Page 100 of The Wrong Brother

And later, when the bedroom door closes behind us, the rest of the world disappears entirely.

* * *

The next morning, I wake slowly.

For a few blissful seconds, I don’t move. I just lie there beneath the soft hotel sheets, eyes closed, listening to the muted sounds drifting through the suite.

A cabinet door opens. Closes. The faint clink of ceramic against marble.

Coffee.

My mouth curves before I can stop it.

Rus.

The realization settles warmly through me, and I burrow deeper into the pillow. Sunlight filters through the partially open curtains, painting the room gold. Somewhere beyond thebedroom, I can hear him moving around the suite kitchen, completely unaware that I’m awake.

It’s domestic; dangerously so. The thought should probably send me into a panic. Once, I hunted men like him down, and now I’m breathing in his scent, reliving the night we spent together.

I picture him out there in one of his expensive shirts with the sleeves rolled up, scowling at a coffee machine like it personally offended him. For a man who commands criminals, fashion executives, and politicians with equal ease, he remains strangely intense about breakfast.

A laugh threatens, and I swallow it back behind a smile.

The mattress still holds traces of warmth beside me, and my chest tightens unexpectedly. Last night feels almost dreamlike now. The wedding. The reception. The fountain. The way he’d looked at me.

The way he’d said he needed me.

My smile fades slightly. Because the worst part is that I need him too.

I’ve spent weeks telling myself this is temporary. A bizarre detour, a business arrangement. Clearly a lapse in judgment fueled by mutual attraction and my desire to start over.

Then somewhere along the way, it stopped being temporary and became real.

I stare up at the ceiling.

This is a disaster. A complete disaster.

He’s a criminal. A genuine criminal, not just a guy who lied on his profile or a misunderstood businessman evading taxes. A man who gives orders in Russian that make grown men nervous.

And somehow, I’ve fallen for him anyway.

The universe clearly has a sense of humor.

Outside the bedroom, something crashes.

“Shit.” Rus’s voice follows immediately.

The scent of fresh coffee drifts into the room a moment later. My stomach growls softly. Breakfast sounds amazing.

Actually, food has sounded amazing for days. I frown slightly. That’s odd. I’ve been hungrier than usual lately.

And tired.Verytired, which hasn’t mattered much because when Rus is out attending to “business,” I’ve taken late morning naps.

My smile slowly disappears.

Tired. Hungry.

A strange unease begins creeping into the edges of my thoughts.