Torrid

by Nikki Sloane

  Luka’s eyes were black ink. “With me.”

  “Why?” I had to lick my lips to combat my dry mouth.

  “Because this part of your training is over.” He tugged on the ends of the robe, cinching it tighter and pulling me close. “Monday we start a new phase.”

  “Which is?”

  “You go back to class.”

  π

  I was back two weeks before we had our first issue. I settled into my new routine almost seamlessly. Vanessa drove me to class and stayed with me wherever I went, and after school was over, she delivered me back to the house. I never considered escape. I told myself I was in it for the long run, until Luka truly let me go.

  It’d been weird at first with Vanessa, but Luka said she was there for my protection as much as his. If word got out that he was handling his uncle’s finances, his family’s enemies might show interest in me. That was scary as hell, but he reassured me I was fine. The likelihood was microscopic, and Vanessa was working for him to support her amateur MMA career. She made an excellent bodyguard, he’d said.

  Bodyguard.

  I didn’t ask, but Luka volunteered the information. When his cousin had gone to prison, the Russians saw an opening and took it. Every month they pushed further into Markovic territory, both the guns and sex trafficking business. It turned my stomach, and I was overwhelmingly relieved when he didn’t offer specifics. No wonder Luka wanted nothing to do with his uncle’s real trade.

  Despite my fear, the arrangement with Luka worked out better than the first half of the semester, because I had my own space to work without Avery around, a chauffeur, and a personal chef. Whenever I was working on homework at night, Luka either left me alone or sat quietly beside me, on his iPad or phone.

  It’d been more of the latter this week. We tended to gravitate toward each other. I’d sit on the couch in the office while he worked at the desk, and when I was done, he’d take me upstairs to what had become our room.

  Not every night was filled with sex. A week after returning to class, my period arrived. Luka and I stayed up late, just talking. He seemed fascinated by my boring, normal life. We had conversations about all sorts of things, but he’d only let me pry so far before finding other uses for my mouth.

  I tried not to dwell on how quickly I’d adjusted to life with him, or how easily I had bent to his will. The shocking truth was I didn’t hate my time with Luka. Sometimes I even looked forward to it.

  It was a Thursday when I sat on the couch with the quilt on my lap, reading a textbook. The far-off growl of the garage door signaled he was home, and I straightened in my seat, quelling my smile. But footsteps thundered loudly up the hall, much too fast to be anything but angry. I bolted up from the couch, concern flooding through me. What had happened?

  My suspicions were confirmed when he threw open the office door and his eyes burned. I backpedaled and collided with the desk at the same instant his hands seized my shoulders.

  “Tell me what you did today, Addison.”

  I stared at him with total confusion. “Nothing! I went to my physics lecture, and organic chem lab.”

  His dark eyes were narrow. “Tell me about your lecture.”

  My brain filtered through the morning, trying to figure out what had set him off. “It was what you’d expect—” Then, it clicked. “This is about the coffee?”

  “Yeah,” he snapped. “It’s about the fucking coffee.”

  I almost laughed, but caught myself in time.

  I hadn’t made many friends in college, but I’d gotten to know most of the other pre-med students who were on the same track. Gavin was bright, and friendly, and like me, a bit awkward. After two years of seeing each other at nearly every class, we’d become friends. We sat next to each other, exchanged lecture notes, and had a friendly competition on our tests.

  Vanessa had mentioned he was the first to ask what had happened to me when she showed up in my place, requesting to video the lectures. She’d told him I was sick. Once I’d returned to class, he’d lingered even closer, offering to help catch me up.

  “Luka,” I said softly.

  “You think a guy hitting on you isn’t noteworthy? Did you not make it clear you’re unavailable?”

  His possessiveness was stunning, and if I was honest, I sort of liked it. I was petty and stupid, but I enjoyed knowing he didn’t like anyone challenging his claim. As if they could.

