Chapter 10
Ifeel like I’m swimming into consciousness through deep, dark water as a giant hand rolls my shoulder back and forth.
“Wake up, zolotaya. We’ve only got about four hours of daylight left. The sun goes down early here in winter.”
I screw up my eyes against the light. “Why is it so bright?” I croak.
“The light reflects off the snow. We need to get into the woods while we can.”
I roll over to see Vadim towering above me like some ancient god of snow and ice. He’s wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants as he swims into view through the haze of sleep, the sharp lines of his torso becoming more defined. His chest is marked by tattoos of stars and a cat’s head, and a couple of sharp scars sweep down one arm and across his midriff. His body is different from the gym boys with their protein shakes back home.
Harder.
Sexier.
More threatening.
“Move over.” He pats the sliver of white sheet at the edge of the bed, and I make room, staring at the ceiling. He lies beside me, not touching me. In the eerie light of the cabin, we’re two strangers again, the intimacy of last night gone like footprints under fresh snow. The inches between us feel like miles.
My throat is scratchy with sleep and my eyes feel puffy, but I can smell the forest on his skin, mingling with the scent of soap and mint. It makes me want to burrow against his side, but he lies rigidly next to me, tense and waiting.
I take a deep breath and wrinkle my nose, coughing as the exhaustion of the days, weeks, and months catches up with me.
“What can you smell? Day-old vodka and men’s socks?” He chuckles.
“Hmmm,” I hum, inhaling deeply. “You smell of cedar and pine with an undertone of sandalwood and pheromones.”
“Really? You got all that from one sniff?” He stills as my pinkie edges along the side of his hand.
“No. I just made all that up. I have no idea what sandalwood and cedar smell like, but it sounded impressive.” I turn to watch a smile ghost across his lips, but I’m disappointed when he doesn’t come any closer.
The ghostly light from the snow bounces off the walls. Outside the window, bare black branches bend under the weight of snow, and a pale gray wash of sky provides a backdrop.
“Where are we? Is this a house on chicken’s feet that’s about to take off into the woods?” I ask.
His shoulder is level with my eye, and I have the strange desire to lean over and taste his skin, to kiss every scar and tattoo, but he’s studying the planks above us as if they hold the clue for the winning lottery numbers.
“It’s a dacha,” he says without looking at me.
“What’s a dacha?” I reach over and touch his shoulder, and he inhales sharply, so I leave my hand where it is. I wait for him to wrap me up in his arms the way he did last night, but the space between us feels alive with something, and he doesn’t bridge the gap.
“A Russian country house. Since Soviet times, a lot of families in the city have had one. During the week, everyone was all cooped up in a tiny apartment in the city, but on the weekends, everyone would flood into the countryside, grow vegetables, grill meat, breathe in the forest. There’s not much else to do around here.”
Great. I’m miles away from anywhere, stuck in the middle of the woods with a gangster I’ve known for a few hours. What felt like a great way to escape the situation in my dressing room last night seems less sensible in the cold light of day. A tendril of unease unfurls under my solar plexus, but I focus on keeping my breathing even.
Memories of last night filter back to me. The couples at the next table watching him with suspicion. The way the ma?tre d” fumbled around. The bright-orange drink. But after that, the memories of the night are hazy. Did I kiss him? How did I get back here? I sift through the images of church domes reflecting in water and vodka shots on a table in flickering candlelight, but I come up blank.
I pull my hand away from him and run it down my side, over the huge t-shirt I’m wrapped in. I’m naked under the worn gray fabric, and I swallow down a ball of embarrassment and fear.
“I’m not wearing my dress. Did we...? I’m guessing we didn’t...” My voice trails off into the morning air and the snowy light beyond the window.
“Those beads didn’t look like they’d be very comfortable to sleep in. You were like a rag doll. The time difference knocked you out once the adrenaline wore off.” He reaches out and lets his knuckles graze my cheek.
“Is this where you spent your childhood?”
At the mention of his childhood, Vadim’s hand stops moving. “No. Sasha and I didn’t get to use this place until we were older. A man we know, a mentor of ours, lends it to us.” He shifts on the bed, rolling so that we face each other. His eyes are such a pale, clear blue they look unreal.
“Who’s Sasha? A girlfriend or a sister?” I watch the rise and fall of his chest and let my gaze fall on his mouth.
“No, Sasha is my best friend. You met him last night. Handsome fucker. Scary guy.” He leans across to catch my hand, pressing it against his pec. His chest hair dusts my fingers.
“He didn’t like me.” I think back to the conversation in Russian and the way Sasha looked at me.
“Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t warm up easily.” Vadim bites the tips of my fingers gently before smiling properly for the first time since he lay down. “I like you, though.”
Does he?
Last night he was constantly touching me, threading his fingers through mine, pulling me against his side, wrapping me in his coat, aligning our bodies. This morning he’s keeping his distance, and I’m aware of how little I know about him. He’s gorgeous, but he’s a man that scares people.
