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“If you know where your father is, it will be best to tell me.”
It wasn’t a question. Not really. It felt like a warning, as if he knew the truth and was waiting for confirmation. I glance around the room, my grip tightening on the phone.
The phone? My eyes widen.
“No,” I whisper, heart thudding. “That’s not possible.” If Roman knew I had this, he would’ve taken it when he brought me here.
Unless he wants me to use it. And this is a trap.
Why did it have to be me?
With a frustrated groan, I hurl the phone to the other end of the bed, watching it bounce once before going still. I drag my hands through my hair and over my face, sighing loudly.
Later. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I need a shower. Maybe it’ll wash away this feeling crawling under my skin and keep my thoughts from going south whenever I see him.
The way he looked at me…his dark blue eyes roaming over the shirt. Like he was thinking of ways to take it off.
Shaking the thought off, I peel off the shirt and head into the bathroom, letting the hot water beat down on me until my skin turns pink and steam clouds the mirror.
When I step back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around me, I head to the closet to pick out another of his shirts. Three shirts—that’s all I have to wear until I get more clothes.
I had to scavenge for them since I couldn’t keep wearing my wedding dress. Polina was kind enough to wash them for me, and as much as I didn’t want Roman anywhere near my body, I didn’t have any choice.
I still don’t want him anywhere close.Not after what happened downstairs.
“It’s just a shirt,” I murmur. One that he hasn’t worn in a long time. Still, I stare daggers at it for a beat before snatching it up.
The fabric slides down my body and ends at the top of my thighs. It’s soft—worn cotton. I inhale softly as the faint smell of expensive cologne, burnt orange, and a hint of coffee envelops me. The sleeves are too long, swallowing my hands until I fold them back. The collar slips slightly off one shoulder, and I catch my reflection in the mirror.
His shirt. My skin. For a moment, I slip, losing myself in a fantasy in which he’s some other man whose scent makes me heady and causes my nerves to throb. I wrap my arms around my middle, imagining they belong to someone else.
Someone with bigger, slightly calloused hands that slide across my skin—a combination of rough and gentle. My hands fall lower as I press my thighs together, and a shiver runs down my spine, settling between my thighs, teasing my thoughts further.
My eyes fly open as a whimper slips past my lips, and I see myself in the mirror again, but this time, I’m a reflection of forbidden desire.
Lust.
“It’s a chemical reaction,” I tell myself. “Nothing more.”
I exhale, pulling the shirt lower before walking away.
The surprised lookon Roman’s face when he finds me sprawled across his living room couch the following day is enough to make my morning feel like a five-star breakfast. Still, I school my features, softening my grin into something more polite.
Less gloaty.
Iamgloating on the inside, of course, but I have a plan to execute. The last thing I need is him catching on.
“Good morning,” I say with exaggerated cheer, flashing him my most innocent smile.
He gives a short nod. I grit my teeth behind a tight smile and fight the urge to roll my eyes. “You look like you’re off somewhere,” I add, tone airy. “Work, perhaps?”
Another nod.
Seriously?If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was talking to a holographic projection. I push down my irritation.
Focus, Isabella.
“I have a request,” I say, lifting my chin slightly. “I’d like to leave for the day. You can assign a security detail, as many as you think will keep me from running away, but I need to get out.”