  “He bought Vanessa and me both a cup of coffee this morning,” I said. “He was just being polite.” Luka’s scowl intensified, spurring me on. “He didn’t buy the coffee for me.” It’d been apparent right away how badly Gavin was smitten with Vanessa. “He’s such a nerd, and she’s a badass. You should see them together, they’re adorable.”

  Gavin had been waiting for us this morning in the lecture hall, three cups of coffee resting on the long table before him. He was sweaty and nervous as he’d passed them out, trying to sound casual and failing. I’d watched him attempt to flirt with the woman with whom he had hardly anything in common, but he did it anyway.

  I’d been proud and envious to see my friend take a risk and go after what he wanted. In spite of all that had happened, a part of me wished I had done the same with Luka.

  “He’s interested in Vanessa?” Confusion painted Luka’s face.

  I gave a light smile. “Oh, yeah.”

  “I had her describe him to me,” he said, releasing me. “It sounds like she could snap him in half with one finger.”

  My smile grew. Gavin was a twig. “He’d probably like that.”

  It took Luka several seconds to adjust to the information, and I was surprised at how much emotion he’d displayed. It was disarming, and I shut off my mind, avoiding all consequences. My hands gripped his strong jaw, and I pulled him to me, planted my lips tentatively against his, showing him he had nothing to fear.

  “You’ve made me say it enough times,” I whispered.

  He blinked, looking affected by my kiss. It was the first time I’d ever initiated it. “What?”

  “That you own me. I understand that, Luka.”

  His kiss was powerful, deadening my thoughts, all except for one. Would I ever want to own him?

  22

  THANKSGIVING WAS A DISASTER.

  It started off well enough. My parents were skeptical of the older man I introduced as my boyfriend. Luka was five years older than I was, and his serious demeanor announced he was anything but a boy, but my family rolled with it. Jonathon didn’t care at all.

  We ate turkey and stuffing, and held conversations about current events over pumpkin pie. My brother showed off his new car, unaware my boyfriend had orchestrated the whole thing. I gave Luka the tour of my family’s house, only because he insisted. He’d enjoyed me showing him the barn where our equipment was stored, at least the stuff we didn’t co-op. Up to that point, the day had gone much better than I expected.

  It went downhill when I’d led him to my bedroom, leaving the door open, of course, since my parents were conservative. Luka’s gaze had scanned the room, assessing the mathlete trophies and valedictorian sash clinically, and then he’d told me in graphic detail how he wanted to bend me over my bed and fuck me while my parents were downstairs.

  Only my dad wasn’t downstairs. He’d heard the whole thing.

  My father’s face had turned a terrible shade of purple as he told Luka to leave. We tried to calm him down and tell him it had been a joke, but eventually Luka’s true self broke free, and he announced I lived with him now.

  “Addison’s twenty-one,” Luka said, standing tall under my father’s angry glare. “An adult.”

  “And she’s also our daughter,” my father snapped back at him. “It’s our responsibility to keep her from making poor decisions.”

  Luka’s expression soured. His hand wrapped around mine, tugging me toward the closet so we could retrieve our coats.

  “Addie,” my mother pleaded. “This is crazy!” She stared at me with disbelief, probably wonder
ing what the hell had happened to make their smart daughter move in with a serious and imposing man she’d only really known for a month.

  “I know it’s kinda fast,” I said. How on earth was I going to explain it? Luka’s and my relationship was like an arranged marriage where our lives had been thrust together, and we were doing our best to make it work.

  My father didn’t need an explanation and wasn’t intimidated by Luka. He put his hands on his hips and puffed up his chest. “You’re just kids. You’re both too young to be playing house.”

  The hand on my wrist tightened and I sucked in a breath. Outwardly, yes. Luka appeared young, but he wasn’t, and I sensed how annoyed he was with being called a kid.

  Luka’s tone was edged with controlled anger. “I’m four years older than you were, when you married your wife, sir.”

  My dad’s shoulders pulled back as if Luka’s statement was a verbal slap. But it was true. My parents had been high school sweethearts and gotten married at twenty-two.

