Page 49 of Inked Adonis

Hope’s voice hits a pitch that makes Rufus cock his head, probably wondering if one of his own kind is being tortured somewhere in the city below.

“First of all, I’m really, really sorry.”

“That’s not an answer, Nova Charlotte Pierce. That’s not even the very fucking start of an answer.” I wince again. When Hope uses her business voice, heads roll. I should have scripted this conversation, written myself some cue cards. “Where are you right now? Because it’s not your apartment—I checked. Or with your Grams—I also checked. You’re also not?—”

“Please tell me you didn’t call my dad.” I press my fingers against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows, silently begging whatever deity might be listening.

“Of course I didn’t call your dad! I was trying to find you, not waste my time with that asshole incarnate.” I can practically hear her eye roll over the phone. “But that still wasn’t an answer. Are you hurt? In danger? In trouble?”

Samuil cradling me in his arms last night and kissing me gently flashes through my mind.

Yeah, I’m in big, big trouble.

“I… wouldn’t say that.”

Mostly because, if I do, she’ll be rounded up and tossed into this penthouse with me. Which, selfishly, sounds kind of fun. If anyone could liven up a hostage situation, it would be Hope.

But I’m a better friend than that.

“You’re not saying anything,” she accuses. “I’m one bad excuse away from assuming you’ve beenTaken-ed and calling the cops to report you as a missing person.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Give me one good reason.”

“Because I’m not missing and I’m not hurt and I’m not in any danger. That’s three reasons.” That last one is a big, fat whopper of a lie, but I’m in damage control mode here. I need to stop Hope from contacting the cops.

“Fine. I’m hitting pause on calling the cops, but it’s not completely off the table until you tell me where you are. Right now.”

This is where notecards would be handy. A little forethought could’ve smoothed things over. As it is, I say the first thing that pops in my head. “I’m going to be out of town. For the next two weeks. So someone is going to have to cover my schedule until I’m back.”

If I make it out of this penthouse alive, that is.

Even if I do make it out, I might not have a job to get back to. Hope is my best friend, but there are limits. She went out on a limb to merge her business with mine, and I’m looking like the flakiest of flakes right about now.

“Are you mad?” I squeak.

Hope takes a deep breath. “That depends. If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘Samuil Litvinov whisked me away to Turks & Caicos for two weeks of wild,‘oh, God, harder’sex onthe beach,’ then yeah, I’m fucking pissed. Because that kind of sexcation is the only excuse you could possibly have for doing this to me.”

“Umm…”

I pause to debate my options, which are few and far between. Lying to Hope feels like swallowing glass, but the truth would put her in danger. One of us should be on the outside to keep things running.

So, for the sake of Hope’s entrepreneurial future, I lie. “Things between me and Samuil may have… heated up faster than I expected.”

I didn’t think he’d abduct me until at least thethirddate, but hey, what can I say? We had an instant connection.

There’s a beat of hesitation before Hope lets out another ear-splitting scream.

Rufus whimpers. I agree.

“Holy shit. You are! You really are. You’re on a sexcation with Samuil Litvinov! You are completely forgiven for everything,” she declares, excitement crackling through the line. “Where did he take you? St. Barts? The Maldives? Bitch, are you in Bali?!”

I glance around the palatial penthouse. “Not quite that far,” I admit. “But the view’s amazing.”

If Samuil had brought me back here after a normal first date—maybe dinner, some drinks, a walk through the park where we met—I would’ve been properly wooed. He could’ve talked me into some fairly raunchy activities in front of those floor-to-ceiling windows.

Instead, I’m keeping my clothes on and my guard up.

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