It was only a matter of time.
That was all Ivan could think as his body ate up another lap in the house pool. His twentieth of the day. But definitely not his last.
It was only a matter of time.
Only a matter of time before his body gave out. Only a matter of time before his mind stopped replaying her words, over and over.
He swam faster, as if the words he’d been trying not to think about were chasing after him.
I don’t care about your face.
Why did her words matter? They did not—could not—matter. They were only words, after all.
But Ivan wanted her. From the moment she’d had the temerity to yell at him about his treatment of the old man, he’d wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone or anything but revenge in a very long time. And six days later, he still couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her compact curves, the way her eyes had blazed at him, despite her bruised face. Her skin, so warm and tawny. He knew she’d be soft to the touch, soft beneath his hard body…
This couldn’t go on. Swimming and running, then swimming and running some more. His body, strong as it was, couldn’t handle it. Neither could his mind.
He hit the slick tile wall of the pool and pushed off again, making the water churn around him.
But what could he do? She clearly hated him. The old Ivan would have taken that as a challenge. Pursued her with lavish gifts, and expensive dates—unrelenting in his chase, all the way up until the morning after he bedded her. Then he’d leave and she’d never hear from him again.
But he was no longer the old Ivan.
And more importantly, he didn’t have the old Ivan’s face. Negotiating her up against a wall and sweet-talking her onto his dick wouldn’t work the way it used to.
Also, this woman was…different. He had to wonder if even the old Ivan would have been able to claim her. She was less than impressed with the manor house and all its perks. And she showed more interest in the town’s strange full-moon curfew than anything else he’d told her.
As it was, she’d barely come out of her room all week, even going so far as to take all her meals there. Hannah mentioned she’d been spending a lot of time in the solarium, but otherwise, Sola really only left her room to go down the hill to The Thirsty Wolf for an hour or so every night.
Ivan had taken to watching her leave the house from his diamond-paned study window. Though he kept swearing he wouldn’t wait up for her, each night after she left, he’d somehow end up in the set of armchairs in the small alcove beneath the front entryway’s main staircase, drinking the vodka he’d ordered at great cost from his homeland. Wondering if a woman, fresh and fiery as her, would find one of the town’s resident males to walk her home.
But so far, every night Sola returned—alone—to Wolfson Manor around ten every night, bundled in the Lands’ End jacket, gloves, winter beanie and snow boots Hannah had procured for her at the local supply store. Looking cuter and sexier than any short little brown girl in tortoiseshell glasses ought to in such an ensemble.
“Hey,” she’d say when she spotted him in the front foyer with his vodka.
“Hello,” he’d answer, as if he’d just happened to pick this particular place to drink his vodka and hadn’t, in fact, been waiting up for her.
And that would be the end of their exchange. She’d walk toward the stairs. Sometimes he’d catch the faint whiff of tequila—a smell he recognized easily, since Cuervo had been one of his official sponsors when he’d been in the EFC. Then she’d climb the stairs back up to her room.
She’d only once stopped to talk to him on her very first night out.
“Since you’re being so generous with the terms of my stay, could I move into one of the downstairs guestrooms?” she’d asked.
Downstairs. Away from him.
The “No” had fallen out of his mouth with all the subtlety of a brick before he’d even had a moment to wonder why she’d made the request in the first place.
She’d looked stricken, dropping her eyes and tugging at one of her ear-length curls. Which made him angry. At her, for wanting to move further from him. At himself, for caring whether she did or not.
And then he became even angrier when she tried again with, “It’s just that it might make things a little easier for me. You see I—”
“How old are you?”
She blinked. “What?”
“How old are you, Sola?”
“Twenty-four,” she answered carefully.
“Do you have an illness, like your teacher’s spouse?”
“No, but I—”
“Then the answer is no.”
Again the stunned look, as if she were trying to process his cruelty. Which was quickly followed by a look of resignation, as if she were used to cruel people. “Okay, well…”
She started for the stairs.
“What happened to your face?” he’d asked her.
She raised a hand to her bruised cheek, as if only now remembering how bad it looked. “I…it’s a long story.”
He’d stared at her for a moment. Then said, “I would like to hear this long story, Sola.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m tired, and apparently we’re not trying to be pals right now, so I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.”
That was the lengthiest conversation they’d had so far. But he’d waited up for her every night since. And every night, he’d watch her clump up the stairs in her snow boots and shut herself back in her room after her nightly trip to the town bar. No words of greeting, just a look of grim determination on her face. Like she was serving out a prison sentence, which made him feel even more like a head case for wanting her as badly as he did—
He stopped suddenly, moving into a strong tread in the middle of the pool. That tingling sensation was back. The feeling he was being watched. It had happened at least once or twice a day since Sola’s arrival. Usually when he was in the pool.
But whenever he stopped to look at the narrow band of windows off the long hallway at the front of the house, no one was there. Maybe it was just his imagination, but…
I don’t care about your face.
“Sir?”
Ivan started, splashing himself in the face. He took a moment to wipe the water from his eyes to find Gregory standing at the far edge of the pool.
“Yes, what is it?” he asked testily, wondering if he’d merely been sensing Gregory. Not Sola, the pretty young woman who didn’t care about his face.
“It’s nearly four, sir, and I wanted to remind you it’s a full moon night.”
Yes, another damn full moon night. He’d nearly forgotten about the town’s bizarre custom with their unexpected visitor now in residence. The entire town took off the full twenty-four hours of each full moon night every month—from sunrise to sunrise—with a hard curfew of 5:00 PM. According to Gregory, it was a very old tradition. One that dated back to when the town first began as a small Native American hunting village in the 1500s. Eventually, the village was taken over by a large extended family of white settlers—“the Wolfson line,” as Gregory referred to them—in the 1800s.
“Hannah will, of course, leave dinner for you and Sola in the kitchen,” Gregory told him. “Perhaps Miss Sola would like to join you tonight in the dining room, seeing as how Hannah won’t be able to deliver a plate to her room? Also, should I remind her not to go down to The Thirsty Wolf this evening?”
“Yes, yes,” Ivan agreed. “I’ll talk to her about dinner and tell her she can’t go to The Thirsty Wolf tonight.”
“Ah, maybe I ought to convey the message about dinner to her along with a friendly reminder about the town curfew?” Gregory answered, his tone worried.
Ivan narrowed his eyes, not liking what the older man was insinuating. Clearly he thought Ivan didn’t have enough charm in his arsenal to get a woman with no other meal options for the night, to have dinner with him.
“No, I will do it,” he repeated more firmly. He swam quickly to the side of the pool and lifted himself up and out. His arms screamed in protest, not appreciating the sudden movement after the workout he’d put them through.
But at least his erection was gone.
“Where is she?” he asked the older man, toweling himself off.
“In the solarium, sir, but perhaps—”
He didn’t give Gregory the chance to finish, just threw on his black terry cloth robe and headed toward the back of the house.