And then, before I can truly process what he’s just said, his hand snakes around the side of my neck and pulls me against his chest.
His lips slam down on mine in the next breath and I feel the brokenness inside me sigh with relief.
It takes me a beat to realize that this kiss is not like the other ones we’ve shared.
This one is… gentle.
Tender.
Sweet.
Even when my lips part under his, our tongues meet with intense and passionate friction, our bodies melting together until we’re wrapped up in each other’s arms.
I don’t even try to resist this time. It’s almost as though I’ve been walking around like a zombie these last couple of days and this kiss is slowly bringing me back to life.
I want his fingers inside me again.
I want his breath on my nipples, teasing me to another orgasm.
I’m desperate for release, for a respite from the constant worry, stress, and fear.
His hands stroke across my naked back, playing with the string of my bikini top. One light pull and it will fall away, leaving me bare and ready for him.
As if he is reading my thoughts, he unburdens me of the bikini top and it falls to the floor between us.
One of his hands closes over my breast while the other lands on the small of my back, pulling me closer into his groin.
I can feel his erection pressing against my thigh and it makes me dizzy with need. I want to reach down and feel his erection, but we’re pressed so close together that there’s no space for my hand to slip through.
Then his lips leave mine and fall on my neck. I can feel the intensity build and I know we’re about to have sex.
I know I shouldn’t be encouraging this. As a matter of fact, I should be pushing him off me.
But there’s no denying how much I want him now.
An involuntary moan escapes my lips. “Artem…”
I feel him stiffen, his lips still pressed against the nape of my neck.
Then, without warning, he pulls away and drops his arms from around me.
I’m so shocked that I can only stare at him, waiting for an explanation. His eyes are hooded, his thoughts shielded from me.
It makes me want to scream. He wanted me—I know enough to know that—so why had he stopped?
I want to know, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking.
So I stand mute, confused, and watch him move for the door.
At the threshold, he stops and looks over his shoulder at me.
“You know, this doesn’t have to be as bad as you’re making it out to be,” he says quietly.
Then he leaves, melting into the shadows.
He doesn’t show up for dinner that night.
When I go to bed alone, I’m still thinking about his parting words.
Still thinking about the look in his eyes when he said them.
31
Artem Late That Night
My phone starts ringing. Unknown number. Unblockable. Untraceable.
I sigh.
Can’t avoid this one.
“Hello, Father,” I answer.
“You don’t sound like a happily married man.”
Immediately, I notice he sounds different than he had when I left him not so long ago.
Less gruff. Far more tired.
“I didn’t know you had my happiness in mind when you cooked this plan up.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I did hope you might find some measure of happiness with the woman. She is a rare beauty.”
“She doesn’t want to be married to me.”
“As if that matters.”
I exhale. I’m exhausted with this conversation already.
I can hear Esme’s voice in my head. Can see that sad, lost look in her eyes.
She didn’t say as much, but I saw it in her face. She needed me to understand where she was coming from.
She needed someone to understand. Anyone.
Even someone she hated as much as me.
“Doesn’t it?” I ask. “Can a marriage be happy if one of the two people involved is not?”
“I wasn’t aware you were concerned for the girl’s happiness.”
His voice breaks a little, but it’s not the connection. There’s something gravelly in his tone that shouldn’t be there.
I wanted to ask about his last doctor’s appointment but I know how that conversation would go. He’d just get impatient with me for asking, avoid my questions, and then change the subject.
I’m not in the mood for that song and dance.
In fact, I’m not in the mood for this call at all.
“Why did you call, Father? I’m assuming it’s not to provide marital counseling.”
He hesitates. “There is something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”
“If it’s about work, I’d rather wait until I get back to discuss it,” I snap at him. “One fucking week off shouldn’t be such a big ask.”
I feel like I’ve been rung dry after that encounter with Esme. I don’t have space in my head for anything else.
“This is important, Artem,” Stanislav replies.
“Everything is important in your eyes. Is it urgent?” I ask.
There is a prickly silence. He’s frustrated with me.
Well, the feeling is fucking mutual.
“Very well,” he answers. “We will discuss this when you get back.”
“Don’t wait up for me.”
The line goes dead.
I discard my phone with relief.
I feel a pang of guilt. I shouldn’t have been so curt with him. As gruff as he is, he’s still my father. He helped mold me into the man I am today. I’m grateful for that.
But Esme has worn my patience thin. And yet, now that Father has agreed to leave me alone for the rest of this trip, where does my mind turn to?
Right back to her.
I can practically still feel her beneath my hands. Her body as soft as silk but firm with those runner’s muscles. Her eyes like beacons drawing me closer.
And the scent of her—that sweet, floral smell that draws me close and tempts me to stay there forever…
Fuck.
Before I can finish reliving the memory, my phone rings again. Cursing under my breath, I pick up without checking who’s calling.
But it’s not Stanislav phoning back like I expect.
Instead, it’s a bright, cheery voice that makes me roll my eyes.
“Hey, buddy, miss me?” Cillian
