Chapter 18
Nadia
Back at the suite, Roman carried me straight into the bathroom.
"You need a hot bath," he said, his voice still rough from shouting over the storm. "Otherwise you'll get sick."
He set me down on the marble counter and turned to run the water. Steam rose quickly from the tub, carrying the scent of lavender oil the hotel provided.
I sat there, soaked through, shivering so hard my teeth chattered. My clothes clung to me like a second skin. Sand scraped raw against my flesh. Wet strands of hair plastered themselves across my face.
Roman came back and stood in front of me. His shirt was drenched too, molded to every ridge of muscle. His hair hung wet across his forehead, making him look feral.
"Arms up," he said.
I obeyed. He gripped the hem of my jacket and pulled upward, slow and gentle. The wet fabric stuck to my skin. He moved carefully, like he was afraid of hurting me.
After the jacket came the T-shirt, just as soaked.
"This too." His fingers hooked under the hem.
Heat flooded my face.
"I-I can do it—"
"Your hands are shaking." He cut me off, his gaze gentle but firm. "Let me help you."
I bit my lip. Finally nodded.
He pulled off the T-shirt, then the sweatpants. When I was down to just my underwear, he paused. His eyes went dark.
"Keep going?" he asked, voice low.
My heart hammered like it wanted to explode out of my chest, but I nodded.
His fingers slid behind my back and unhooked my bra. The fabric fell away. Instinctively, I moved to cover myself, but he caught my wrists gently.
"Don't," he said, his voice rougher now. "Let me see you."
I looked up and met his eyes.
Those deep brown eyes burned with fire, but he held himself in check with terrifying control. His Adam's apple bobbed. His fingers traced lightly over the small cuts on my shoulder from the rocks.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No," I whispered.
"Liar." He bent and pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder. "Don't ever do something that stupid again."
Then he lifted me and carried me to the tub.
The warm water wrapped around my frozen body. I let out a long sigh.
Roman stripped off his wet clothes and climbed in behind me, settling me back against his chest.
"Comfortable?" he asked, arms circling my waist.
"Yeah."
He reached for the body wash, poured some into his palm, and began washing away the sand and tending to my cuts with gentle strokes.
Those rough hands that had killed countless men moved over me now like I was something fragile and precious.
"Roman?"
"Yeah?"
"Why did you throw the ring away?" I bit my lip. "Just now."
His hands stilled for a moment, then resumed their motion.
"Because I wanted to tell you something." His voice was calm. "Nothing matters more than you."
"But—"
"Nadia." He cut me off, fingers tilting my chin so I turned to face him. "Listen. The past is past. I don't want to be chained to it anymore."
He paused. Those deep brown eyes looked straight into my soul.
"What I want is now. You."
My heart slammed against my ribs. I stared at him, throat tight, words failing me.
Then he kissed me. Not like the brief kiss on the beach. His tongue pushed inside, demanding, stirring my emotions into chaos.
I turned and straddled him, arms wrapping around his neck, deepening the kiss.
Water splashed everywhere. The temperature climbed higher and higher.
His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I could feel him, thick and hard beneath me, pressing insistently against where I was already wet and aching.
"Fuck, Nadia," he groaned against my mouth. "You're driving me insane."
I rocked against him, drawing a sharp hiss from between his teeth. His head fell back against the edge of the tub, eyes half-lidded and dark with lust as he watched me.
"Then do something about it," I whispered, surprising myself with how breathless I sounded.
His grip tightened. In one smooth motion, he lifted me and positioned himself at my entrance. Our eyes locked.
"Hold on to me," he commanded.
I wrapped my arms around his neck just as he thrust up into me, burying himself to the hilt in one ruthless stroke.
I cried out. The stretch burned and ached and felt so goddamn perfect I thought I might shatter.
"Christ, you're tight," he groaned, voice strained. "So fucking tight."
He gave me a moment to adjust, then began to move. Not gentle. Not slow. He gripped my hips and set a brutal pace, driving up into me while pulling me down to meet each thrust.
Water surged around us with every hard upward snap of his hips, the warm wetness making our skin slide and cling.
He held me steady, thrusting deep while the water lapped and spilled over my thighs; each time he pulled almost free, the drag was sharper, hotter, then he slammed back in and forced another wave to crash against our joined bodies.
I tightened my legs around his waist, using the buoyancy to rise and sink harder onto him, feeling every thick inch stretch me. He rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles, letting the pressure build until I was trembling and gasping against his mouth.
