Page 65 of Her Cruel Empire
I twirl in front of the mirror, laughing at my own reflection. “I look like someone else entirely.”
“You look like yourself,” Eva says, rising from her chair. “Just…more.” She steps behind me, her hands settling on my waist as she meets my gaze in the mirror. “Your joy is infectious.”
I lean back against her, feeling the solid warmth of her body. “You’re smiling,” I tease, watching her reflection. “Actually smiling.”
“Sometimes I do. Don’t tell anyone.”
Before I can respond, she turns me in her arms and kisses me deeply, her mouth warm and demanding against mine. I melt into her, my hands fisting in her blouse as she pulls me closer.
We fall back onto the bed together, kissing lazily, giving up halfway so that our clothes are still half-on. When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I trace my fingers along her cheekbone. “Eva?”
“Mm?”
“Thank you. For today. For...this.” I gesture at the gowns, the luxury, the impossible beauty of it all. “I know this isn’t real—I know I’m just here for thirty days. But this still means everything to me.”
Something flickers across her face—too quick for me to read.
“I know,” I say quickly, before she can remind me of the terms of our arrangement. “I know what this is.”
But even as I say it, I’m not sure I believe it anymore. The way she looked at me on the Eiffel Tower, the way she chose me over her empire today, the way she’s holding me now like she never wants to let me go—none of it feels temporary.
I was supposed to be hers for thirty days. But I’m starting to wish it could be forever. I have no idea how it would work. But if there’s one thing I definitely know about Eva Novak, she can make anything happen.
She could remake the whole world with the flick of a finger.
And as those fingers of hers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder and the Paris skyline glitters beyond our window, I’m filled with a hope so fierce it takes my breath away.
Chapter 23
Eva
Iwake suddenly, from deep sleep to awareness, and find Robin curled into me in my own bed, one hand splayed across my chest, her strawberry blonde hair all over her face. Our late night encounter comes back to me and I suppress a groan as my clit gives a valiant, suggestive throb.
No. Even I will need more than a few hours’ sleep to recover from the force of that orgasm. After seeing Dimi flirting so outrageously with Robin yesterday morning, I have been determined to make her remember who she belonged to.
And that, I suppose, is why I took her into my own bed again last night. I’ve never slept next to another person before. I always assumed I wouldn’t be able to, that I’d lie awake all night waiting for the knife, for the pillow over the face. But with Robin, I slept deeply and soundly and even dreamlessly, which is a blessing.
My dreams are never pleasant.
I run my hand lazily over her bare shoulder, marveling at the softness of her skin. She doesn’t stir—Robin sleeps like theinnocent she is, deeply and without fear. Perhaps her example was what let me sleep so heavily.
When did I last sleep peacefully? I can’t remember.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it carefully, not wanting to wake her.
A text from Leon:Your meeting with the Marseille contacts is due to begin in ten minutes.
I type back:Move it. Move all of them.
His reply comes immediately: Are you unwell?
No, I respond.I am busy.
And then I turn off the phone and set it down. Let them wait. Let them sweat. That’s negotiation 101—never appear too eager, never let them think they have the upper hand. The Marseille crew needs our weapons more than we need their money.
And I need to stay here with Robin sleeping beside me more than I need anything.
She shifts beside me, her breathing still deep and even. Asleep, she looks impossibly young, impossibly pure. What is she doing in my world? What am I doing letting her stay?
