Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
He must’ve carried me up the hill? After removing my wet clothes, minus bra and underwear, he took off his own and wrapped me in his warmth. In an SS Robinson thriller, the enemies—and not quite yet lovers—had gotten stranded somewhere near Aspen. Body heat saved them. We’d stayed this way all night, my body untensing from the icy cold, while I curled into his body like we had every right to be in this position.
I didn’t move now.
Not yet.
His eyes opened, slow, as if he already knew I couldn’t take my eyes from him.
“You were shaking so violently,” he murmured, voice gravel from sleep. “I was afraid you’d go into shock while I drove to the castle. I’d only meant for you to stop shaking, but I … fell asleep too.”
I tilted my head, letting my lips twitch into a smirk. “Do not worry. You’re my personal space heater. You gave me a story to hold over you forever.”
One eyebrow rose in question.
Crap. Forever, really, Sima? You can’t stand this man, and he can’t stand you.
“Hello, if my cousin and your brother remain inseparable, I will eventually share the story, Baby MacKenzie.”
Averting his gaze, he muttered, “Why do I bother?” Which honestly deepened my smirk.
We sat up. Him on his side of the backseat. Me on mine. Reality returned. Icy morning air snuck through the door as we cracked it open to clear the foggy windows. We wiggled into jeans and sweaters in the cramped area.
Once I settled in the seat with a grunt, Jake cleared his throat and stared at me. “So, what’s next? How will we find—”
My phone vibrated. Baran. I answered with a heavy sigh. “Da?”
“Sima, news?” My friend sounded gutted.
“Sit tight,” I replied. “We will resolve this.”
“Will I have my vengeance, solnyshko?” Since being assigned to my detail, the older man had called me little sun. Seven-year-old me would deepen my frown. I should’ve been the sunshine. A happy facade? Disgusting to Rurik.
“You will, old friend. Just grieve—”
The phone pinged. An unknown number. “Sorry, Baran. This might be Natasha.” I took the call.
“Simona.” Rurik Mikhailov’s voice was low, accented hard Russian edges rolling off every syllable. “I have a gift for you.” Wow. That sounded like a command.
I leaned against the seat, demeanor settling into bored sarcasm. “Let me guess—another puppy.” I’d passed the tiny Samoyed to a girl as I waited for the post-school traffic to ease near his Moscow mansion.
“Nyet. Your cousin, Natasha.”
My pulse stiffened. “What?”
“She’s safe. For now. I received an anonymous tip. A good Samaritan advised of your uncle’s breach in contract.”
Teeth gritted, I growled, “Rurik, what breach of con—”
“Vassili Resnov’s daughter leaves The Red Door with Scots in a compromising position? We permitted her to date, not shame our families!”
“Appreciate the generosity.” I rolled my eyes.
“This is no time for humor. Drugs!” He spat the word, a poison. “Drugs lead young women into filthy situations.”
“I thought you enjoyed filthy—”
“Zamolchi! We will not allow this grievous disrespect. Now, we have … much to discuss.” Rurik finished by barking a name—the name he used when we were alone—and it cut sharp through the air like broken glass against skin.
The line went dead.
A split second later, an address popped up on the screen.
Mouth locked into a vicious scowl; I lowered the phone. Gah, pretenses. I didn’t want to frown or fight. I wanted to curl into a ball. Cry. Natasha was in the Mikhailovs’ hands.
Beside me, Jake watched, his expression unreadable. His hair mussed from sleep. I blinked hard to stop myself from crying and telling him, between sobs, that he should always remain like that. With his hair so free.
“I’ll take you to the castle, Jake.”
“Nae.” His voice broke off into a disbelieving scoff, sounding Scottish for once. He got out of the car.
“Why not?” I growled, following him to the front seat.
“This space is tiny.” Jake flicked a glance to the rear while starting the car. “I saw the address. I’m driving us there. Also heard your entire conversation. That’s Rurik?”
“Da. My future husband. He will not enjoy the sight of me near another man. Believe me, this will spare your life.” I ran a hand over my dark skin … skin so much like Mama’s ancestors. Skin I cherished. Skin … that had drawn too many stares in Russia. Also, the very skin that earned me the vile nickname Rurik just used.
It had happened before, but I’d only told Papa once. A man in a teahouse let his eyes crawl over me, tongue spitting a word that cut deeper than steel. The same word Rurik just called me. A word few Russians reserved for those like me. A slur I’d not forget.
Papa didn’t blink. He drew the knife he’d just sliced into a sweet Medovik and buried it in the man’s rib. Right there, between the samovar and teacups. Blood seeped through white linen, raining into our tea. Papa wiped the blade on the man’s tuxedo and smiled at me. “Never speak of this again.”