Page 13 of King of Malice
I shake my head and then realize he isn’t in the room. “No. I’venever—” I stop myself, sliding down until I’m lying on my couch. “Maybe I should have told someone, but I don’t think this is the time or place to start.”
“I’m very strong, and fairly worldly. I might understand.”
My breath whooshes from my lungs. He is both, I have no doubt. What’s more, the words he’s asking me to share have been a bit of a festering wound on my heart and head. But once I tell him, he won’t be interested in me any longer, past experience has taught me that. “I’m not sure…”
Then again, maybe that’s a good thing. Closing my eyes, I already feel tears forming in the corners. “It’s not really a worldly story. I was…I was raped when I was seventeen.”
He rumbles out a string of curse words in Russian that I don’t understand, but I get the point. “Who? A boyfriend? A stranger?”
I suck in a jagged breath, willing myself to remain relaxed. He hasn’t hung up yet. But once he knows what a totally fucked up life I’ve had…
All he’s seen is my professional veneer, that’s why he’s interested in me. “I don’t think?—”
“Tell me.”
For some reason, I can’t seem to resist his direct commands. “My mom died when I was eight. Cancer. I was in foster care until I was eighteen.”
He makes this noise that sounds almost like a growl.
But the words are tumbling out now. “It was my last placement and at first, I thought it was the best. The couple took in both me and my friend, who is really like a sister. But then the husband…” I can’t even bring myself to say his name.
I still have nightmares sometimes.
“Why did you become frightened at my house during the home visit?”
I’m relieved he didn’t ask for more details about the attack, but his question throws me. I look at the phone for a second before I bring it back to my ear. “I wasn’t?—”
“You were, Ava, and I’m curious what I did that frightened you. Tell me.”
I draw in a ragged breath. “It was the look in your eyes.”
“Hmm.” He doesn’t sound angry or hurt. Just thoughtful.
Do my words make sense to him? They barely do to me.
Silence stretches out between us and I shift on the couch. “Have I weirded you out?”
“Weirded me out?” he asks, like he doesn’t quite understand the words. Or maybe he’s realized his mistake.
I let out a long sigh. “Look, Dimitri, I get it. I’m way too much. We can forget this whole conversation, I’ll find you a great nanny, and we can just go back to our professional relationship. It’s fine.” I’m giving him the out. It’s enough that he listened. Asked. It’s more than anyone has done for me in a long time.
“Milaya,” he rumbles, the sound of his voice making me forget all my discomfort as I grow instantly wet. It’s deep and possessive and through the phone there is no fear, only raw desire coursing through me. “I want you to put your hand down your pants.”
“What?” My heart starts beating double time.
“Touch yourself.”
“I don’t think?—”
“You like me, I know you do, and I like you too. I’d like to touch you, but I think that’s going to take some time.”
“You’re not actually willing to wait for me—” I blink up at my ceiling, trying to understand the right turn this conversation just took.
“I can assure you that I am. Now, I’m going to start by telling you that I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve met in a long, long time.”
My hand comes to my waist, brushing my tank top up to run my own fingertips over my bare skin. “Really?”
“And if I could touch you, I’d start by kissing you, slowly, deeply, my tongue teasing your mouth open, until you yielded and then our tongues would tangle together.”
