by Nikki Sloane
“Wasn’t that better?” he asked on a low voice as he lingered at the base of my neck.
I turned my head to the side and pressed my ear against his chest. Of course it was better—I’d allowed it this time. Maybe even more, I’d sort of wanted it. I barely said the word. “Yeah.”
“Go take a shower.” His voice was unassuming and his hand brushed along my arm. “I’ll get you some clothes and then we’ll have breakfast.”
It was all so bizarre. What we’d just done, and how comfortable he seemed to be about it. I rolled off of him, and heat creeped up in my face, annoying me. We’d just had sex, and he’d made me come. Why the hell was I still so shy?
“Your father?” I asked like a timid mouse. Luka had been awful to me, but also sometimes verging on sweet, and it was Dimitrije I feared more than the man beside me.
“No, he’s hardly ever here. He stays with the whore. They left after dinner last night.”
Luka got out of bed and then helped me to my feet. My legs were weak and uncooperative, but I managed. He stayed true to his word. Luka watched me wobble toward the bathroom, but didn’t follow, choosing instead to get dressed. It didn’t take him long. Moments after I shut the bathroom door between us, I heard the bedroom door open and close as he left.
I was empty as I stood under the stream of water from the shower. Not numb, not angry, not scared, just . . . empty. I decided to think about nothing at all, rather than analyze the last two days and how I felt about it. I focused on the menial tasks. Lather, rinse. Shut off the water. Dry your hair.
When I emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped beneath my arms, there were clothes laid out on the bed—a pair of jeans, undergarments, and a soft orange sweater. The boatneck top was older, but comfortable and flattering, and one of my favorite pieces. I dressed quickly and then eyed the doorknob.
Did he trust me somewhat, or would I find the door locked when I tried to open it? I held my breath, grasped the brass handle, and turned. Luka waited in the hall and seemed pleased to see me. He noticed the surprised expression I had, but said nothing, and nodded toward the stairs.
Every step I took beside him without running inched us closer to some sort of understanding. I sat across from him at the table in the kitchen that was once again set for us with a full spread. A lifetime had passed since the last time we’d been here.
“After breakfast,” he said, pouring me a cup of coffee, “I assume you have stuff you want to work on. Homework or whatever.”
I almost fell out of my chair. “I’m going to class tomorrow?”
His eyes clouded. “I didn’t say that.”
I made a face. “Well, what’s the point of doing it if—”
“Tell me you don’t want to do your homework.” His expression was direct. “Regardless of whether you have class. Tell me it won’t eat at you to leave it unfinished.”
I set my coffee down with force. Damn him. “Yeah, okay, it’ll make me crazy not to do it, but why does it matter?”
“Just do it, Addison,” he grumbled and turned to look out the picture window at the bright, sunny day. He frowned. His gaze turned back to me and hardened. “If it matters to you, it matters to me.”
He was so confusing, but I could tell there wasn’t anything else informative coming from him, and I couldn’t keep pushing. We ate as the conversation went silent, and the only sound was the scrape of silverware against china. It was tense, but not uncomfortable. I had a hard time starting a conversation and didn’t mind the quiet, and Luka seemed to be the same.
When we finished our meal, his gaze settled on me and his head cocked to one side.
“What?” I asked.
The corner of his mouth hinted a smile. “I like this on you.”
I glanced down, and back to him. “My sweater?”
“You wore it the first time I heard you speak. You corrected professor Kwon when he’d written the wrong variable on the whiteboard. You beat me to it.”
My heart marched along at double-time. He remembered not only the event, but what I was wearing?
Luka appeared unfazed. “Tomorrow, I have to work.” He rubbed a hand along the faint scruff on his face. “I’ll have to leave the house by seven. There’ll be someone here though, until I’m back for lunch.”
I swallowed back my mounting irritation at missing my morning lecture. It wouldn’t do any good to lose control of my emotions around him, but I still said it with my teeth clenched firmly together. “And what would you have me do tomorrow? Since I won’t be at class?”
