Saying nothing, I followed him through the dining room and living room and up the stairs. I was exhausted—so exhausted my mind was playing tricks on me. Making me think crazy things.
Because for a second there, I’d almost thought Derek was about to kiss me.
Go to bed, Maxim. You’re delirious.
At the top of the steps, Derek turned left. “Guest bathroom is right here,” he said, opening a door off the hall and turning on the light. “Towels are right here on the sink, and—” He opened a drawer and took out a toothbrush and toothpaste, still in their boxes. “You can use these.”
I stood outside the bathroom, peering in. “This is incredible. In Russia, we normally have a single bathroom for the entire apartment that all the family members share.”
“Sounds crowded.” He opened the shower door as if to check something. “Shampoo and conditioner are in there.”
“Thank you.”
He came out of the bathroom and I stepped aside to let him by, but his shoulder brushed my chest. My stomach tightened—I hadn’t been this attracted to someone in a long time.
“And you can sleep in this room,” he said, opening the next door down. He moved inside and switched on the light.
The room held a big double bed neatly made up with striped bedding, a dark wood dresser beneath a huge framed mirror, and matching nightstands topped with identical lamps. Just like all the rooms downstairs, there were small, personal touches that made the guest bedroom even more welcoming—art on the walls. Candles. Plants by the windows. A bottle of water on the nightstand. Half a dozen pillows on the bed, one of which said Sweet Dreams.
“This is beautiful,” I said.
“I’m sure you’d prefer a hotel, but I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
“Not at all.” I shook my head in disbelief. “This is much better than a hotel.”
He shrugged like it was no big deal and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Need anything else? I can get you something to sleep in if you’d like. Or some clothes for tomorrow?”
Normally I would have said no, but the prospect of wearing something of Derek’s was too tempting. “If it’s not too much trouble. I feel like I’ve had this stuff on for days.”
“No trouble. Just give me a minute.” He left the room, and I stood there feeling guilty. A couple hours ago, I hadn’t even wanted to accept the offer to stay in his house. Now I was asking for his clothes? You don’t need his fucking clothes. Stop it.
But when he came back in the room and set a stack of clothing on the bed, my pulse quickened. “Thank you.”
“Let me know if you need anything else. My bedroom is across the hall.”
Oh, fuck. “Okay.”
He put his hands in his pockets again. “Tomorrow you'll probably want to sleep in. I’m going to the gym early in the morning, but I’ll try not to wake you. I’ll be back around nine.”
I nodded, but I’d barely heard what he was saying. I was too busy trying not to think about his room being right across the hall.
“If you do wake up and want breakfast, help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” His broad shoulders lifted. “Guess that’s it.”
Don’t leave yet. “Derek, thank you again for all of this.”
“No problem.” He headed for the door. “Night.”
“Night.”
He shut the door behind him, and I went over to the bed, sat next to the clothing he’d brought me, and placed one hand on the top of the pile.
I told myself he was this kind to everyone.
I told myself I wasn’t special—I was just a favor to his sister.
I told myself I’d only imagined the tension between us downstairs in the dark.
But I wished I hadn’t.
Seven
DEREK
I closed the guest room door behind me and stood still for a moment, my hand still on the knob. Had I thought of everything? Was there anything else he would need? I’d told him about the towels, right? Maybe he’d like an extra blanket? Some deodorant? A razor?
What the hell are you doing? Leave him alone already.
I yanked my hand off the knob as if it had burned me and went downstairs. After locking the back door and setting the alarm, I walked through the shadowy kitchen and noticed his notebook on the counter, right next to his phone. I picked it up, fighting the urge to look inside it. What was it, a journal or something? Or a screenplay? Curiosity about him battled with my conscience.
Put it down, asshole. Whatever it is, it’s private.
I set it on the counter again, but I couldn’t stop looking at it. Maybe he’d want it upstairs. And what about his phone? He’d need that up there, wouldn’t he?
Stop it. He’s probably asleep already.
I could knock softly.
You could let it go until morning.
But he might want to call his friend again tonight.
That’s an excuse and you know it.
It was. And I did.
Frowning, I stood there for a few minutes with one hand on his phone. The truth was, I was drawn to him, and it wasn’t only his looks. It was his warmth and optimism. His manners. His gratitude. He struck me as someone who didn’t take things for granted like a lot of Americans do. And I liked the way he’d come here determined to change his life, leaving everything and everyone he knew behind. Not because he felt entitled to something better, but because he had a dream and he was willing to work for it. He was almost like someone from another era—part of a generation of immigrants that had come here and built this country into what it was today. They might not have had a lot of resources, but they had backbone. Fortitude. Grit.
And okay, fine—I liked that he’d taken his shoes off without my having to ask.
But I was worried for him too. How was he going to get by? Did he at least have some money saved? Where would he live? How was he going to eat? I felt protective of him somehow, almost like since I’d come to his rescue, now I was responsible for making sure he’d be okay here.
Don’t be fucking ridiculous. He’s twenty-four, not twelve. He doesn’t need you. Plus, he has a friend here already.