  Luka held my coat for me to put on. “I think it’s best if we head out. I’m sorry if I upset you, but the truth is I’m selfish and greedy. I enjoy coming home to her every night. I like Addison . . . very much. Can you blame me for wanting to be around her?”

  His gaze found mine and he flashed a full-out grin.

  It was a miracle my eyes didn’t fall out of my head. A tiny voice inside said he’d only done this for effect, playing the role of the love-struck boyfriend, but dear God . . . When his face lit up, it was hard not to believe this was truth.

  His smile drugged me. I was marginally aware he delivered our goodbyes to my parents, apologizing once more for making the holiday uncomfortable, and telling my parents they were welcome at our home anytime. I genuinely had no idea how they would handle that. The exterior of the house was just as impressive as the interior. Would my parents’ jaws hit the floor as they pulled up in the circle drive of the mansion?

  “That didn’t really go as I’d planned,” he commented when we were seated in the car. His long fingers rested on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, and I wondered if he’d put his hand there so he could have a sense of control. “But they needed to know eventually.”

  I stared out the window, waiting for him to put the car in gear and back out of my parents’ driveway, but he didn’t. We sat in cold silence for an eternity.

  “Addison.” He placed his hand in my lap, gently squeezing my thigh. “I meant what I said.”

  “That you want to fuck me on my high school bed with a thumb in my ass? I’m sure.”

  He glared at me. “You know what I’m talking about.” He exhaled, signaling frustration. “I told you, I’m not good at that shit, but I like coming home now, okay? People usually get on my nerves, but not you.” He looked so different when he was unsure. “I like being with you.”

  I stared at the hand in my lap. It was the same for me, but I couldn’t admit it. He’d steamrolled right over me; how could I confess to liking it? To liking him?

  He waited impatiently for my response, so I dropped my hand on top of his, encasing his warm fingers. It was the best I could do. I was sure he wasn’t overly pleased, but it seemed to satisfy him enough, because he put the car into gear.

  π

  I hadn’t heard Luka come into the office because I’d been too busy studying. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that my head snapped up and my gaze locked on to him. He leaned back against the desk, his arms crossed, and a rich blue tie hung loose at his neck.

  “Go change into something nice,” he ordered. “We’re going out to dinner.”

  Was he insane? He’d never interrupted me before, and it was finals week. I shook my head. “I’m studying.” I pointed to the textbook in my lap to reinforce my statement.

  “Which one?”

  “Developmental biology.”

  He made a face like I was being ridiculous. “Like you need to study for that one. You can take two hours off. We’re going out to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” There’d been a weird pitch to his voice that I couldn’t place.

  “Yeah.” He gave me half of a smile. “Your early acceptance to Johns Hopkins came today.”

  It took me a moment to process the words, and once I got over the initial thrill . . . “You opened it?”

  It wasn’t the invasion of privacy that bothered me, it was that he’d taken the moment away when we could have shared it together.

  “No, I didn’t open it,” he scoffed. He pulled a thick envelope off the desk and held it up. “I’m assuming. Unless this is an unnecessarily detailed rejection letter.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Open it. Then get your ass upstairs and get dressed.”

  I stood, snatched it from him, and tore open the envelope. I didn’t mind when he moved to stand behind me so he could read over my shoulder, or when his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close.

  “I told you,” he whispered as we scanned the letter, confirming my acceptance.

  Johns Hopkins. My dream school.

  I couldn’t stop smiling as he led me upstairs to our bedroom and picked out a dress for me to wear. Luka watched me get ready, amusement playing in his eyes. Maybe even a little bit of pride. He knew how badly I wanted to get in.

  I practically galloped beside him as we walked down the hall toward the garage, unable to contain my excitement. Tonight the six-car garage was completely loaded with cars. Often Dimitrije stored his newest acquisitions for his pre-owned luxury dealership here, and Luka examined the selection as if facing a difficult choice.

  “BMW or Lexus?” he asked.