“You need better clothes. I’ll get someone over here to fix that.”
I choked. He was going to what? “I’m sorry?”
Despite it all, his annoyed look still did something to me. It made me feel excited and eager to see the expression on the opposite end. Any hint of emotion from him was nice, but a pleased Luka was the most intriguing.
“We’ll have lunch together. If all that goes well, you’ll have further privileges.”
But he wouldn’t elaborate on them. My ingrained manners had me trying to clear my plate and set it in the kitchen sink, but Luka waved his hand, dismissing my actions.
“The housekeeper will get it.”
Housekeeper. Where, exactly, was this mystery staff? The house was immaculate, but I hadn’t seen so much as a shadow of them.
I was escorted upstairs, only this time he guided me to a new door. When he pushed it open, I sucked in a sharp breath. Luka hadn’t been lying about packing up my dorm room. It appeared to all be here in this bedroom, which looked as generic as mine was. My clothes hung in the closet. There were open boxes set on the bed and I could see my belongings in there—pictures of my family, the packet from Duke, and my used textbooks.
Luka gestured to the boxes. “Get what you need and follow me.”
I loaded my text books in my arms, only for Luka to take them from me.
When I reached for my laptop, his voice was sharp. “No.”
I froze. “I need it for online stuff.”
He shook his head. “Not today, you don’t.”
My fingertips slid over the cool metal case of my laptop, longing for everything I could access from it. I wanted more than anything to look up information on Luka Markovic, rather than figure out how to send a cry for help. How twisted was that?
I collected my planner and another book, hugging them close. My fingers curled around the bindings made me feel normal again, if only for a minute. Luka carried my books under an arm, and gestured to the hallway. This time when we descended the stairs, he turned right, and I followed him across the hardwood. We went past what seemed to be a formal sitting room, and then he pushed open a door.
There was one oversized arched window on the front wall, casting morning light across the bookshelves that lined the room. A large, ornate desk sat in the center, perched on top of an Oriental rug. It seemed to be the focal point, but my gaze went to the shelves, where books and odds and ends had been carefully displayed, even over the fireplace opposite the window.
Luka set my textbooks on a tufted couch, but I drifted to the built-in bookcase, where my attention had landed on a framed photograph.
“Your mother?” I asked before I could think better of it. The image was of an attractive brunette holding a baby, while a young boy hugged her legs. His dark hair and darker eyes were instantly recognizable, even when he was five years old.
Luka’s posture went rigid. “Yeah, that’s her.” He pointed to the couch. “You’ll do your homework here.”
His mother had a slender frame, big brown eyes, and long, sleek hair the same color as his. Her high cheekbones made her look elegant, and her bright smile announced where Vasilije’s dimple came from. The picture filled me with sadness. What had happened to her? “She was beautiful.”
Luka took in a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if he was frustrated or caught off balance by my statement, so I hurried to the couch. I sank down beside the books and grabbed my planner, not wa
nting to make him angry.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “She was very beautiful.”
His expression gave nothing away, but his voice . . . the hurt there was unmistakable. I desperately wanted him to tell me more, but he didn’t. His face was shuttered as he went to the desk and sat behind the computer. I had a ton of reading to do for developmental biology, so I dug the textbook out of the stack, cracked it open, and got to work, refusing to let my thoughts wander toward the man sitting across from me.
After a while, I no longer noticed the clicking of his mouse or keyboard. I retreated into the science, shutting the world out.
We fell into a strange pattern the rest of the day, working in silence in his library, largely ignoring the other person. Yet, we were still intensely aware of each other. When he got up to take a phone call in the hallway, the room became cavernous and cold.
It felt like it was simply a room, and not a space we were sharing together.
Luka was gone for a while. Was this another test? The computer was right there, and he was probably still logged on. I kept myself rooted to the couch. I’d already made my choice to play the long game with Luka. Attempting escape would only make it take longer.