But look how he’d let Maxim down today. How responsible could he be? And Maxim didn’t know anyone else here, so maybe he’d need someone like me to help him out. At least until he met new friends.
Not that it would take long. He’d probably have a girlfriend soon, too. Of course he would. A gorgeous young blonde with huge blue eyes like his. Curves for days. Legs a mile long. They’d fall in love fast and get married right away, which would solve his immigration problem, but no one would ever think he’d married her just so he could stay—it would be obvious how crazy they were about each other. They’d be fucking perfect together. His dream life would be a reality. Cue the fucking sunset.
I was irrationally angry about it all.
But that meant it really didn’t matter if I wanted a couple more minutes talking to him tonight, did it? After all, once he left tomorrow, I’d probably never see him again. This would be it.
I unplugged the charger from the outlet.
A minute later, I was standing in the upstairs hallway outside the closed bathroom door, listening to the shower running. What I should have done was leave his things in the guest room where he’d find them and go the fuck to bed. But I didn’t. Instead I stood there like a fucking creeper, imagining him naked underneath the spray.
Stop it right there. Not okay.
The water went off, but I still didn’t leave. I pictured him drying off with one of my towels, hanging it up (yes, in my fantasies, everyone hangs up their towels), and pulling on my clothes. I’d had some underwear still in the package as well as a couple new pairs of socks, so I’d given those to him, as well as a pair of athletic pants, a clean T-shirt, and a hoodie. I’d never loaned another guy my clothes before.
Jesus, what the fuck does it matter? Get out of the hallway before he opens the door and catches you standing here, you fucking lunatic!
/>
I hurried into his room and placed his notebook and phone on the nightstand, but I wasn’t quick enough. He entered the room as I was turning for the door.
“Hey,” he said, his expression surprised. He ran a hand through his wet hair. His chest was bare, and the sweatpants hung low on his hips, so low I could see the top half of the V on his lower abdominals. Although he wasn’t bulky, every muscle on his upper body was sharply defined. My eyes traveled over his skin, lingering low. Deep inside me, something dangerous stirred.
Fuck. This was a mistake.
I forced myself to look up. “Hey. Sorry to bother you. I was just—” I blanked, unsure how to finish my sentence. “I thought you might want your phone and your notebook. I put them on the nightstand.”
He smiled. “That’s so nice of you. I was thinking I should probably call my mother.”
I nodded quickly and moved around him toward the door, giving myself a wide berth. “Night.”
“Night,” he echoed.
But I was already halfway down the hall.
Ten minutes later, I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with my hands behind my head.
I was angry with myself. I should know better than to allow that depraved part of me to surface, however briefly. Everything I wanted to achieve in life depended on keeping those dark, confusing urges buried. And hadn’t I mastered the disguise already? Hadn’t I spent years learning to control my sexual appetite? Hadn’t I succeeded in suppressing every forbidden desire I had to the point where I barely felt any desire at all? Why was I letting a couple hours in the company of one handsome stranger undo me?
Because it feels good, desire.
Exhaling, I closed my eyes. It did feel good, that dark and dangerous thing he had awoken in me. It made me feel virile. Carnal. Alive. It gave me hunger, thirst, want. Even now, it threatened to overcome my defenses as my right hand slid down the front of my pants.
Because it feels good, desire.
My cock grew harder inside my fist as I pictured Maxim’s bare chest, tight abs, the sharp V. I threw off the covers, hating myself.
Because it feels good, desire.
His skin would be warm and damp from his shower. His mouth firm and generous. His hands strong. I wanted them on me instead of my own. I wanted mine on him. I wanted to be rough with him, punish him for making me feel this. Be punished in turn for feeling it, for giving in to it.
Because it feels good, desire.
My hand worked harder, faster, tighter. My hips flexed. My stomach muscles contracted. I imagined us together—two hard, strong, muscular bodies moving against each other—unmasked, unabashed, unapologetic. I heard my name on his lips. I tasted his skin on my tongue. I felt his entire body stiffen—or maybe it was mine—all the tension inside me pulling viciously tight, as if it was still trying to suppress the urge, keep the secret, tame the animal, but it’s doomed to fail, there is nothing stronger than lust at that moment, no power so great, and all that I am burst from me in a sudden pulsing rush.
Afterward, my heart still thundering in my chest, my stomach sticky, I lay there hoping I hadn’t made any noise, or that if I had, a hallway between two closed doors would be enough to smother it.
A minute later, I went into my bathroom to clean up, mad at myself for indulging in fantasy but determined to put it behind me. What I’d done was wrong, but ultimately it was meaningless. No need to agonize over it or torture myself. I wasn’t confused; I’d had a moment of weakness, that’s all.
But the moment was over now, and I had total control—of my body, of my mind, of my behavior.
I wouldn’t lose it again.
Eight
MAXIM
I woke up thinking about him. I’d fallen asleep thinking about him too.
But that was only natural, right? I was wearing the guy’s clothes, sleeping under his roof, completely in awe of his generosity. It was gratitude, that was all. I was just really, really grateful. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was so fucking hot, and it didn’t matter anyway, because he was straight.
