myself. Once they find out what you’re doing to Tatiana, they won’t be so happy to let you in.
When I reached the library, I spotted a form hunched over a desk near the back. Beneath the dusty light, Roman sat, leaning on a hand and scowling at the open book in front of him. Babushka laid on her back beside him, napping in a spot of sun.
He swore suddenly in Russian, the sound disrupting my usually quiet library.
“What are you doing?”
Roman snapped his head to me. His deep blue eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what you’re doing here,” I remarked. “I thought my question made that pretty obvious.”
He bared his teeth. “This is my home.”
“The library or that table in particular?” Rationally, I knew Roman was dangerous—Konstantin wouldn’t keep him so close if he wasn’t. But I couldn’t help but pluck and pick at his vulnerable flesh and nerves.
In response, Roman rose to his feet, fists clenching and unclenching. “Piss off,” he snapped. “I don’t have time for your bullshit.”
I moved closer to him, eyeing the book.
He covered the pages with a tattooed hand. But it was too late, I had taken in enough of the contents to decipher what he was reading about.
“I didn’t know you were a sucker for bodice rippers, Roman,” I grinned. Oh, this was good. This was too good.
“I’m not,” he growled, expression fierce in embarrassment and anger.
I couldn’t help my smirk. “Do you even know how to read it?”
“Don’t need to know how to,” Roman mocked. “I can actually get good sex. Unlike your ass.”
“I’m not the one reading bodice rippers,” I muttered, my temper rising with his comment. “And how could you possibly know I’m not having good sex?”
He grinned. “So, you finally gave in to Kostya? Dmitri owes me 20 bucks.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I am not having sex with Konstantin.” I’m thinking about it.
Roman didn’t need to know that.
His eyebrows rose. “Then you ain’t having sex.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” He slumped back down into his chair, eyes bright with smugness. “No one would dare touch you. Kostya would kill them.”
“Oh, please, give me a break,” I muttered. “How did my sex life come up? You’re the one reading about it.” I leaned over, catching a sentence. “His pulsing member filled her—”
Roman slammed the book close.
I smirked. “I hope you’re not using that book as a guide for Danika.”
“No!” His fast response made my eyebrows rise.
“God forbid you ever have to be on the witness stand, Roman. You’re a terrible liar.” I dropped down into the chair in front of him. Babushka lifted her tail in greeting. “Did that book tell you to stop being such a dick? She might like you more then.”
“Now you’re the expert? That’s rich.” He snorted. “You didn’t shed a tear when your husband was killed.”
“I’m sure Danika won’t a shed a tear when you’re killed either.” I grinned nastily.
“You don’t know anything about Dani and I.”
I shrugged. “I know more than you think.”
This time he returned my nasty smile. “And I know more about Konstantin and you then you do.”
“Nothing I care about, I’m sure.”
He shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know.”
“Guess so,” I gritted out. “And I guess you’ll never know how to read. Unless you let me teach you.”
As soon as the offer—albeit covered in insults—was out of my mouth, surprise stroked through me. I hadn’t considered teaching Roman but apparently my subconscious had other ideas.
The word decent came to mind.
It wasn’t one I had thought of before.
Roman narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Rightfully so. I wasn’t even sure why I had offered. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s an offer.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder uncaringly. “Take it or leave it.”
“You gonna teach me the right words?” he asked.
I frowned. “What?”
“The correct words,” he emphasized. “You won’t teach me that penis means hello or something? I’ll kill you.”
“No, I’m not going to do that. I’m not an idiot,” I told him. “In fact, we won’t even talk about it. The only time we can talk about it is in here.”
Roman narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want your good deeds spread around the halls?”
No, not at all. Mainly because I wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was a good deed. What did good deeds feel like?
If they were this ambiguous, then how did anyone know if they were doing a good deed? Where was that fulfilled feeling everyone talked about?