Page 55 of Sexting the Pakhan

“I know what it means.”

“And?”

“And you can sleep in my room. Or I can sit outside your door. Your choice.”

Her eyes flick to my mouth.

The air gets heavy again.

“Your room,” she says.

I nod once.

She reaches for her phone and blanket with hands that are not quite steady. I take the wineglass from the table and set it farther away before she can grab that too.

I lead her inside, down the hall, past the men who know better than to look directly at us. My hand stays at the small of her back, light enough that she could step away.

She does not.

At my bedroom door, she stops. The room beyond is dark except for the low lamp near the bed and the gray reflection of the sea in the windows. I feel her hesitate beside me.

“We don’t have to,” I say.

“I know.”

She steps inside anyway.

I close the door behind us.

8

ZOYA

Ruslan’s roomis not what I expect.

I don’t know what I expect, exactly. Gold. Weapons. Some dramatic black-and-red villain bedroom that looks like it belongs to a man who owns too many secrets.

Instead, it’s quiet. Dark wood. Gray sheets. One low lamp by the bed. A wide window with the sea moving black beyond the glass. Everything is expensive, but none of it is showy. Nothing is out of place. Nothing feels lived in.

The man probably intimidates dust into behaving.

I stand near the door with his coat still around my shoulders and suddenly feel very aware of myself. My cardigan is damp from the balcony. My skirt is wrinkled. My hair is a mess. My lips still feel swollen from the kiss outside, and every time I look at his mouth, I remember exactly how it felt against mine.

This is a bad idea. A terrible idea.

Which is apparently the only kind of idea I’m capable of having around him.

Ruslan closes the door but doesn’t lock it.

I notice that.

He notices me noticing. “You can leave whenever you want,” he says.

“Can I?”

His jaw tightens. “Inside the house, yes.”

“That’s not the same thing.”