Page 68 of Maksim
Then again, maybe it isn’t the scent that’s evil. Maybe it’s just when it’s on him.
“This way,” he coos, guiding me toward voices with his hand curving around my hip. His cane clicks on the tile insidiously with each step, but he walks at a surprisingly brisk pace. Whatever happened to him hasn’t slowed him down.
People appear as we enter a large, impressive room dotted with leather couches and chairs. At first, I think nothing of the people, noticing the gigantic white rug Nikita must have a thing for and the glass wall revealing a rectangular pool on the other side of it so large it extends out of sight.
But then I hear more than a voice, it’s a moan, and my eyes glue to a fully nude woman swaying her hips to the instrumental music. My eyes dart around, finding couples, groups, naked, their bodies melding together.
Not everyone is like this. Some people are fully dressed, conversing like nothing is happening, and some are half-naked in pieces of lingerie like the woman who was with Nikita before. I can’t believe anyone could just stand there talking like nothing is happening.
My face gets impossibly hot, and my eyes naturally find my feet. I try to block out the noise, all of it.
I want to go home.
Now.
I want to watch that dramatic movie Anya chose and plan what to have for dinner tomorrow and pretend Maksim isn’t the kind of man who comes to places like this.
That thought is ripped from my mind, it feels like a luxury, when Nikita’s hand slips under my dress and runs to my rear, sliding beneath my panties to feel skin felt by only one man before him.
He squeezes and moves us to a wall so he can rest his cane against it. “You fooled me that first night, didn’t you?” he asks me, staring down at my chest when he uses the back of his deft fingers to slide my straps off my shoulders, making my summer dress sag and catch on my chest that heaves with each quick breath. “You can understand everything I say.”
I stare straight ahead, my hands bunching into fists so they don’t shake. My throat is a pinched hose, so I nod.
Nikita rubs his thumb across the top of my dress, leaning in to smile against my face. “Sneaky little bitch.”
I feel it when his smile falls and close my eyes, bracing for pain.
“I must admit, I wrongly assessed you. You are … quite a woman.”
What?
“I think you and I could have an awful lot of fun together.”
His words, along with his breath, sting my face like he bit me, and I clench my eyelids. I try not to consider what he’s saying, try not to picture it, but it’s hard. He could be talking about sex. He could be talking about torture. He could be talking about anything.
“Open your eyes.”
His voice isn’t harsh, but I obey the command immediately anyway, opening my eyes wide as if that makes any difference.
“If you could pick anyone in this room, who would it be, and what would it be with?”
Huh?
My wide eyes soften as I turn to search his face for meaning.
He smiles, reading my mind, then he reaches into his inside jacket pocket to reveal a knife. My lungs harden to concrete, and I get the overwhelming urge to flee, having to fight myself to stay still.
I stare at the knife like it’ll stay out of my body as long as I don’t take my eyes off it.
“Blades are my first choice,” he says, turning it over in his hand. “Small ones. Your kill would’ve lasted much longer if you’d used a less lethal blade, and trust me, you want it to last longer.”
I don’t grimace. Don’t puke. Don’t react at all to what he’s saying. My heart beats wildly, and blood whooshes in my ears, but I listen and hope like hell I don’t look anything like I feel because… Because I don’t think he’s trying to scare me. I think he’s bonding with me. And I’m a smart enough woman to know not to reject him.
He thinks I’m a killer.
Which makes sense because of what happened, but … I’m not. I’m not. I’m… I never would have done that if it wasn’t deserved.
I’m not Nikita.