Page 83 of Ruins
So I force myself forward, shutting the door on her, on this, on whatever dangerous thing she’s stirring inside me.
Chapter 18
Vasilisa
Iwakeearly,theunfamiliarweight of the house settling around me as I shower in the luxurious bathroom, steam curling against the cool glass.
I take my time getting dressed, reaching for what feels like me. A silk blouse, a short skirt over sheer tights, soft fabrics that remind me of home.
I’m grateful to Cassandra for picking more designer versions of my usual style, but the closet also holds dresses I wouldn’t usually wear. Tighter, shorter, lower cut. There are silk slips barely longer than my fingertips, delicate lace that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Maybe they were chosen forhistastes.
Maybe he prefers his women to show skin.
If that’s the case, he may just not be interested inmyskin showing considering he’s abruptly left the room each time I’ve been in lingerie.
I glance at my reflection, fingers hesitating at the buttons of my blouse. I undo a few more than usual, just enough to let a glimpse of my red lace bra peek through.
My fingers comb through my hair, debating whether to leave it down.
But the air shifts, heavy with the weight of being watched.
I startle slightly as I meet Santo’s reflection in the mirror.
He’s standing behind me, close but not touching, his broad frame still, stoic.
His eyes lock onto mine, visible just above my head, dark and unwavering.
Then his gaze lowers trailing down my body, slow, deliberate.
Like he’s memorizing.
Like he’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous.
I turn to face him, my pulse skipping.
I give him a bright, practiced smile, an attempt to ease the tension that coils between us.
His predatory stare softens.
Just a little, but not enough.
“I didn’t expect you to be awake so early,” he drawls softly.
“I wanted to get started on our day,” I say, brushing past him as I leave the bathroom and head toward the closet. My pace quickens, but I can feel Santo trailing behind me, his steps steady and deliberate.
I grab a pair of heels from the closet and move toward the bed to put them on.
As I approach, I falter.
His eyes are still following my every move.
My gaze shifts to the sitting room couch, considering my escape, but before I can act, Santo’s fingers graze mine.
His touch is light but firm as he takes the shoes from my grasp.
“Allow me.” His voice low and smooth.
