Page 25 of Brutal Secrets

After about an hour, Vadim switches the radio on and a mournful voice echoes between us.

“This is beautiful but sad.” I lean forward in my seat to concentrate. “What do the words mean?”

Vadim leans over and grasps my hand, pressing it against his mouth before he answers. “How I love you. How I fear you. It seems I met you in an unlucky hour.”

“Does this apply to us?” I say, trying to frame a bigger question I’m too afraid to ask.

“Well, it’s about a man with dark eyes, and my eyes are blue.” He hums the refrain under his breath as the miles of birch trees zip by, their pale trunks white against the gray sky.

I wish I had more time with him, and the questions jostle for space in my head.

Can I see you again?

Would you like to fly halfway across the world and come to one of my concerts?

Vadim’s voice breaks the silence. “Will you be okay?”

I shrug and smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I’m used to flying.”

His deep voice vibrates in the small space, and his fingers grip my hand. “That wasn’t what I meant. Who will protect you?”

I close my eyes and soak up the comfort of his touch, babbling nervously to fill the space. “Thank you for looking after me. No one has done that for a while. When I started out in Nashville, I always had the boys around.”

“Boys?” Tension radiates from his stilled fingers.

“The guys in my band. Jimmy cut them loose.”

“Pretty little songbird.” Vadim keeps his eyes on the road but lifts his hand to dust his fingers down my cheek, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with his size and the life he must live. “Perhaps you can get them back. We all need someone in our corner, as long as you can trust them not to manhandle you like that bastard who’s managing you.”

It must be nerves because I blurt out, “Stevie, our bassist, once told me that the idea of sleeping with me made him laugh.” I clamp my hand over my eyes and screw them shut. “God, I’m embarrassing myself.”

“He was lying,” his dark voice says definitively as his finger strokes back and forth, sending shivers along my nerve endings.

“I doubt it.” I roll my eyes at Vadim.

He’s surrounded by curvy Amazon women, and I bet he takes dozens of them home. I’ve known him less than twenty-four hours and I’ve seen the way women look at him like they want to eat him up.

“I don’t doubt it for a minute. Did Stevie get a record contract, or did they just want you?”

“They just wanted me.”

Vadim laughs, taking away his touch and focusing on the road as the trees give way to grimy buildings. We must be almost there.

I watch his profile—the blade of his nose, the faint dusting of stubble on the hard line of his jaw—and wish I could kiss him again, but he’s driving and doing that thing where he shuts off.

“You need to believe in yourself or you will get eaten alive. Men will always circle you.”

I sigh and mull over what he said as the parking lots and the gray tarmac come into view as we near the terminal building. “Honestly, I’m just not most guys’ type.”

Vadim leans over and pats my hand as he parks, asking me to stay put, and then he circles the car and holds the door open for me. I step into the harsh winter air, and he cages me against the car with his arms. I feel tiny but protected.

“You are so damned beautiful, and the fact you can’t see it makes you more alluring. I promise you everyone can see your beauty, though maybe not everyone is brave enough to reach for it.” He leans down and kisses me. His lips are warm against the icy air, and the burn of his mouth makes me feel dizzy and alive.

I nurse the faint hope this could be more as he pulls me against his side and wheels my suitcase into the private jet terminal. I was excited to travel by private jet, but like most first-class amenities in airports, it’s all bland and soulless. Everything is greige, that colorless hue that seeks not to offend. At least it’s quiet, and I have a few final moments to drink Vadim in with my eyes as I sit down.

You could cut glass with the angles of his cheekbones. I want to map the lines of his face with my fingers and memorize every ridge and dip of his muscles with my hands. To press my lips against every inch of his scars.

But I’m out of time. And inspiration.

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