I sighed and stretched out like a cat. “Gosh, I’m starving.”

“You have no idea what starving is.” The words were soft and pensive, like he wasn’t even aware he’d said it.

I was momentarily stunned.

Because now I knew, at some point in this man’s life, he’d gone hungry.

I didn’t let myself dwell on it or else the questions would explode from me like confetti, and we all knew how he felt about opening up.

He was still stuck in his thoughts while I grabbed his dress shirt and slipped it on. I was buttoning it up and walking past him to the door when he grabbed my wrist.

“Where are you going?”

“Going to find some peanuts. Crossing my fingers the Bureau splurged with the hard-working man’s money and have some covered in chocolate.”

He pulled me closer, until I stood between his legs. “We landed ten minutes ago.”

“We did?” I frowned. “How did I miss that?”

Something sexy played in his eyes. “You were too busy calling out for God.”

I wished it didn’t happen, but I couldn’t stop it.

I flushed.

When he ran a thumb across my cheek, warmth crept into my heart and melted.

“Tell me you hate me, malyshka.”

The way he said it, so deep and vehement, slowed the blood in my veins. It reminded me of the heavy weight of his body against mine. Of his hands holding me down.

I tried to say it. I really did. However, as much as it confused me, I couldn’t physically push those words past my lips. So, instead, I pulled away from him, flustered with myself.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You don’t hate me,” he said, voice low and resigned. “But by the time this is over, you might.”

“This?”

“Us.”

Déjà vu played down my spine with something warm and electric.

He watched me with an unsettling conviction in his eyes, while my heart chugged to keep up with the feelings warring inside. The last one to crawl out of the shadows of my mind—the one I was most familiar with—won. Panic. I’d been stuck in two unwanted marriages for the last eight years of my life. The idea of any kind of commitment embodied a fist that wrapped around my lungs and squeezed. I tried to mask it as best I could, but I knew he saw it all over my face.

His jaw ticked, a shutter coming down over his eyes. “I’m talking about sex, Gianna.”

Oh.

“You mean, like, just sex?”

He nodded, flicking his gaze away from me. “Temporary. Until I move back to Seattle.”

Oh.

The fist around my lungs released, but his words had left a sting behind.

Though, for some reason, the glint in his gaze before he’d looked away felt . . . untruthful. A gut instinct told me he was lying to me, but I just wasn’t sure about what. I knew he was attracted to me, knew he wanted me in a sexual way—maybe he even enjoyed sparring with me—but it was too hard to believe he was interested in me seriously. I was messy. He was as strait-laced as they came.

“Aren’t you in a relationship with Aleksandra?” I realized it made me sound like a homewrecker, having just begged him to come inside me for goodness’ sake, but really, I had so many deeper issues than this.

“No.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“I have never slept with her.”

I was a little unsettled by the tsunami wave of relief that hit me.

He wanted to sleep with me four times? I didn’t know if I should feel special or terrified. I was leaning toward a mixture of both.

I bit my lip in deliberation.

Wasn’t I just telling myself I needed to stop sleeping with him? Why was I even contemplating this? My mind spun in turmoil, but my body had already decided. It was still vibrating in gratification from the two intense orgasms he’d just wrung from me.

“I’ll make it so good for you, malyshka.”

A tortured moan crawled up my throat, but I couldn’t get rid of a tingling sense of warning in the back of my head. Why did this feel like a trap?

“I don’t know . . .”

“I don’t see the problem.” His eyes flickered with a challenge. “Unless you think you’ll fall for me.”

Ugh.

He had me backed into a corner now.

I’d have to admit I was in danger of falling for him or let him fuck me for however long he was staying in New York.

What a ruthless bastard.

Though, maybe this was what I needed. I didn’t want to give up sex, but I also didn’t want to have to search for another man to take Christian’s place. A scoff sounded in my mind—like that was even possible. I could use him, just like he’d be using me, couldn’t I?

I fingered the hem of his shirt. “I’ll have some stipulations, of course.”

“Of course.”

Walking back and forth in front of him, I listed them off.

“I’m not a sex slave. I won’t drop to my knees when you snap your fingers, like you expect all your other women to.”

He was amused. “That’ll be a hard habit for me to break, but I’ll work on it.”

“I know how witty and exciting you think I am and that you love spending time with me, but I’m a busy woman. You have to respect my space.”

His tone was dry. “You read trashy novels by the pool and spend the rest of your time at Barneys.”

I ignored him and made the next stipulation sound so serious it made him smile. “You have to kiss me whenever I want.”

“Done.”

“Condoms, Christian. You have to learn how to put one on.”

“Fine.”

My eyes narrowed, because he’d given in to that way too easily.

“Anything else?”

“I don’t know what kind of kink you’re into, but there are some hard no’s for me.” I was obviously a pervert because I couldn’t think of many as I ticked them off on my fingers. “Ball-and-gag-like bondage . . . tickling—hard, hard no on that one—and, preferably, no backdoor action.”

He stood, making me look up to meet his gaze. “Is that it?”

“I think so,” I answered hesitantly, not liking the look in his eye.

“Yes to the first two, no to the last.” He fisted my shirt and dragged me closer, pressing the next words to my ear. “I’m going to ruin every part of your body for any other man, malyshka, and you’re going to thank me when I’m done.”

I was making a deal with the devil.

And I couldn’t even find the grace to save myself.

The morning after we’d returned from Chicago, I was struggling with my lock before heading to yoga. Christian just happened to be leaving his apartment at the same time. Our gazes caught. Time lagged in slow motion, touching my skin like a heat wave and leaving me hot, flustered, and out of breath. This was where I would usually have something witty to say, but, in truth, I felt . . . shy?

He’d screwed me against my door last evening after driving me home. It was hot and fast and rough. Then, afterward, he’d just kissed me. He’d kissed me for so long my brain became mush, my legs turned to Jell-O, and my heart began to burn. And then he’d left me breathless and thinking about him for a ridiculous amount of time.