“I doubt I’m your type,” I say.
“You’re everyone’s type.”
“My god. You wouldn’t say that if you knew what my life was like.” I let my eyes drift across his perfect face, then reach out to touch his scar. His eyes flutter closed as I run my finger over it, down his cheek, and along his jaw.
“When I saw you on that stage, it sounded as if you were singing to me. It was all I could think about. There were a couple of half-naked women sitting next to me, but I only saw you and that cloud of golden hair and that golden voice. You are luminous.”
I choke as a tumble of words clogs my throat. He couldn’t be further from the truth. I bury my head in his shoulder, and he slides his hands under the t-shirt, drawing it up.
“You shine so brightly. Men want some of that to rub off on them. I think I was looking for you last night when I went backstage and stumbled across you.” He pulls me against him and buries his head in my hair, his words shivering against the skin of my neck and vibrating along every meridian in my body. “Fucking hell. A girl like you has no business with a man like me, but I wanted to snatch a few hours for myself.”
His hot hands roam up and down my naked back, cupping my butt and drifting down my thighs as he licks my neck, sucking and kissing my collarbone and shoulders as he mumbles in Russian. He lowers the t-shirt until my hard nipple almost pokes out.
He sits up, looking down at me with pupils blown wide and his nostrils flaring. “Take it off. I want to see all of you.”
I go for the hem of the t-shirt, but he’s quicker, pulling it up to my neck. Running his hands up my body. Cupping my breasts.
He gently pinches one nipple, and I gasp as he lowers his head to the other. He sucks almost all of my small breast into his mouth as he draws the hard bud against his palate, and I make a mewling noise which sounds foreign to my own ears. I’m turned on, but there’s an edge of fear as well.
He moans and starts sucking my other breast as he kicks my legs wide with his knees, running his hands up my arms until he’s holding me down on the mattress.
“Vadim?” My voice sounds breathy and small.
“Show me how you are wet for me.” He spreads me wider with his knees and looks between my legs. “Fuck yeah.”
His breath saws in and out of his nostrils as he stares at my wet and swollen center. But he’s not looking at my face. He hasn’t even kissed me.
I screw my eyes shut and go still, turning my head to the side and telling myself it won’t hurt. His hands run down my body and his warm mouth lands between my legs. I will myself somewhere else. I don’t know when he stops, but he stills and presses a kiss to the soft skin of my inner thigh.
“Kesera?”
I don’t reply.
“Zolotaya?”
I’m too embarrassed and scared to answer as he rises onto his forearms and puts space between us.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” He’s breathing heavily as he gazes down at me. Pale blue eyes search mine for something—something I don’t understand.
I squeeze mine shut and turn my head away. When I open them, he’s waiting above me.
“Forgive me.” His arctic eyes search my face.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I whisper. I mean it. It went too fast. I shut down.
He stares at me for long moments, and I look back, waiting. Waiting for him to come back to me, for that white fire between us to blaze back to life. But he wrenches away from me and sits on the edge of the bed, his back to me.
“What kind of a host am I?” He puts his head in his hands and shakes it as if shrugging off a bad memory. He doesn’t look back at me as I lie back on this strange bed and look at his stiff shoulders hunched away from me. “There’s hot water and towels in the bathroom behind that door. You’re welcome to borrow any of my clothes.”
He stands and paces to the door, and I stare at his retreating back until the door snicks shut behind him.
What the hell just happened? One minute, I was ready for him to devour me, and the next, he couldn’t even look at me? God, I made a mess of things. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him away.
Mumbling under my breath and feeling awkward, I walk toward the bathroom. I grab a towel from the stack of threadbare linen in a cupboard on the wall, then turn the tap and watch the running water until the steam begins to rise.What the hell am I doing here? Stranded in the Russian woods, miles from home, with nothing to look forward to but an argument with Jimmy at the airport.
I’m so damn tired. That moment when Vadim put his arms around me was the first time since my dad died that I felt like I could let my guard down. I just wanted to be loved so badly that I’m imagining things that don’t exist with a man I’ve just met.
“I’m a fool,” I say to myself as I step into the shower. My words echo against the tiles.
I step under the stream and let the hot water wash away the tears that begin to trickle from my eyes. I really thought I’d have control over who was in my life once I was famous. I thought people would flock to me. I thought fame was the answer, but it’s just brought more questions and I’m lonelier than ever.
I don’t know what I’m doing wrong with men. The guys in my band make jokes about not wanting to sleep with me. My manager wants to force it on me when I’ve made it clear I don’t want him. Then, when I finally find a man I want, I can’t handle him.
Tipping my head beneath the water, I scrub my skin, trying to wash away my shame, fear, and confusion. By the time I emerge from the bathroom, the house is silent.
“Vadim?” I call, walking through the empty rooms. My voice echoes back at me.