Page 16 of Hostage with Benefits

It was an order, not a request. Oddly, I didn’t mind.

After he left, I sorted through my new wardrobe, still bewildered by what had happened today. My kidnapper had taken me shopping, let me blow him in a changing room, and now we were having a semi-formal dinner together. This was beyond Stockholm syndrome; this was a whole new psychological disorder.

I changed into the blue dress anyway.

Dinner was an elaborate affair,complete with wine and candles. Galina had outdone herself, presenting course after course with obvious pride. She kept giving me knowing looks every time she served a course, as if we shared a secret. We didn’t.

Mikhail watched me eat with that same satisfaction from breakfast, occasionally reaching across to refill my wine glass.

It was strange how easy and natural it felt, as if we were on a date, not hostage and mafioso playing house.

“Your father,” he said eventually. The shift in topic was jarring. “You truly have no relationship with him?”

I set down my fork. “None worth mentioning. The last time I heard from him was on my birthday eight months ago.”

“And yet, when I called him about you, he seemed concerned.”

“Concerned about what you’d do to me? I doubt that. I think he’s just concerned you know that he stole it and are coming for him.”

Mikhail studied me. “You are very perceptive.”

“I’ve had a lifetime of practice reading people who might hurt me.”

His eyes softened. “You know I would not hurt you, Natalia. I said so last night.”

I took a sip of wine, gathering courage. “What did he steal from you, Mikhail?”

His expression closed off. “That is not your concern.”

“We’ve been over this. It became my concern when you threw me over your shoulder in a parking lot.”

“It was a shipment. Valuable. That is all you need to know.”

“How valuable?”

“Very.”

“He hasn’t returned it yet?”

“Yes,” he replied way too fast.

“Would you like dessert?” Galina’s voice broke the moment as she entered with a tray.

“No. We’re finished here.”

The look he gave me made it clear dinner might be over, but the night was just beginning.

He led me not to my room but to his. It was a larger, darker version of mine with the same expensive minimalism. The massive bed dominated the space, with dark sheets on the bed instead of the white ones in my room.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

I answered by reaching for the zipper of my dress.

He stopped me, his hands replacing mine. “Let me.”

He pulled the zipper down slowly, his knuckles brushing my spine. When the dress pooled at my feet, he stepped back, his gaze traveling over my body with undisguised hunger.

“On the bed,” he ordered.

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