Page 40 of 10 Days to Ruin

Or is it the cut of his jaw, the angle of his shoulders, the rough edge of his voice whenever he purrs my name? He hasn’t said it yet tonight, but if he growlsptichkain my ear, I might combust.

The elevator pings and the doors open. Sasha motions for me to get out first. Theoretically, that’s chivalrous, but I know his kind too well. He’s just cut off my last hope of escape. I could’ve let him go ahead and then button-mashed the elevator to send myself back to the ground floor.

Too late for that now.

Defeated, I step out. “Where is this, uhh—view?”

The sooner I see it, the sooner I can leave and celebrate my self-control with a cheeseburger. I was too busy sending everything back to the kitchen to actually eat. I’m starving.

“Patience,” he says. “We have time for that.”

“We” don’t have anything.Hehas time;Ihave a ticking time bomb wired into the middle of my life, and I need to defuse it before everything I love goesboom.

The problem is that there’s a part of me that wants to stay. Part of me wonders,What if you just let it happen?The memory of that bathroom haunts me like a fever dream. His hands on my skin, his breath in my ear. There was a raw, animal magnetism that pulled me toward him before I even knew his name. Chemistry doesn’t begin to cover it. This is nuclear fusion—dangerous, explosive, capable of leveling cities.

Capable of destroyingme.

I hate how much I crave him. I hate that even now, knowing what I know, fearing what I fear, my treacherous body still remembers his touch.

He’s pursuing me for my family name. For the connections. For the empire I represent.

I need to remember that. I need to tattoo that truth onto my fucking soul.

He doesn’t wantme.

But a traitorous voice keeps whispering objections in the darkest corners of my mind.If that’s true, then why did he want you that night? Before he knew your name or your worth, when you were just a stranger in a bathroom—why did he look at you like you were everything he’d ever hungered for?

I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the sight of the room. “Oh, my.”

Gilded walls. Persian rug. A king-size canopy bed with sheer drapes. I was joking about the emperor thing earlier, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d think Sasha beat up Louis XIV and stole his bedroom.

Get it together, dummy. You’re gonna let him use a thousand-thread-count linen set like a pantydropper?

Right. The plan. Psycho Bride.

“So much for subtlety,” I murmur.

He comes behind me, a wall of heat I can feel without having to turn around. “Subtlety is for men who aren’t sure what they want.” His breath grazes my neck. “I’m very sure.”

I shudder and step away. “Your ego’s soaking up all the oxygen in here. Let’s crack a window.”

Striding to the balcony doors, I try fiddling with the lock, but my hands are shaking and my brain is suddenly blank of every memory of which righty is tighty and if lefty is loosey or not.

The door refuses to open. With no other choice, I spin around to face him. Sasha is standing where I left him in the center of the room. Hands in his pockets, utterly bored, but with a gleam in his eye that doesn’t do much to quell my shivers.

“Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna help me?”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t blink. Just keeps staring at me like he wants a few seconds longer to memorize the exact shade of flush on my cheeks. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m bored,” I correct in a shameless lie. “This whole ‘brooding mobster’ act is tired. Do you practice your smolder in the mirror?‘Oh, look at me, I’m Sasha Ozerov, I drink whiskey and murder people before brunch?—’”

He crosses the space between us instantly, effortlessly. A blur of black motion. His hand darts out and snares my wrist. “Careful, Ariel.You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“And you’re not as scary.” I try to yank my arm back, but his grip tightens.

“No? Then why are you trembling?”

Because you’re wildfire, and I’m gasoline.

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