There’d been a bounce in my step as I arrived for breakfast.

Only to find Sevastyan was back to his aloof self, barely acknowledging me. While my body had still been feeling the aftereffects of what we’d done, his mind had checked out.

I supposed if he’d thought what we’d done on the plane was bad, then shoving me into a closet to have his way with me must have been awful in his mind. I’d tried to get him alone, endeavored to get him to talk to me. Nothing.

Disappointment had settled over me. During this lull, my disappointment had begun to feel a lot like anger.

I’d lived without Sevastyan for seven nights. I’d conceded defeat. My infatuation had faded.

It had! “Do you need something?” I asked him in a cool voice. Now he was going to pay attention to me?

Though he was dressed like a dream—dark gray slacks and a formfitting black cashmere sweater—he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “You and Kovalev are getting along well,” he remarked in a neutral tone.

“He’s easy to get along with.” Paxán and I had been like two peas in a pod, appreciating the same jokes, enjoying the same books and food.

Growing closer every day.

Sometimes we spoke English, sometimes Russian. In both languages, he was sly and witty, and we often laughed to tears. Being with him was almost opposite to how it’d been with my dad. Though I’d never doubted he loved me and Mom, Bill Porter had been a quiet man. He and I used to work on his tractors, passing the time in companionable silence.

It was just as comfortable with Kovalev, only different.

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Every morning, we played chess in an open-sided pavilion down by the Moskva River. Sevastyan remained in the background, usually on the phone conducting business, body tense, gaze alert for danger.

The security threat—which no one would talk to me about—obviously hadn’t lessened.

Now Sevastyan told me, “You’re easy to get along with as well.”

Was he for real? “And how would you know?”

He hiked his shoulders. “I see you with him.”

Sometimes when Paxán and I would laugh at something, I’d notice Sevastyan regarding us. At first, he’d appeared surprised. Now he would gaze at us with a satisfied look on his face.

Yet at other times I’d catch him surveying me with an expression that was far from satisfied—and it intensified more each day. I felt as if he was awaiting something. From me.

Like a hunter preparing to strike.

Even Filip had commented on it. “When you’re not looking, he watches you like a stalker.”

I’d scoffed, “A stalker would actually give me the time of day if I asked for it.”

Yet something was building in Sevastyan, like a bomb clock ticking a countdown. But a countdown to what?

“Are you settling in?” he asked.

Was he going to query me about the weather next? I stayed him with a hand on his arm. “What’s up with the small talk, Siberian?” I almost got the impression that he was trying—in his taciturn, enforcer-type way—to chat me up. When he peered down at my hand, I released him.

“Do you like it here?” he asked, his voice dropping a notch. “Enough to stay?”

We’d stopped in front of a rain-slicked window. Outside, fall rains drizzled. There hadn’t been a break in the weather since I’d gotten to Berezka. Shadows from the drops coursed over Sevastyan’s face, filling me with the mad urge to kiss each one.

Inner shake. “Why do you and Paxán and Filip get to leave, but I don’t?”

He scrubbed his hand over his chin. “Because if anything happened to you . . . We simply can’t take chances. You’re so eager to leave?”

“Well, I have to admit I was getting stir-crazy whenever Paxán had to work—I’m not used to all this free time.” Or this much energy. I’d been in desperate need of an outlet when Filip had suggested laps in the Olympic-size indoor pool. Every day, we went together. “But Filip has been doing his best to keep me occupied.”

Those muscles on the sides of Sevastyan’s jaw bulged. He took a step closer. As ever, tension brewed between us. I peered up at his eyes, only to find his gaze on my lips.

“I told you to be wary of him.”

“But not why.” Once I’d shut down my manalyzing, I’d grown comfortable with Filip. Unfortunately, I felt nothing more for him than friendship.

Why couldn’t I fall for a guy like him? He said whatever was on his mind, was easygoing, and acted like I hung the moon.

The opposite of Sevastyan.

If I were with Filip, I wouldn’t have felt the just-in-case need to brush up on the finer points of BDSM, studying everything from corporal punishment to orgasm denial to dom/sub rituals.

Sevastyan had talked about obedience and discipline; was he interested in the lifestyle, the equipment, the paraphernalia?

Punishment bars and floggers, handcuffs and canes, nipple clamps and ball gags.

Recalling the way Sevastyan had slapped my ass, I’d watched online videos featuring grown women stretched over men’s laps, spanked like they were wayward creatures in need of correction.

I’d been indignant and outraged!

I’d pictured Sevastyan forcing me across his lap for a similar chastisement; he’d once threatened to do exactly that. And as soon as I’d finished masturbating, I’d been indignant and outraged all over again!

Until I’d masturbated a second time. But that had been before I’d conceded defeat.




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