he was honest with himself, he would concede that his legs made their way across the room with no effort on his part. They traveled as though lured in a state of temporary hypnosis. Nothing could erase what he saw. And he also couldn’t live another second without seeing more.

  Lauren’s eyes were wide, but she said nothing else as he stepped into her space and reached out slowly to pinch a corner of the T-shirt with his fingers. With the same languid movement, he eased the cotton material out of her grasp and tossed it onto the bed behind him.

  She dropped her arms to her sides and straightened her back as if challenging him. Or perhaps simply to hold her ground.

  She shuddered. Her nipples strained forward, the areolas darkening as he watched. Her tits rose and fell a few times as she breathed heavily enough he could hear her.

  His cock had never been so hard. He licked his lips as he reached for her biceps and stroked his fingertips down her arms until he held her hands and pulled them farther away from her body. “You’re wrong, Lauren.” His voice sounded like someone else’s, raspy, deeper, gravelly.

  Shit. She had him under a spell. It wasn’t a surprise. He’d been living on borrowed time since the day he took her from that cabin outside Vegas. Sooner, actually. If he were honest, he’d have to admit, at least to himself, he fell in love with her weeks before that day.

  “You’re exquisite. The sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” He stepped closer, released one hand, and lifted his palm to cup her breast.

  Lauren gasped at the contact, but instead of stepping away from his touch, she arched into his hand.

  He groaned.

  “Why?” Her voice was so small, he almost didn’t hear her.

  Finally, he flicked his thumb over her nipple, loving the way she responded to him, and forced himself to lower his hand before he lost all control. He was like a teenage boy, probably even drooling. And with good reason. He’d been celibate as long as she had. His cock was in such a state of denial, it pressed against his jeans, pleading for release from its prison.

  He’d had plenty of opportunity to fuck anyone he wanted over the months, but he wanted Lauren, not some piece of ass in a bar. No one compared to her. And so he’d lived with the self-imposed denial.

  “Why, Dmitry?” she repeated.

  He met her gaze. He owed her this. “Because you were hurting. The last thing you needed was another Russian asshole trying to get in your pants.”

  “What if that was what I wanted? Did you ever stop to consider that?”

  He shook his head briskly. “Didn’t matter. It wasn’t the right time. There was no way in hell either of us could have known what was real if I’d taken advantage of you when we first arrived here. I didn’t rescue you so I could fuck you, Lauren. I did it so you could have a chance at life.

  “You were abused—emotionally, sexually, and physically.” He winced, hating saying those words out loud. But they were true.

  “It wasn’t quite as bad as you make it out to be,” she muttered, another shiver rushing down her body. She stepped back, tugging on the hand he still held.

  “Don’t.”

  She stopped, sucking in a deep breath.

  “Please,” he added. “Let me look. I’ve waited so long to see you.”

  “You made me feel like the least desirable woman on the planet.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry. It was my method of self-preservation. I told myself if I managed to keep you completely covered in baggy clothes and gave you very little makeup or hair accessories, you would somehow be less attractive to me, and I could manage to occupy the same air you breathed without slamming you into a wall and fucking you.”

  She shuddered.

  He glanced at her tits. They rose, the nipples puckering more. “Jesus, you’re gorgeous. I mean make-a-man-come-in-his-pants sexy.” He saw nothing in the room besides Lauren. He knew this room, but he rarely entered it. For one thing, it smelled too much like her to keep from groaning whenever he entered. She had picked out the bedding and furniture from catalogs and either ordered them online or he picked them up for her—light wood dresser, bedside table, and headboard, with a deep purple comforter and sheets. It suited her.

  She suited him.

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes as he lifted his gaze again. “That’s laying it on a bit thick, even for you.”

  “Nope. It’s simply a fact. One I’ve always known and obviously successfully kept to myself.” He forced a smile to lighten the mood.

  “You called me a slut and a whore, Dmitry. Two minutes ago in the living room.”

