Page 31 of Beautiful Cruelty

I bite my lip, suddenly aware of the fact that Iamstill tied up in his car after he broke into my ex-fiancé's apartment.

"Just answer my question. Did you fuck her last night or not?"

"I didn't."

Unexpected relief floods through me at his words.

Why do I care who Vadim sleeps with? He's practically a stranger—someone I met barely two days ago.

And, I remind myself, someone who justkidnappedme.

Yet here I am, feeling things for a man who probably has women throwing themselves at him everywhere he goes. Women like Irina—sophisticated, wealthy, and connected. Women who belong in his world of high fashion and luxury cars.

Not a fashion school drop-out who's working catering jobs while her ex-fiancé has been cheating on her for god knows how long.

"You're thinking too loud," Vadim says, breaking through my spiral of self-doubt.

"I'm trying to figure out why I care." The words slip out before I can stop them. "About you and Irina. About any of this."

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "Have you?"

"I don't know." I stare out the window, watching the city blur past. "I have no right to feel this way about someone I barely know. I mean, look at you. You probably date supermodels and movie stars. Someone...” My voice trails away.

"Someone proper?” Vadim finishes for me.

"Yeah, that.” The ease with which he says it shouldn't have hurt as much as it does. "And not..."

"Not what?"

"Not someone like me." The words taste bitter on my tongue.

Vadim stays silent, but I can feel his eyes on me during quick glances away from the road. I want him to say something in retort, something like he prefers the improper ones.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he asks. "Any other questions?"

I shift in my seat, the restraints still binding my wrists, and disappointment fills my heart.

"Did you plan on fucking me last night?"

He looks over at me, and that unreadable expression in his eyes still remain. In the morning light, his storm-gray irises look almost transparent.

"I did."

My heart skips. "And what about now?"

"I still do," he replies. "But I also want to protect you."

"From what?"

"It's better if you don't know." He says it so casually, like he's commenting on the weather. “Some answers can get people killed."

I fall silent, his words settling heavily between us. His response only spawns more questions, and I'm starting to think I might not want to know the answer to any of them.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, jaw clenched. The speedometer climbs as we race down the highway, and silence stretches between us like a rubber band about to snap.

Curiosity and fear war in my mind until finally, a new question claws up my throat. When I speak, my voice comes out smaller than I intended.

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