Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Must be nice to have parents. Shitty attitude aside.” His words hit me, and I pull back as I look at him.
For the first time, I don’t have a snide comeback because I never even thought of this man as human, let alone… lonely. Then again, Alek seems like the type to isolate himself. He hates talking to people. Was Cinita the only person he confided in?
“Why are you searching so hard for Cinita?” I ask. “She never committed to any man, that much I know. So why her?”
I think he’s about to stop talking entirely, like during all of our other encounters, but instead, he simply says, “Because she needs to be protected. She gets lost in the danger.”
“And you’re not dangerous?” I ask rhetorically. It leaves my mouth before I can think better of it.
“Yes, but I am the lesser of the evils. I saved her once in a brothel; she had a needle in her fucking arm and was half dead. And she ran off to them again.” My jaw drops. I had no idea Cinita was in that deep with this type of shit. “I need to find her.”
“I don’t understand why she’s your responsibility. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want help, hasn’t she? Not once did she mention your name.” Clearly, she doesn’t want to be found by Alek.
He steps up to me, getting close but not close enough to be touching. “What do you know?”
“I know nothing. I was making an observation on what you told me.”
“I found her once. I can do it again.”
“Are you in love with her? Is that why you’re trying so hard to find her?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer or move. “Have you even slept with her?”
His gaze dips to my lips as I lick them. Being around this man is scary, and adrenaline is pumping through me in the way you know you’re too close to playing with fire.
“No.” I don’t know which question he’s answering, but I don’t push because I sense his uneasiness. And Alek Ivanov seems unpredictable.
He continues to stare at my lips, and I clear my throat, reminding myself that it’s not okay to objectify this man in a sexual way. Even though without his shirt it’s really hard not to consider what might be past his defined V-line.
“Okay, can you call me a cab or something?” I ask, my voice cracking. Stupid horny thoughts.
“Who will watch you when you get home?”
“Watch me?”
“Yes, your head. If you sleep, you need someone to wake you every few hours to check on you.”
“I…” Well, it’s only been me since Cinita bailed.
“You live alone,” he states. I hate how he already knows that, but he acts like he knows everything about me. I look him dead in the eye, still trying to avoid his gaze, and nod. He curses under his breath. “I’m going to take a shower. You can get into my bed in the meantime.”
“What?” I snap to attention. “I’m not—”
“Now, Lena.” He starts to walk away, and when I don’t follow, he calls out, “I’m not being liable for your death only hours after you signed a new contract to privately perform for me.”
Oh, so he’s saving his own ass. It makes sense. but still… He looks over his shoulder, that no-nonsense gaze landing on me. My feet start moving at this silent command that seems more potent than the first. I follow him down the hallway, a massive space without a single painting or picture on the walls. He’s waiting at the end of the hall, holding open a door.
I peer inside, and it’s just like the rest of his home—practically bare. A large bed is centered against the far wall, two side tables, a mirror on his cupboard and no other furniture. But I do see a TV across from the bed. But when I take two more steps in, I notice a large painting of a ballet dancer. It’s unsettling since he most likely associates it with Cinita.
“I can go home,” I say. “Call a friend.”
“It’s late; get in bed. I don’t sleep anyway, so I can check on you.”
“How do you not sleep?” I ask, my brows pulling together.
“Just get in the bed, sunshine. I want to shower.” I bite my lip to hold in the old man joke that comes to mind about it being past his bedtime.
Am I out of my fucking mind? Well, yeah, but I also have a concussion and passed out on the floor minutes ago, so what’s the worst that could happen?
“Shoes off before you get on my bed,” he orders. I walk past a large mirror on his cupboard and look at myself. My head has dried blood on it, and the bandage covers my forehead near my hairline. I look like a hot mess; my hair is everywhere, and most of it has fallen out of the tie I had it pulled back in.