Page 68 of VII (Seven) (War of Roses 2)

“You’re right.” I turn away from him. We’re alone and the fact strikes me as odd. No Vanya. None of his men. Why? At least there are no witnesses. “I’m done being naïve,” I continue, wringing my fingers together. “So I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll give you my body—”

“Don’t play.” His sharp intake of breath catches me off guard.

Blinking, I scan his face, hunting through those dark eyes for any hint of the lust conveyed in that violent sound.

“Go on,” he snaps, baring his teeth. “Or are mind games another trick you learned from your husband?”

“No,” I admit truthfully. “He never taught me how to gamble. But he did teach me the power of bartering.”

Sex for safety.

Brutality for security.

Ignorance for a lie.

“So I’m making you an offer. I’ll give you my body—”

“And?” Mischa interjects. He’s regained his composure already, and I force a hard swallow. “Name your fucking price.”

“Fine… I want you,” I tell him with a sigh. “You can ‘learn’ Robert through my body, but in return, you give meyou. You let me inside your head. You give me whatever I want to know—”

“Prove it.” He encroaches on my personal space a second time, towering above, his breath on my forehead—but I don’t back away.

Meeting his gaze, I swipe my tongue across my lower lip to find enough traction to voice, “How?”

He rakes his gaze down my front and jerks his head toward the end of the hall. When he moves, I’m forced to catch up, trailing in his wake like a lamb being led to slaughter.

Will I cower before his blade?

Or bare my neck for the lethal kiss?

“Strip,” he commands as he shoulders yet another door open, revealing a larger room and a small bed. The mattress greets me mockingly, draped in a single crisp sheet. “Then get on the bed.”

My fingers obediently fly to the fastenings of my jeans. “But first…” I scan the room, desperate to come up with my own test. In the end, I blurt out the first question to cross my mind. “The girl. What’s her name?”

He hesitates. A sound catches in his throat—a cruel insult, I think. His first instinct is always to resist me. Bite. Roar. Anything to disguise the hint of weakness.

“I told you my price,” I remind him. Slowly, I let my hands fall to my sides. “Unless you don’t want—”

“She doesn’t speak.” As his breath fans the back of my throat, I jump. “So I don’t know what it really is. I call her Mouse. She answers to it well enough.”

“Mouse,” I echo. Not bitch. Or whore. Or a mocking twist on a flower.

“Now, your turn,” Mischa prompts, radiating impatience.

I picture him standing there behind me, his hands inches from my skin, ready to rip and tear into it. Then I let my eyes drift shut as I find the front of my pants and peel them open. It’s surprisingly easy to tug them down my thighs and kick them off. My shirt takes more time to wind up. Maybe I’m testing him. Teasing him.

His breaths seem to grow hotter the more my skin is bared. Another low growl catches in his throat when I finally stand naked.

“Don’t think you can just lie there like some sacrifice,” he warns, drawing a single finger down my hip. “I need—want you to move. You moan. Don’t you dare pretend like you’re some martyr.”

“I won’t.” I turn to face him, surprised by how true my voice rings out. “I don’t mind having sex with you.”

My cheeks sting to hear it said out loud.

“But that is all you will get from me without upholding your end of the bargain. A body. If you can’t be honest with me—”

“But can you be honest with me?” He chuckles smugly, as if already aware of the answer. “It doesn’t matter. You tout your body like it’s a prize, but do you even know how to wield it?”

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