Chapter 42

Guilt twists in my gut. “I’m sorry, Nat. It’s been… complicated.”

“Well, you’re buying lunch tomorrow and telling me everything,” she declares. “No excuses.”

I agree miserably. I’ll have to concoct an elaborate fiction to explain my absence without mentioning car crashes, gunfights, or sleeping with the boss, but that’s fine. I mean, who cares? It’s just another lie in the growing collection I’ve been piling since I started this job.

The afternoon stretches endlessly. I’m being tortured by a clock that refuses to move.

Finally, at the merciful stroke of five o’clock, I grab my purse and spring for the elevator. I’ve survived the day. Tomorrow will be easier. The day after that, easier still.

Eventually, this will just be another mistake in a long line of poor life choices.

The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, pressing the lobby button repeatedly as if that will make it arrive faster.

Just as the doors begin to close, a hand shoots out to stop them.

And Vince steps in.

My heart plummets to my shoes.

He says nothing as he enters. Just stands beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. The doors slide closed, sealing us inside together.

Feels an awful lot like a coffin. Kinda fitting that we’re both plummeting downward.

My finger hovers over the emergency stop button, wondering if I should just push it and get this over with.

Vince beats me to it.

The elevator jerks to a halt between floors. The sudden silence is deafening.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he intones. His voice reveals absolutely nothing. Not shame, not arrogance, not lust. Just… nothing.

I stare straight ahead at our reflections in the polished metal doors. “I’ve been busy. Catching up on work.”

“Bullshit.”

My cheeks burn. “What do you want me to say?”

“Look at me.”

I don’t move.

So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when his hand catches my chin, forcing me to turn and face him. Those ice-blue eyes bore into mine, searching for something.

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

Pause. Pause. Lie or no?

“Yes,” I admit, then instantly hate myself for the flash of something—hurt? anger?—that crosses his face. “No. Shit, I don’t know.”

His thumb brushes across my lower lip. “Which is it?”

“All of them,” I whisper. “I regret complicating an already impossible situation. I regret being so weak. But I can’t regret…” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.

“Can’t regret what?”

“How it felt,” I finish. “Being with you.”

His eyes darken. “And how did it feel?”

“Like I was finally alive after being dead for years.”

Vince’s hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. “Then why are you running?”

“Because I can’t have you,” I say, my voice quivering and breaking. “You’re going to marry someone else, Vince. This—” I gesture between us. “—isn’t real. It can’t be.”

“It felt real enough when you were screaming my name.”

I wince. Not one for subtlety, is he?

“Last night doesn’t change anything,” he continues. If I didn’t know him any better, I’d say his voice was soft with something damn near empathy. “Your job is secure. Your position here is not in jeopardy.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask bitterly. “That I can still be your assistant even after I’ve been under you?”

His jaw tightens. “What do you want from me, Rowan?”

“I don’t know! That’s the problem.” I push his hand away because I feel insane when he touches me. “I don’t know what I want, or what this is, or where we go from here.”

“I can tell you where we go from here,” he says, closing the distance between us until my back hits the elevator wall. “We continue. Behind closed doors. No one needs to know.”

“‘Continue,’” I repeat, the word hoarse and hollow and ugly in my mouth. “Until when? Until you marry some Bratva princess? Or just until I’ve served my purpose and you get bored of me?”

“Until I say otherwise.”

As with so many other times since our worlds collided, the right thing to do would be slap the arrogance right off his face.

But as with all those other times, I don’t. I can’t.

Because, for better or for worse, it’s the answer I wanted. Things aren’t over yet. We haven’t reached the part where it hurts too badly to go on.

You’ll get at least one more taste of paradise before it all goes up in smoke.

“And what if I say no?” I challenge, lifting my chin.

His mouth curves into that devastating half-smile. “Then you say no. I won’t force you, Rowan. I’m not that kind of monster.”

“But you think I won’t say no.”

“I know you won’t.” He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “Because I felt how wet you got when I walked into this elevator. I can see how hard you’re breathing right now. I know what you look like when you’re desperate for me.”

My body betrays me, responding to his words with a rush of heat between my thighs.

“This is a mistake,” I croak.

“Maybe.” His fingers trace the line of my jaw. “But it’s a mistake we both want to make again.”

He’s right. That’s the worst part. Despite everything—the danger, the complications, the inevitable heartbreak waiting at the end of this road like a fucked-up pot of gold at the landing point of the rainbow—I want him.

I’ve always, always wanted him.

“Your driver is waiting,” I say. It’s a last feeble attempt at resistance. He knows as well as I do that it’s pathetic.

But, to my surprise, he lets me have it.

He steps back, releasing me from the cage of his body. He reaches over and presses the button to restart the elevator.

“Think about it,” he says as the elevator resumes its descent. “Take all the time you need.”

When the doors open in the lobby, he gestures for me to exit first.

“Goodnight, Ms. St. Clair,” he says, his voice returning to its professional register.

“Goodnight, Mr. Akopov.”

As I walk away, I can feel his eyes on me. Watching. Waiting. Knowing it’s only a matter of time before I give in again.

I step out into the cool evening air, drawing a deep breath to steady myself. I should be stronger than this. Smarter. Just walk away, goddammit! You know this can’t end well!

But even now, with humiliation burning in my chest, all I can think about is the weight of his body on mine.

He looked at me and touched me and spoke to me like I mattered. For five years, I dreamed about how he might look in a moment like that. When it came, it was more than I ever could have dreamed.

Nothing hurts as good as finally getting the things we’ve longed for.