Chapter 15 —Eva
It had been two days since we returned to Chicago, and I had barely left my room. The plan was to avoid Demyon for as long as I could because I no longer understood my heart. Nor did I have complete control over my mind and body.
Honestly, I felt trapped between hatred and the pull of something I dared not name. I hated myself for letting my emotions push me into kissing the monster who had kidnapped me and locked me up in his mansion.
How had I let that happen?
What was I thinking?
To make matters worse, his taste still lingered on my lips, making me crave more of what we shared that night. It was super annoying because this strange swelling within me would only complicate things.
The way he kissed me back was proof that he’d been wanting to do that for a long time. It felt good at the time, and it successfully helped me forget the fact that I almost lost my life that same night.
Focusing more on the kiss and how it made me feel rather than the attempt on my life was crazy!
Yes, Demyon moved like a freaking ninja and saved me before any real damage was done. But he was the reason I was in trouble in the first place. It was like starting a fire and then taking credit for putting it out.
Demyon Tarasov was dangerous; he was a monster, and everywhere he went, death followed.
I should be scared for my life and start looking for ways to get the hell out of here.
The only problem was that whenever I tried to come up with the solutions to this problem, my mind kept drifting back to that stupid kiss.
The way his hands wrapped around my waist, the way his tongue slipped into my mouth, and the warmth of his embrace all ignited a strange flame of passion within me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quench that fire, and that was a huge concern to me.
At this point, there was enough hate to go around—and I shared it between him and me. I hated him as much as I hated myself for letting things get so out of control.
The most awkward part of all this was the jealousy I felt when that hot French flight attendant was flirting with him on the jet. What the hell was a French girl doing on a jet headed to Russia anyway?
The idiot completely ignored me like I didn’t exist and was busy throwing herself at Demyon. She just wanted him to notice her—maybe that was why she wore such a short skirt and left the top three buttons of her white shirt undone.
She’d practically flashed her cleavage in his face so she could get his attention. The amount of work she put into seducing him only made my blood boil.
I shouldn’t have been mad at all—it shouldn’t have gotten to me because I didn’t care. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help but feel some jealousy.
Even now, remembering how that coy smile played on her lips still infuriated me. I tried to stop myself from caring about it, but it seemed impossible to do.
Demyon had snaked his way into my heart and was slowly carving his name into my mind. The only way I knew to combat this rising emotion was to avoid him. I thought the longer I stayed away from him, the more likely I was to regain control of my mind and body.
To do so, I refused to leave my room.
Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and everything in between were served within these four walls. Each time I heard a knock on my door, my heart would skip a beat, hoping it wasn’t Demyon. Luckily for me, it was never him—it was always a maid bringing my food.
I didn’t know how long I would keep going like this, but for now, this was the only thing I could think of. Keeping my distance was the surest way to get my act together and plan my next move.
So far, he hadn’t come looking for me, and he hadn’t questioned my sudden change in attitude. Maybe he figured I needed some space to think and had decided to grant me my wish.
There was that. And there was also the fact that he just might not give a shit about me. Maybe he didn’t care enough to come check on me and see how I was doing.
Wasn’t that what I wanted—to be given some space? Then why did his absence from my life feel so suffocating? Why did I miss our banter and crave to see that smug smirk on his lips again?
This was a man I hated so much. A man who had kidnapped me, kept me to himself for the purpose of entertainment, endangered my life, and refused to set me free. How was he breaking down my high walls without even trying?
Later that night, I lay in bed, facing the ceiling and clutching a soft pillow to my chest. My mind was reeling at the possibility that I might have just started falling for this man. The thought alone scared me so much that I buried the idea almost immediately.
I was still trying to distract myself from thoughts of him when the sound of scuffing shoes outside my room caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized those footsteps; slow and almost menacing.
It was him. I was sure of it.
As the footsteps drew closer, my pulse raced even faster. Panic set in, followed by confusion and fear. Not the kind that came with danger—rather the kind that came with being around someone who gave you butterflies.
I wasn’t ready to speak to him. No, not yet. And although part of me was glad he’d decided to check on me, I couldn’t bring myself to face him. When he stopped outside my door, my first instinct was to pretend I was fast asleep.
I rolled over to the other side of the bed and closed my eyes, steadying my breathing and heartbeat. The door creaked open, and he walked in. Classic Demyon. Knocking wasn’t his style. He paused at the entrance for a moment before picking up his pace.
This time, his footsteps were soundless against the floor, almost like he didn’t want to wake me up.
How thoughtful of him.
The sound of his footsteps was what I’d used to measure how close he was to me. But now that he chose to move like a fuckin’ ninja, I had to quickly improvise. So, I switched from using my sense of sound to using my sense of smell.
I tracked his signature scent. As his cologne became more intoxicating, I knew he was getting closer and closer. When he finally stopped in front of me, I could almost visualize the exact spot he was standing.
It’s called echo location. Maybe. Maybe not. I might be wrong.
Anyway, his presence was so commanding that just by hovering over me, he managed to steal my breath. I struggled to steady my heart lest its incessant pounding sell me out.
Demyon didn’t say a word; he just stood there, his gaze unwavering. Although I couldn’t see him, I could feel a strange kind of energy emanating from him. Nothing evil or chaotic. Just something light, mild, and comforting.
The longer he hovered over me, the more I felt my tension dissipating into thin air. The knot in my chest loosened, and a sense of peace washed over me. It didn’t make any sense, but I felt safe and unknowingly let my guard down.
Next thing I felt was his fingers brushing away the hair that framed my face. At his touch, my tensed-up muscles relaxed, and a soft exhale left my lips. All that initial alertness was gone now, and although I was vulnerable, it still felt good.
He murmured a sentence in Russian, his voice low but deep and husky. Demyon straightened, then quietly walked away, believing I was asleep. I didn’t move until I heard the door close, followed by the sound of his retreating footsteps down the hallway.
My eyelids flew open, and an uncontrollable smile spread across my face. I rose and sat on the edge of my bed, my feet resting on the fluffy rug on the floor. My hand darted to my face, fingers grazing the spot on my forehead he’d touched earlier.
I got up and strolled over to the vanity a few paces away, and there, I sat on the wooden chair before the mirror. Looking at the girl staring back at me, I could barely recognize my own reflection.
My cheeks were flushed for a man I should hate with all my might. My heart was warm with something I refused to name. Even though I despised myself for feeling this way, I simply couldn’t help it.
I would if I could. But I couldn’t.
At that moment, I remembered a line from one of Selena Gomez’s songs. “The heart wants what it wants.”
I used to sing that song and recite that line in passing without fully understanding what she meant. Well, now I did. I understood perfectly.
If only the damn thing could just stick to pumping blood, I wouldn’t be in this situation.
The truth I was too scared to admit was that I didn’t only fear Demyon Tarasov. I wanted him. That kiss had ignited a flame that refused to go out and was already threatening to consume me whole.
At this point, I was in trouble. Deep trouble.