Nikolai Rustanov wasn’t abusive, but he’d never change. He’d never magically one day stop being dismissive or autocratic or… the thought blew through her mind like a sad wind… someone capable of loving her the way Beau loved Josie.
She thought of her earlier phone call with her best friend. No, not everyone could have what Josie had with her husband, Beau: mutual understanding and a deep and abiding love after overcoming their demons. Some people—people like Nikolai and her—had to do the best they could with the demons still riding on their backs.
She divested herself of the evidence of their sham marriage as soon as the small bedroom door closed behind her. Balling up the dress, which she already knew she’d never wear again, and throwing it in the corner.
Now all she had to do was change into her pajamas and hide out in her room for an hour or so until she was sure Nikolai had gone to bed. Then she’d sneak downstairs and unwind with a few episodes of Veronica Mars in Nikolai’s entertainment room, which was another perk she could add to agreeing to this marriage of convenience. His state-of-the-art entertainment room had a 72-inch OLED television and barcolounger stadium seats. There was even a fireplace, and she could already see herself making the room nice and toasty while she binged on Veronica Mars. Tonight she didn’t want to think about anything but clever girl detectives who always managed to get themselves and their loved ones out of bad situations. That and a glass of wine would be exactly what the doctor ordered… if only she could drink.
Sighing, Sam went over to the ludicrous ivory white dresser where she kept her simple clothes, including the IU sweats she’d been wearing as pajamas. Truth was, she’d never been much of a drinker (nothing like seeing how much alcohol could fuel physically abusive marriages to turn you off the stuff), but she did like a glass of wine after a long day. And this had been a very, very long day, she admitted to herself as she opened the bottom right drawer—
Only to find it empty. She looked at the vacant space for a confused, shocked moment. Then with an ominous feeling of dread, she pulled open the drawer beside it, the one that had been filled with her sweaters. That one was empty, too, as were all the drawers in the ridiculous piece of furniture. And as was the walk-in closet—even the shoes she kept lined up underneath her bed for easy access were no longer there.
“What the…” she said out loud.
NIKOLAI ANSWERED HER KNOCK on his door with an expression she would describe as amused, verging on smug. As if he’d been expecting her. Probably because he had.
The jerk, she thought, as she opened her mouth to demand answers. But the angry words got clogged in her throat when she saw he only had on a pair of boxer briefs. And though she was pissed—really pissed—it was impossible not to admire his strong shoulders and large biceps, the muscles that rippled down his torso, before stopping right above his—
Sam quickly brought her eyes up from the dangerous bulge inside his briefs and forced herself to keep her eyes on his face as opposed to his magnificent body as she asked, “Where’s all my stuff?”
“Hello, Samantha,” he said, giving her wedding dress a once over so sensual, she wondered if he could tell she hadn’t bothered to with a bra when she’d hastily put it back on before coming down the hallway to confront him.
“Don’t call me that,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You do not want me to call you Samantha, and I do not want to call you by boy’s name,” he said, his gaze becoming a lazy perusal. “I will have to simply call you ‘wife.’”
He pulled the door open wider for her, revealing a bedroom dripping in gold
baroque fixtures, dark red furniture, marble floors… and one incredibly large bed.
“Come in, Wife.”
“Where’s my stuff?” she demanded again, refusing to look at the bed.
“In our room, where it belongs,” he answered. “Anna brought your things here during wedding.”
“What?” Sam took a step back in shock.
Nikolai’s hooded gaze suddenly froze over, as if her surprise offended him, and Sam wondered what he’d expected her reaction would be.
“You share my room. That is our agreement, da?”
Yes they had agreed to that, she thought, thinking back to their conversation in his office bathroom. But… “I thought you meant after the baby came.”
“You thought wrong,” he said in cold reply. Then he stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in.”
26
Forcing the issue of Samantha coming to his bed had seemed like a good idea. At first.
Nikolai was perfectly aware she’d believed she wouldn’t have to come to his room until after the baby was born. But the thought of her sleeping down the hall, so grateful she could spend the next eight months away from him, stuck in his craw with a bitter after taste he could not abide.
No, if she wanted to deny the attraction between them, to pretend what had happened the night their baby was conceived had been a case of him taking advantage of her scared state, then she would have to do so in his bed.
And he’d felt vindicated by the flash of desire he’d seen in her eyes when he’d come to the door in his briefs. However, she’d only allowed him a short moment of restored pride before visibly recoiling when he announced Anna had already moved her things to his room.
Apparently his new wife didn’t agree that he was “The Most Desirable Hockey Player on the Planet” as Bleacher Magazine had named him in the previous year’s “Hottest Players” issue. He opened the door wider anyway. Nikolai didn’t back down on the rare occasion a hockey player bigger than him came his way, and he refused to let his new wife’s reluctance to share his bed deter him.
Sam came into the room, eyeing him like he was a tiger and this was his den.
“Your clothes are in there,” he said, indicating the large antique wardrobe he’d cleared out for her things.
With much huffing and puffing, she pulled out some clothes before disappearing into his bathroom.
Nikolai turned off all the lights except for the lamp on his nightstand and got into bed, settling in for a long wait. Nikolai’s master bath was somewhat of an architectural marvel with its marbled walls, heated floors, and crystal chandelier that perfectly underlit a thirty-foot frescoed ceiling. In his experience, woman who went in to “freshen up” stayed a little longer than expected to gape.
Sam, however, was in and out in under five minutes, reappearing in a pair of unflattering red sweats with Indiana University’s famous logo emblazoned across its bosom-obscuring front.