Page 41 of No Promises, No Lies

She’s perfect.

At first glance, she appears thin and delicate. She’s tiny and was swimming in the oversized hoodie she’d had on. But underneath, her body ripples with toned muscle and definition.An athlete. Like me, she’s spent hours working on this body in pursuit of her sport.Pushing it to its limits and then some.

She catches me checking her out and gives me an icy glare.

My mouth twists into a sly grin. Fire lights behind those blue eyes and I can’t explain how good it makes me feel seeing the fight spark back to life inside her.She’d looked halfway to death when I’d found her in the bedroom.

Rory’s gaze flickers anxiously between the water and me. The tub nearly full,“ she whispers, “I can’t bathe with you in here.”

I lean casually against the cool stone of the bathroom wall, crossing my arms. “And why not?” I ask, not able to resist the opportunity to fuck with her.

“Because… you… I…,” she begins, stumbling over her words. Her eyes drop to her nearly naked body, already on full display from where she’s perched on the tub wall.

“Can you get yourself into the tub?” Doubt is evident in my tone, but I also throw in a single eyebrow raise.

She opens her mouth with a quick retort, but snaps it shut, suddenly unsure herself. There’s a couple of feet between where she currently sits and the water. I can still see her body trembling from where I stand across the room.

I nod to myself in confirmation and step forward, easing her gently into my arms again before she can protest and walking her over to the water. Slowly, I lower her down, her body relaxing once submerged in the water’s warmth. I threw some magnesium salt in there too, for good measure. She could use it.

She leans back in the tub as the water’s warmth floods her senses. Eyes closed, she lets out a soft moan of pleasure. And fuck if I don’t need to leave this room right now. At risk of developing a hard on at the sight of the Russian angel, clothed in scraps of white lace and soaking wet in my bedroom’s bathtub.

Rory’s eyes fly open as if remembering where she is.

I do my best to hide the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth by opening the cabinet to my left and pulling out a thick white towel. I place it within her reach.

“Clean yourself up, remove those…” I gesture to her bra and panties, which are unfortunately still attached to her body. I pull my gaze back up to large, stormy eyes. “Pull the drain and use the towel to dry yourself off. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll come back to help you out.”

She doesn’t say anything, sitting very still. Considering me. Apprehension and a few other emotions dance in her eyes.

Reluctantly, I tear myself away and leave her to it, leaving the door open a crack behind me so I’ll be able to hear her if she calls.

Back in my room, I release a slow breath, not quite sure what to do with myself. I change into a clean pair of shorts and sink down onto the bed, resting my elbows on my knees, and wondering what the fuck it is I’m doing.

Rory is a Kostalov.I remind myself.

Regardless, I need her in good condition in case Koen decides on a good trade with the Bratva.

That’s all this is.

25

IF YOU TOUCH ME, I’LL KILL YOU

RORY

The warm water is heaven on my aching body. I slip off my underwear with reservation, uncertain if Aidan will stick to his word and stay out of the bathroom. He’d left the door open a crack when he’d left, and I keep one eye on it as I sink deeper into the water.

When he doesn’t stick his nosy head back in after several minutes, my shoulders sag in relief, the tension finally easing out of them. The medicine got to work quickly and the dizziness and vertigo have finally cleared and, with it, the awful nausea.

I soak for a while, pushing the limits of his generosity, letting the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon seep deep into my pores. The scent is far more feminine than masculine. I can’t help but wonder why Aidan has it.

Does he have a girlfriend?

He’s a made man. He could be married for all I know… Aidan O’Rourke, second in line for the Irish throne now that his brother has taken over as boss.

I look around for other feminine traces. The room is neat and clean, which isn’t what I’d expect from a single Irish hockey player in their early twenties. Though I’m fairly certain the room belongs to him.

It keeps with the industrial theme of the entire apartment; metal accents, and gorgeous reclaimed wood floors. Aidan might be an ass, but he has good taste in decor.

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