  “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m perfectly aware you are neither.”

  “That stings. You can’t take back words.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He moved his hands to her hips and tugged her against his front, groaning when his cock pressed into her belly, even through the denim barrier. He moved one hand to her lower back and held her tight as he buried his face in her glorious hair and inhaled the floral scent of the girly shampoo he personally bought her. He loved the scent on her, and once he’d found it, he’d continued to purchase the same brand.

  It was silly. But he didn’t care. There were few things he permitted himself to do for her, but that was one. It tortured him, but he lived with it as though it was a token gesture in an otherwise fucked-up world.

  “I can smell your arousal,” he whispered against her ear.

  She shuddered again in his arms, small, almost negligible sounds coming from her mouth.

  Dmitry smoothed his hand over her fine ass and squeezed. “Tell me to stop, Lauren, and I’ll leave this room right now.”

  She didn’t move.

  He released her entirely and forced himself to step back to meet her gaze and give her an inch of space. “Look at me, Lauren.”

  Lauren lifted her face to his.

  “When I’m with you, I can’t breathe. You suck the oxygen out of the entire apartment.”

  “You never come to the apartment,” she mumbled.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I see.” She nibbled on her lower lip.

  “Do you? Do you understand how badly I’ve wanted you, for so long my head is clouded?”

  She only blinked. Her eyes were watery, though. He thought she might cry, and he hoped it was out of relief instead of pain.

  “I’ve worked my ass off day and night, partially in an effort to wear myself out so I could sleep at least a few hours before I bolted awake in a sweat, knowing you were so close and unable to have you.”

  He gripped her chin with his fingers when it seemed she would lower her face again. “I’ve never felt half what I feel for you for another human being. You keep me going every day. Knowing you’re here, safe, protected, fed, clothed… Hell, that’s all I need. If that’s all I ever get, I’ll die happy.”

  “Clothed?” She lifted an
eyebrow, a smirk changing her face from serious to something far brighter that he had never seen. His own fault.

  He shrugged. “Your body could tempt a blind man, baby. I was trying to be a gentleman the only way I knew how.”

  “Well, stop it. That’s not me. I’m not a slut. And I’m not a whore. And don’t you ever fucking insinuate otherwise again, or I will kick your ass to the curb so fast you’ll think you’ve been in the harshest fight of your life. I like to feel sexy, Dmitry. I want to own nice things. You’re smothering me.”

  He nodded. “I’ll buy you nicer things.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want you to buy me anything. I’m perfectly capable of earning a living and buying my own shit.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t still be serious about working at a bar.”

  “Perfectly serious.” She straightened her spine again, standing taller.

  He was amazed by the self-confidence that allowed her to stand before him having this serious conversation, wearing nothing but a pair of ridiculously unattractive panties. Also his doing.

  “Not gonna happen. First of all, it’s not safe—”

  “That’s absurd,” she interrupted. “There’s no way some Russian asshole rotting in jail is still commanding the resources to hunt down a piece of ass who jilted him six months ago.”

  “Baby, you so do not understand how the Russian mafia works. Even from behind bars, that man can get anything he wants.” He couldn’t be sure if Yenin’s men were actively hunting her, but what he knew was if they found her—especially with him—she was as good as dead. And so was he. He had ears in Vegas—hell, Abram did too—and there had been no mention Grigory, Anton, or anyone else realized it was Dmitry who took Lauren from the cabin.

  Boris and Erik had fucked up royally when they lost Lauren. Were they searching for her even now? Possibly. He prayed they assumed she was dead, but they would be idiots to believe it without a body. In any case, Dmitry wasn’t willing to take the chance.

  He shuddered to think what Yenin would do if he found out Dmitry stole his woman right out of his hands. In over a decade of living under Yenin’s thumb, Dmitry had never once outwardly crossed the man. He’d toed the line and done what he needed to survive.