When he finally reappeared, he carried drinks in one hand and balanced two plates of sandwiches on the other. Grilled chicken croissants with honey mustard dressing, which tasted amazing. “You have a personal chef,” I said, “when it’s just you here at the house?”
Luka set his napkin on the plate and pushed it aside. “Whitney only works on the weekends. She prepares everything for the week ahead.”
“Oh.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that even Luka’s meals were planned and controlled.
After lunch, he went back to the computer and I moved on to organic chemistry. The day rolled on. At one point Luka rose from the desk, opened the trunk that doubled as a coffee table in front of the couch, and retrieved a quilt. He cast it over me, and I glanced up, surprised.
“You were shivering.”
I was so busy I hadn’t even noticed until he said so. The sweater I wore wasn’t very thick, and I’d been sedentary. How did he expect me to deal with him like this? The caring action was so confusing. I curled up under the warm blanket, and struggled with what to say. “Thank you.”
He said nothing.
When my coursework was done and the sunlight was fading, I closed my book and peered at him.
He hadn’t flipped on any lights, so the room was growing dark and he was lit by the glowing computer screen. Stubble shadowed his jaw. His black eyes focused on the screen, and then he picked up a pen, scribbling something down on a pad of paper. Yet he must have sensed my gaze because his attention swung abruptly my direction.
“What do you need?”
If I’d gone back to my dorm Friday night, I would have finished polishing my secondary applications this weekend. “I have some applications I was working on.”
“For Michigan and Johns Hopkins.” His face was emotionless.
“Yeah,” I snapped. “That’s right, you know because you went through my stuff when you were packing it up.”
He sat back from the desk and quirked his eyebrow. “Some of it I did then. I finished going through the rest of it last night.”
My eyes narrowed to slits, but he kept talking.
“That’s upsetting?” he mocked. “Did I cut you with a broken piece of glass?”
My gaze dropped down to his forearm. The scratch wasn’t as red or noticeable today, but it was still there. What he’d said was true, but . . . “You’ve done worse to me.”
“Yeah. So I don’t think me reading something you’re planning to send to strangers is that big of a deal.”
It wasn’t, and yet it was. I’d put personal information in there about my vision for my future. My advisor had urged me to speak candidly about my goals. “Let them feel your passion,” she’d said. I hadn’t written the essay for Luka, and it filled me with unease to know he’d read it, which I was sure he had. I’d printed out a draft for better proofreading.
“You look fucking hot when you pout.”
My hands tensed into fists beneath the blanket, stifling back the irritation and the rush his words gave me. He was pushing my buttons on purpose.
He stood and gave me a hard look. “Again, what do you need?”
“I need to polish them and put them in the mail.”
“All right. I’ll help you get them ready and drop them off on my way to the office in the morning.”
I pushed back the blanket and rose to my feet, not wanting him to look down on me. “What’s the point if I’m not going to graduate?” In fact, Duke could rescind my acceptance if my grades slipped. Their medical school would not tolerate a senior slump.
He stared at me as if I were throwing a tantrum. “What did I tell you this morning?” He shifted his weight, and set his hands on his hips, signaling visible annoyance with me. “Does getting into med school matter to you?”
Yes, of course it mattered. He knew just how much it did. “It matters more than anything.”
“Then, guess what? It fucking matters to me.”
16
I SWALLOWED A BREATH. “You have to go to class to graduate.”
Luka rolled his eyes. “I understand how it works, but we’re not there as far as trust goes. That should be your primary focus right now.” He collected the plates from lunch. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
He left, and I plunked down on the couch, fuming. Despite how he’d worked me up, I was still cold. I aggressively yanked the blanket over myself, feeling powerless and frustrated.
Luka returned with my applications and my laptop. He set it on the desk, plugged it in, and hit the power button. Then, he handed me the application essay. “Read it out loud to me.”