Except I couldn’t stop wondering about the way he’d looked at me after my shower last night. I’d come back into the bedroom with pants on, but the way he’d stared at my body made me feel like maybe I’d forgotten them. I’d had to look down and double-check. In that moment, the attraction between us had seemed unmistakable. But he’d rushed out of the room so quickly afterward, I wasn’t sure.
Perestan' vydumyvat’, Maxim. Stop imagining things. Even if Derek was gay, which he isn’t, why would he be interested in you?
He wouldn’t. Because he could have anyone he wanted. Someone as smart and sexy and successful as he was. Someone professional. Someone mature. Someone with a university education, a beautiful house, and a Ferrari in his garage—maybe two. That’s the guy he would want, and the guy he would deserve. Not some scrappy Russian immigrant who wasn’t even sure where his next meal was going to come from.
And anyway, I had enough to do today without getting distracted by Derek. I grabbed my phone to see if Jake had texted or called and saw that I had voicemail from him.
I played it, putting the phone to my ear. “Hey dude, it's Jake. I’m trying to get ahold of you but your phone keeps sending me to voicemail. You’re probably on your way here already. Anyway, my car broke down in the mountains and I’m stuck here for another day or two until I get it repaired. Sorry I won't be able to pick you up at the airport, but you can get a cab and go straight to the apartment. It's in Hollywood, and I’ll text you the address. My friend Mike lives there and he’s expecting you. He’s also the guy to ask about jobs for cash. I’ll send his contact info. Sorry again about not picking you up, hope you arrive okay. Bye.”
I checked my messages and saw that Jake had texted an address and shared contact info for someone named Mike Jones. I quickly texted Mike that I was Jake’s friend who had rented the apartment and wanted to move in today. I also inquired about any immediate jobs for cash. I’d spoken to my mother last night, and after she’d freaked out over what had happened to me (and demanded to know if Derek was a movie star), she’d promised to wire my savings to me as soon as the bank opened on Monday. Hopefully, Mike would have some work that would get me through the next couple days.
I set my phone down and opened the nightstand drawer, hoping to find a pen. Of course, there was a pen. And a notepad, and a book light, and a book of matches. Derek should run a hotel or something, I thought. He’s so good at this. But he’s probably good at his real job too. He’s probably good at everything.
Sitting up against the headboard, I opened the notebook to a blank page and wrote down everything about him I remembered from last night as well as how I’d felt sitting across from him. After filling up an entire page, I closed the notebook and put it back on the nightstand.
Rolling out of bed, I pulled on my jeans from yesterday, and the clean shirt and socks he’d given me. I’d never worn another man’s clothes. It was strangely intimate, which was exactly what I’d wanted, of course. I felt guilty again. Stop thinking about him that way.
I made the bed and left the pants I’d slept in neatly folded at the foot. In the bathroom, I used the toothbrush and toothpaste he’d left for me once more and wet my hair a little.
As soon as I started down the stairs, I smelled breakfast cooking and coffee brewing. My stomach rumbled hungrily. When I got to the kitchen, I saw Derek at the stove. He looked over his shoulder at me as I entered the room.
“Morning,” he said. He was freshly showered, his dark hair still a little bit damp. He wore jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms and back.
“Morning.” I tried not to stare.
He turned back to the stove. “Sleep okay?”
“Yes. More than okay.”
“I see the clothes fit.”
“Yes. I’ll get them back to you right away.”
“No rush. Are you hungry? Want some breakfast?”
“Yes,
” I admitted. “It smells delicious. Although you’ve already fed me once, and I don’t want to be greedy.”
“You’re not. It’s just eggs. And like I said, I enjoy cooking for people.” He began filling two plates with food. “Help yourself to coffee. There’s a cup there for you.”
Grateful for something to do, I tucked my phone into my pocket and poured coffee from the pot into the empty cup next to it. I noticed his cup was only half full. “Can I pour some more for you?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Our elbows bumped as I filled it up, but he didn’t move away. I replaced the pot and brought the coffee to the table, setting the cups down at what I thought of as “our places” from last night. “Would you like me to set the table?”
“Sure. Mats are in this drawer.” He nodded toward a drawer near his hip. “Silverware is in that one on the far right.”
“Got it,” I said, opening the drawer with the placemats in it. Every time I got close to him, my stomach jumped.
I set the placemats and silverware on the table, and Derek brought the plates over a minute later. I almost laughed out loud when I saw them. What he had called “just eggs” was actually an omelet full of vegetables, crispy strips of bacon, and two slices of fresh melon. “This looks so good. You must have been a chef in a past life.”
He rolled his eyes as we sat down. “You sound like Ellen. Don’t tell me you believe in that stuff.”
I smiled. “Okay, I won’t.”
He groaned loudly, and something about the sound turned me on.
“You don’t believe in anything she does?” I asked as we began to eat.
“No. I need to see something to believe it. Did you get ahold of your friend?”
“Yes. He’s stuck in the mountains because his car broke down, but he apologized and sent me the address for the apartment I rented.”
“Where is it?”
“In Hollywood. Perfect for me, right?”
He picked up his coffee and took a drink without answering. After setting it back down, he said, “After breakfast, I’ll take you.”
Strong Enough Page 4
