Page 53 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
“Come inside with me,” he says. “Sleep in my room tonight. Stay with me.”
Butterflies erupt in my chest.
“I’d like that,” I admit, though I’m not sure what to make of it.
Every time we’ve been together, he’s left not long after. Does this mean he wants more? Am I ready to give him more? I shove the questions aside as he kisses me again slow and sweet, then opens his door.
I follow him into the house, still a little shaky and breathless, as well as stunned by the incredible experience we just shared. More than anything, he’s made me feel wanted and cherished tonight.
It’s turned our whole dynamic on its head, but I’m absolutely okay with that.
When we get to his room, I realize I’ve never been inside. The bed is dressed in dark linens, and the décor is distinctly masculine yet impersonal. It would fit perfectly in a hotel room. There’s nothing in here that speaks to his character. Even in hisprivate space, it’s like there are walls up to shield who he really is.
The sheets are soft, at least. Impersonal, maybe, but very cozy. I sink into them gratefully, my body exhausted from our earlier escapades. Sergei’s heavy arm wraps around my waist, anchoring me as if he’s afraid I’ll float away.
I close my eyes, breathing in his scent, letting it drag me toward sleep. But just as I’m about to drop off, my hand slides to my stomach, and I jolt awake. Tomorrow morning, like every morning, I’ll probably wake up puking.
The closer we get, the more he’ll start to notice the changes in me. I’ll have to come clean that I’m pregnant with his baby and I’ve known since before his mom’s stroke. It was easier to justify keeping the secret when he was just my boss. Now it feels much more complicated.
He shifts beside me, nuzzling closer, and I hold my breath as his lips brush the top of my shoulder.
“You still awake?” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough and thick with sleep.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Just thinking.”
He lifts his head, eyes glinting in the low light of the room, and for a moment, it’s like he’s searching my soul for an answer I’m not ready to give him. Then he leans in and kisses my temple before settling back against the pillow, his arm tightening around me.
I feel safe and warm, possibly even loved. It certainly feels like love, even though I know that can’t be right. Not yet, at least. But it’s enough to make the guilt twist inside me like a knife.
He has no idea what I’m keeping from him.
I’m scared. Not of Sergei, of course, though he’s definitely got his own secrets. Seeing Sasha beaten within an inch of his life was proof enough of that. He’s trying to keep a huge part of himself hidden from me.
How do we recover from that? Is it a lack of trust in me, or is his lifestyle really so terrible that he doesn’t want to show it to me? Not knowing has to be so much worse than the truth. My mind has been running wild the last few days trying to imagine what could possibly have led to Sasha getting so messed up. None of the options have been particularly comforting, but at least they would provide some clarity.
But then I think about this baby. It took me a while to even get used to the idea of being a mom. And now that I have, it’s hard to imagine letting anyone else into our little circle. Even Sergei. Because his secret could affect our child and I only want the best for this little life inside me.
He deserves to know, and I’m painfully aware of it. But we have a serious trust issue. The thing is, I trust him with my body. I even trust him with my heart, even if I haven’t admitted that out loud.
But do I trust him with mylife? With mychild’slife? Those are much heavier questions.
He stirs again beside me, and I freeze, thinking maybe I’ve woken him. But he only sighs, murmuring something in Russian as he buries his face in my hair. I don’t know what he said, but even hearing his voice causes something in me to relax. I’m falling for him, starting to feel more at home with him. If I’m not careful, I’m going to lose myself entirely to this. I’ll let my guard down only to possibly be shattered.
I slide gently out from beneath his arm and sit on the edge of the bed, the silk sheet pooling around my hips. The floor is cool under my feet, a sharp contrast to the heat still lingering between my thighs. I rest my elbows on my knees and cradle my face in my hands. My heartbeat echoes in my ears like a clock counting down. I’m terrified of what happens when it gets to zero.
Behind me, I hear the soft rustle of sheets.
“Nicole?” Sergei calls quietly.
I turn, and he’s propped up on one elbow, looking at me through heavy-lidded eyes. His hair is tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He’s heartbreakingly gorgeous.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, concern tightening his features.
I force a small smile and reach for his hand, threading our fingers together.
“I’m just having trouble falling asleep,” I admit.
He tugs me back into bed. “Then come back here,” he says with a smile, pulling me against his chest.
