over his shoulders and into his hair. He groaned and grasped my waist, pulling me against the cool bars.
Ivan’s fingers exuded warmth as they traveled down my body to my ass, but the contact didn’t ignite. The embrace was an ember in a breeze, unable to go up in flames without gasoline.
He tilted my head with the other hand to deepen the kiss, and I tasted a familiar hint of cinnamon. They chewed the same type of gum. They had history. The animosity between them was personal. I wondered how well they knew each other; if they’d shared each other’s secrets on the streets of Moscow or in a cell much like this one.
When he pulled away, my breath was soft and stable, the pressure of his mouth fading to nothing but memory. Loyalty told me this was where I belonged—in the embrace of a man I’d shared so much with—but my soul begged for something else; for a fire that lit without fuel; for Versace, tanzanite, and hands that stole my breath. My body was underwhelmed, though inside, everything was crashing down.
If I could long for the devil, it meant I had some darkness in me too.
oenomel
(n.) something combining strength with sweetness
I should be questioning my life choices, searching for a key to Ivan’s cell, or doing anything remotely constructive. Instead, I sat in the drawing room and watched the sun sink below the horizon with the Bible on my lap. The book was in Russian and was therefore incomprehensible, but the words didn’t matter. It was the divine support I needed—similar to a crucifix or a garlic necklace.
Je hais Madame Richie. Tu hais Madame Richie. Nous haïssons Madame Richie. I was beginning to hate the fortune-teller more each day. I put all the blame on her for setting something in motion I couldn’t stop. I would take credit for my stupidity, but she needed to fess up to the spell she’d put on me to enjoy asphyxiation and the touch of darkness. Lack of college education notwithstanding, I knew nobody in their right mind longed for less oxygen.
The front door shut quietly, but it may as well have been slammed, the soft click sending an edgy vibration to the tips of my fingers. It couldn’t be any clearer who just came inside if a marching band preceded him. The energy he carried in rivaled the insidious screech in horror films as a glinting knife stabbed at its victim.
Ronan must have had a bad day at work.
Stomach clenching, I picked up the book, opened it to a random page, and pretended to devoutly read. My back was to the doorway, but I didn’t need to see it to know he’d silently entered the room. His presence settled over me like a blanket of slithering vipers: black, smooth, and threatening to bite.
I wondered if Moscow ran out of virgins to steal. I didn’t count given I was already stolen. And a slut at heart.
Jokes aside, I was a little concerned for my welfare at this point.
I felt Ronan move to the couch opposite me and take a seat. It was a battle to keep my gaze on the illegible Cyrillic letters, but I wasn’t prepared to acknowledge him yet. Disregarding the humiliation of this morning that raised a shameful flush to my skin, the suffocating tension he emanated was about as comfortable as jumping into a fire.
I realized he must know I went into his precious dungeon, and he was not happy about it. Yulia probably saw me at it with the eyes on the back of her head.
If Ronan didn’t want me in the basement, he should have put a lock on the door.
Chink . . . click. The sound broke the silence and squeezed the pulse point in my throat. My mind was a mess trying to decipher the product of the noise, but I forced myself to nonchalantly flip a page.
Ronan knew I couldn’t read Russian, yet he had nothing to say about the ridiculous, treasonable book in my hands. The room remained silent except for the incessant noise that frayed the edges of my nerves.
Chink . . . click.
I imagined this was worse than Chinese water torture. I suddenly knew he would continue whatever game this was for hours and that I would die in one. I gave in, flicked my gaze to him, and asked, “Do you need something?”
Elbows braced on his knees, his eyes held steady on a Zippo lighter in his hand, which