Page 41 of Little Blue

“But my whole life has been ripped out from under me and I have absolutely nothing to do with myself, so a game night sounded great. The drink—I figured what the hell. Why not?”

He strolls into the bedroom, finally setting me on my feet. I don’t sway once—until his eyes drag over the length of me and the shards of ice melt in about two seconds flat.

“You’re wearing my sweater.”

Good God, did his voice just deepen?

I lift my chin. “You neglected to pack mine.”

“Yours were falling apart.” I swear, flames dance in his eyes. “There was a hole in the elbow of one.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I still wore them.”

He says something I don’t recognize. But I’m confident it’s a Russian curse. “Take a shower. We’re going to bed.”

“A s-shower?”

His eyes focus on mine, and my heart spins like a top in my chest. “You haven’t bathed since we’ve been here.”

I’m well aware of my hygiene misfortune. I’d considered a shower, but had been too afraid to get naked for any length of time while he could appear and—and—deflower me?

Good Lord.

My cheeks burn.

He notes it, a brow rising slowly. I lift my chin and refuse, “I’m good.”

His tongue rolls over his bottom lip as he considers. Then, calmly, he says, “You can shower of your own will, alone.” He pauses only to resume, words dripping with threat. “Or I can join you. Either way, you will take a shower.”

I grit my teeth and do my best not to stomp my foot. Then, because I’m enraged—the man enrages me—I spin around and stomp to the closet. Gathering my jammies, I stomp back out of the closet, and past the brute, to the bathroom. It’s when I’m passing the threshold into the washroom that his voice stops me in my tracks.

“I like you in my clothes.”

Refusing to look over my shoulder at him, I step into the bathroom and slam the door behind me.

Then, I lean my back against it and practice calming, deep breaths.

Before I’ve settled myself, the door pushes open, and I stumble deeper into the bathroom. I shriek a horrified, “What are you doing?”

Ilya moves to the vanity, placing something white on the surface before he comes to stand close to where I stand. He’s so close, the scent of him assaults me.

I want to plug my nose and inhale a taste of him at the very same time. I hate him for these conflicting emotions. I hate the way he’s affecting me. Making me feel so many things.

His big hand lifts and he snatches my jammies from my hands. What?

“You will wear my shirts to bed from tonight on.”

My mouth drops. In my head, I shout. But what comes out, is a breath barely deserving of a wheeze. “What?”

“When you sleep in my bed, you sleep in one of my shirts—” He gives me a devilish grin that has my heartrate skittering unsteadily in my chest. “Or you sleep in nothing at all.”

For a stunned moment, I stand in shocked silence.

Then I kick into motion. “No.”

I make to grab my jammies back, but he holds them out of reach. He’s—he’s a—a brute! An ogre! A despicable man with a really damn great chest.

Wait, what? No. No, I’m not thinking of his chest.

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