They spent the rest of the evening entwined on the couch, holding hands, talking. There was no discussion of Maryruth leaving his apartment. Where would she stay, a hotel? Igor wouldn’t hear of it—not that she was putting up much of a fight.
“But I do need clothes of my own,” she said. “I can’t keep wearing yours.”
“Why not?” He brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “You look beautiful in my clothes.”
She smiled in pleasure, but then the grin faded from her lips. “Igor,” she began.
“Maryruth.”
“I won’t jump from one man to another,” she stated. “I won’t do that to myself. Or to you.”
“All right,” he said easily.
She frowned. “I don’t understand you at all.”
“Good. That keeps it interesting.”
Maryruth chuckled. “Seriously. What am I going to do with you?”
“When you’re ready, I have a few ideas.”
“What if it takes me months to be ready?” she asked, sidestepping his innuendo.
“Then I’ll wait. However long it takes.” Leaning towards her, he pressed his forehead to hers and stared into her eyes. “You’re worth the wait, Maryruth.”
“How can you say that?” she whispered, her breath teasing the skin of his cheeks. “Look what kind of baggage I dropped at your front door.”
He didn’t even want to get into the type of baggage he had.
Igor didn’t want to frighten her with the intensity of his feelings, not so soon after her last experience. She needed to feel through her emotions before she would truly be open again.
“I’ll wait,” he repeated because that was all he could say.
“Why?”
“Because.”
She flung her arms around him and pressed her face to his shoulder.
Perhaps waiting months for Maryruth wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It would give him time to tell his father that he wouldn’t be marrying Katarina Drugov. It would give him time to protect his balls from Katarina. Though she’d agreed to a sham engagement, he knew if he told her he wanted to go through with the marriage, she would be happy.
“Why did you sigh?” Maryruth asked, pulling back.
“Just thinking about things. Other things,” he clarified.
“Cryptic.”
“Da.”
She climbed off the couch and padded her way towards the kitchen. “Do you have any chocolate?”
“No.”
“Ice cream?”
“No.”
“Cookies?”
“No.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Why not? What’s wrong with you?”
“Me? It’s dinner time. What’s wrong with you?”
Maryruth laughed. “Fair enough. But seriously, do you have anything sweet in here?”
“Honey. From Upstate.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I could have Charlie send out for something.”
“Charlie?”
“The doorman.”
“Ah, no. That’s okay.”
“What happened to all your clothes?” he asked, changing the subject.
“They’re still at Auggie’s. I’ll go back and get them. When I’m ready.”
“I have an idea,” he said.
“I’m listening.”
“Why don’t you take a bath? I’ll have Charlie run out and get you ice cream. What’s your flavor of choice?”
“Vanilla bean.”
“Really? That’s so…”
“Boring?”
“Traditional,” he corrected. “I assumed you’d want something more exotic.”
She smiled but said nothing.
“Bath?” he urged. “I have a Jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom.”
“Trying to spoil me?” she teased.
“Something like that.”
They gazed at one another until finally Maryruth pulled her eyes away. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
With one final look, she left the room. Igor picked up the phone to call Charlie and asked him to bring him different brands of vanilla bean ice cream. He wanted to give Maryruth choices.
After hanging up, he took a seat on the couch. Worry gnawed at him. For the moment, he and Maryruth were safely cocooned in a bubble of isolation. They only person who knew about them was Sasha, and he would never betray him.
Before Igor told Olaf that he wouldn’t marry Katarina, he needed to speak with the woman first. Maybe it would all work out and everyone would get everything they wanted—without a marriage alliance.
He snorted at his delusional hope. Igor wasn’t stupid. He was about to seriously rock the boat. Glancing in the direction of his bedroom, he knew it was all going to be worth it.
A knock sounded on the door. He got up and answered it. “That was fast,” he said, the smile on his face dying when he saw that it wasn’t Charlie with the ice cream.
“I’ll show you fast,” Katarina rasped seductively, draping her arms around his neck and brushing her lips against his.
He took a step back, trying to disengage her hold on him. “What are you doing here?” he asked in dreaded confusion.
She frowned. “I told the doorman that your fiancée wanted to surprise you. So, surprise!”
“Fiancée?” came the soft question from somewhere behind him.
Igor turned. Maryruth stood in the living room, wearing his robe, her hair pulled up into a bun, her expression crestfallen.
“Da,” Katarina said, her gaze narrowing as she looked down her nose at Maryruth. “His fiancée. And you are?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled, turning away, shoulders hunched.
Igor shut the front door. “Katarina, will you give us a moment?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Pour yourself a drink,” he commanded before stalking after Maryruth who had disappeared into his bedroom.
He found her sitting on the edge of the half-full tub. The water had been shut off, and there was only the drip, drip of the last drops of water splashing into the bath.
“You have a fiancée.” She looked at him with accusatory eyes—all traces of defeat were gone.
“No, well, not really.” He sighed. It was going to be difficult to explain. Would she believe him?
“Not really?” Maryruth parroted. “I’m not an idiot, Igor. I may have been acting like one, but I’m not stupid. That woman has some sort of claim on you.”
“Our parents want us to get married,” he shot out rapidly. “Katarina and I agreed to a fake engagement but have no intention of going through with it.”
Maryruth rolled her eyes and stood. “I think I should leave. You need to be alone with your fiancée.”
“She’s not my fiancée!” he yelled, finally losing his patience.
“Then maybe you should be the one to set her straight!” Maryruth yelled back. “Because she thinks she is. I saw the way she looked at you!”
“I don’t care how Kat looks at me. I care how you look at me!”
“This is so fucking twisted,” Maryruth panted. “This won’t work. I need to be on my own for a while.”
“Oh great,” Igor sneered, his face contorting into an ugly snarl. “What a fucking excuse. You’re a goddamn coward.”
“You don’t know anything about me. You’re just like Auggie. You’ve put me on this pedestal—I’m not some trinket, an adornment to appease your ego, Igor.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t know me,” he said, his voice steely. His eyes flashed with anger, but he pulled it back, pulled it in. To fully unleash it would be catastrophic.
“Have you slept with her?”
“Why does that matter?”
She fell silent.
He sighed. “Yes. Kat and I have been together. So what? You were with Auggie when we met, when I kissed you outside the bathhouse.”
She stared at him, faced him head on when she admitted, “I won’t survive you, Igor.”
He took a step closer. “You won’t have to.”
She closed the rest of the distance between them. “Promise?”
“Promise. I just need some time—my father expects things. Kat’s parents expect things. This is delicate.”
She nodded. “All right.”
“I don’t have a fiancée.”
“I believe you.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She stood on her toes and kissed him. Open mouth, tongue, and feeling.
His arms wrapped around her, hauled her closer. “You’re far from perfect,” he growled against her lips.
Maryruth smiled against his skin. “You mean that?”
He deepened the kiss and silenced her.
They were tempered volatility. She consumed him, body and heart. He’d give her everything he had if only she’d let him.
Moments later, they returned to the present and separated. They held onto each other, sucking in air like they were dying.
“Take a bath,” he urged, reluctantly releasing her. “Don’t think of anything except what just happened between us.”
She bit her lip and stepped back. “What about Katarina?”
“I’ll deal with Katarina.”