It seemed to be so he could multi-task. He went over to the fireplace and turned on the gas, then lit the ceramic pile of faux logs. The blue-orange flames licked over the realistic looking wood in a mesmerizing pattern.
Reading it out to him was weird, but helpful as well. I could hear the awkward phrasing I’d used in the opening paragraph. “Cut that last sentence,” he said. “It’s repetitive.”
He was right.
I made the changes to the document on my laptop while he watched, and then he set up the printer and printed out copies to attach. When I was done addressing the envelopes he’d given me, he stuffed them with the applications, sealed them, and dropped them into the briefcase resting beside the desk.
When he shut my laptop, my gaze casually wandered to his screen and—
“You’re looking at porn?” I asked, shocked. There was a black and white picture on screen of a topless woman, whose head was turned down and her hands tucked behind her back, or perhaps they were tied.
“That’s research.” He was quick to click the window closed, though.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I said, my voice flat. “Research?”
His hand dipped under my arm and he yanked me to my feet, bringing us face to face. “It’s research about your training, Addison.” His eyes flooded with something raw and sexual. “I’ve spent the whole day working on our plan.”
Well, that was terrifying. So why did a thrill shiver down my spine? And . . . our plan? I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and forced out a confident voice. “Okay. You need to get a hobby.”
Luka’s evil smile made my blood run cold and got me hot in the same instance. “I have one.” He slipped a hand beneath the hem of my sweater and ran his warm fingers over my belly, causing me to flinch. They skated upward, tracing the cup of my bra. “It’s this,” he whispered.
He loomed overhead and didn’t tip his head down, choosing instead to look over his long lashes at me. I was sure he noted every hurried breath I took, and saw my pupils dilate, a perfect response to his touch. My skin tingled beneath his fingertips and I studied his mouth. It said dirty, sometimes awful things, but it was beautiful,
too. His sexy, cruel mouth was addictive.
The fireplace burned quietly. There was only a faint hiss of gas as it flickered in the now-dark room. Luka lowered his mouth almost to mine, but didn’t claim it. He breathed over my lips and dipped down further into the crook of my neck. There, the tip of his nose brushed over my sensitive skin. He moved from one side to the other, teasing his kiss but not delivering it. I licked my lips instinctively, craving what he denied.
It wound me tighter each second as his hot breath streamed over me, and the faintest brush of his lips grazed my neck. I was itchy and agitated. No, those weren’t the right words. Eager was a better fit. Perhaps even desperate.
“Luka,” I said, verging on a plea. I was weak. How could I want him? I’d been tainted, like he’d poisoned me. Sinking down to his level was the only way to alleviate the symptoms.
“What do you need?” he asked. He was a vicious cat, sadistically playing with the mouse he’d caught. He’d toy with his prey before devouring it. “Ask me.”
I sighed while he continued his torment. Was it possible to die from anticipation? How the hell was I supposed to ask him to kiss me, and why? Luka was a taker. He’d get whatever he wanted, use me up, and discard me when he was done. He wasn’t bothered with right or wrong, and certainly didn’t care what I thought.
“Are you shaking because you’re cold?” His tone was rhetorical. We both knew I wasn’t. The fire had warmed the room, and there was plenty of heat between us.
It felt a little like dying, or at least sacrificing a limb to save the body. I was surrendering more control, and soon I’d have nothing left. I stared into his intense eyes, and my voice was a whisper. “Kiss me.”
“Louder.”
My chest expanded as I pulled in an enormous breath. “Kiss me.”
He obliterated everything. His mouth moved urgently against mine, and then his tongue got involved. Powerful, sure arms swept me up and dropped me down with a thump on the end of the desk. He didn’t even stop kissing me as I heard the sharp snap of his fingers. There was no hesitation this time as I pried my knees apart and welcomed him to step between them. I curled my hands beneath the cotton of his t-shirt, finding his skin burning hot.