Water sloshed over the rim of the tub. I clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as pleasure coiled tight and hot in my belly.
"That's it," he growled, watching my face. "Take it. Take all of me."
I was bouncing on him now, riding him hard, chasing that edge. His thumb found my clit and circled, adding to the overwhelming sensation.
"Roman—" His name came out as a broken moan.
"I know, baby. I can feel you." His other hand fisted in my wet hair, yanking my head back so he could attack my throat with his mouth. "Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart."
His thumb pressed harder. His cock hit that perfect spot inside me over and over. The combination shattered me.
I came with a sharp cry, my body clenching around him like a vice. He cursed in Russian, his rhythm faltering as my orgasm triggered his own. He buried himself deep and held me there as he came, hot pulses filling me.
We stayed like that for long moments, panting, foreheads pressed together as aftershocks rippled through us both.
"Still cold?" he asked eventually, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
I couldn't help but laugh breathlessly. "Not anymore."
"Good." He kissed me again, slower this time but no less possessive. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you tonight."
When I opened my eyes again, brightness flooded the room.
The heavy blackout curtains had been pulled halfway back. Caribbean sunlight poured across the luxurious bed without mercy. The storm had passed completely. Outside, the sky was the kind of flawless blue that looked unreal.
I stretched and winced. Every muscle ached like I'd been run over by a truck.
Damn Roman. Once in the bathtub hadn't been enough for him. Back in bed he'd—
My face burned.
I turned my head to check on the culprit, but his side of the bed was empty.
The sheets still held his warmth, but he was gone.
I sat up and looked around. The suite was eerily quiet. No jacket. No lingering scent of his cigars. Like the man who'd held me through the waves last night, who'd fucked me unconscious in the bathroom, had been nothing but a dream.
A heavy wave of loneliness crashed over me. I pulled my knees to my chest under the covers, biting my lower lip, sulking.
After everything that happened yesterday, I thought we'd wake up together like normal couples do. Maybe share a morning kiss.
"Knock, knock, knock."
The sound snapped me out of my thoughts.
I blinked and went to answer it.
A little boy stood outside, maybe seven or eight, wearing the hotel uniform. He held an enormous bouquet of red roses and an elegant gift box.
"Mrs. Sokolova?" he asked in a sweet voice.
"That's me."
"Mr. Sokolov asked me to deliver these." He handed over the flowers and box.
I froze but took them.
"Thank you," I said, turning back into the room and setting everything on the table. I grabbed my wallet, pulled out a few bills, and handed them to the boy still waiting politely by the door.
He thanked me happily and skipped away.
I closed the door and walked back to the table, pulling a black embossed card from between the roses.
Roman's handwriting slashed across it, sharp and bold. "Wear it. Meet me on the 13th floor. —Your husband."
My heart skipped a beat. The gloom that had been sitting heavy on my chest evaporated instantly.
I tore open the black velvet box. Inside was a dress.
Deep blue silk with clean, elegant lines. I held it up against myself. The length was perfect, like it had been tailored just for me.
At the bottom of the box sat a pair of silver heels and matching jewelry—a delicate diamond necklace and earrings.
He picked this out?
I stared at the dress. My mouth curved upward without permission.
I rushed through washing up, applied light makeup, then slipped into the dress. The silk molded to my curves, sexy but classy. I turned in front of the mirror, and the hem traced a graceful arc in the air.
Damn. He had good taste.
I fastened the diamond necklace and earrings, stepped into the heels, and finished with a spritz of perfume.
I checked the time. 6:50 PM.
Deep breath. I grabbed my room key and walked out.
The elevator descended slowly. With each floor, my pulse quickened. When the number hit 13, my palms were sweating.
The doors opened.
The view stole my breath.
The entire thirteenth floor was an open-air restaurant. Warm Bahamian breeze drifted through, carrying the faint scent of salt. The sky had that particular dusk glow, orange-pink, like spilled paint.
Roman stood just outside the elevator. He'd changed into an immaculate black custom suit. No tie. Collar open. When he turned and his dark brown eyes locked on me, I saw the instant flare of predatory heat.
"You look like a goddamn siren, Kitten," he said, voice rough, extending his hand. His gaze seemed to burn straight through the red silk. "So beautiful I want to drag you back to the room right now and tear you apart again."
"Can't you think about anything normal?" I blushed as I placed my hand in his, but I couldn't stop smiling.