  It was the most elegant of the cars in the garage, and its black paint gleamed. “The BMW.” He seemed pleased at my choice. I relaxed into the soft leather in the passenger seat, marveling at the interior. “It’s like a spaceship.”

  He paired his phone with the large screen and plugged the restaurant’s address in.

  “We’re going into the city?” I asked.

  He nodded, but didn’t elaborate. As we drove, I called my parents and told them the good news. The conversation was stilted when they realized Luka was listening in on the car speakers, but they were happy for me. After, Luka and I chatted about our days, and then we lapsed into a comfortable, easy silence.

  We were exiting the freeway into the city when his phone rang. I stared at the screen, and went cold. Dimitrije Markovic was calling.

  Luka’s expression turned to stone as he pressed a button. “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” Dimitrije’s tone was annoyed.

  “Downtown.”

  “Did you take the new BMW?”

  Luka’s eyebrows pulled together. “Yeah, why?”

  There was a loud sigh on the other end. “Don’t get pulled over, and if you do, don’t let them search the trunk. I’ve got stuff in there.”

  Luka’s hand tightened on the wheel at the same time the muscles along his jaw flexed. In his head he was surely cursing his father’s name. “All right, understood.”

  The call disconnected and blanketed the car interior in tension. What kind of stuff was back there? Guns? A dead body?

  “Should we turn around?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “We’re almost there. We’ll be fine.”

  The restaurant was Serbian. I could tell from the fact Luka spoke in Serbian to the host, who greeted him by name. It was always surprising when the foreign language rolled out of him. Unexpected, but pleasant.

  The day Luka started to let me have supervised internet access, I’d queried luče, spelling it incorrectly as he’d pronounced it, luche. He’d grimaced, and then typed it in for me. He’d been embarrassed at calling me a term of endearment, most closely related to ‘baby.’ He’d only slipped and done it the one time, but when I’d read the translation, warmth spread down through me. It shouldn’t have. I wasn’t supposed to like how he’d whispered to me in his mother’s native language.

  We were seated at a table
near the back, and from the way the host fawned over us, it was clear he knew exactly who Luka was. A bottle of wine was poured for us and left on the table, and as I reached for my glass, Luka spoke abruptly.

  “Congrats, Addison. I’m happy for you.”

  I held my wine in stunned surprise as he clinked his against mine, and then brought his glass to his lips.

  “Are you?” I asked quietly.

  He looked confused. “Of course. This is what you wanted—”

  “No.” I was on an emotional rollercoaster, and it made me reckless and brave. “Are you happy?”

  He set the wine down and his fingers remained on the bell of the glass, as if he were too distracted to move while thinking about his answer. “Yes,” he said finally. His gaze captured mine and stole my breath. “You make me happy.”

  I could barely get the question out. “Do you trust me?”

  He paused.

  Oh, no. Slowly his expression melted into his cold, emotionless mask. He’d seen right through my attempt to ask for freedom. The phone call from Dimitrije had reminded me of my true goal. Luka’s family were criminals, and I needed to escape.

  “I trust you . . . enough,” he said. “Not enough to let you go yet, if that’s where you’re heading.”

  I took a sip of my wine and glanced away. He could always tell what I was thinking. I was determined not to let my failed attempt ruin my night. Eventually he’d have to let me go. Johns Hopkins was in Maryland, not Chicago.

  Our food was excellent, and I liked the cozy ambiance of the restaurant. Even though the tables were close to each other and the place was busy, it seemed like we were secluded near the back. It felt . . . intimate. It was the closest thing to a real date we’d ever been on.

  “Order dessert,” he said, when he noticed me eyeing the cart loaded with all sorts of pastries. “The chocolate torte’s like my mother used to make—”

  Commotion near the front drew our attention. In fact, it seemed to draw everyone’s attention in the restaurant. Two men lurked at the host’s stand, and the host turned to Luka, giving us a good look at his angry face.

  Luka motioned to bring the men back to us. He straightened in his seat and didn’t look at me as the men hurried through the aisle, grabbed the two empty chairs at our square table, and sat down.