Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(45)

Fingers snap to my left. Boone, mouthing, “Who’s that?”

I answer him with a middle finger. Last thing I need is for him to know that Viktor Petrova’s wife is calling me and it has nothing to do with a car. I’m guessing she just wants to talk.

Or maybe not.

I go out on a huge limb and ask, “You want company?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, then, “Yes.”

I spend all of three seconds evaluating whether this is a good idea. It is 100 percent not a good idea.

“Where are you?”

The second she opens the door into her dimly lit hotel room, the second I see her long, shiny blond hair, I feel the urge to tangle my fingers in it.

“Hey.” She steps back just far enough to let me pass through, close enough that our shoulders brush and I catch her perfume. Much milder than what she wears to the club. From this vantage point, I have a good view down her loose purple top and I try not to stare.

“You look good. I mean . . .” Even in the shadowy entryway, her cheeks glow with a blush. She scans the soft, navy V-neck I grabbed from Boone’s closet while he was huddled under the small overhang outside on our balcony, having a smoke. It’s better than anything I have. And tonight, I wanted to look good.

I let out a low whistle as I step into the room, my eyes taking in all the abstract patterns and dark colors. When I pulled my shitty Corolla into the lot of the RiverPlace Hotel, I knew the rooms would be way out of my price range. “How much does a night here cost?”

“Close to eight hundred for this room.”

Jesus. “Nice view.” I push back the black-and-white curtains to take in the dark silhouettes of docked sailboats along the river.

I sense rather than see her close the distance to stand right behind me. “Well, I figured that Viktor should at least pay for me to be in luxury while he’s cheating on me.” Her bitterness is palpable. Which explains what motivated her to pick a place like this.

“Is he? For sure?”

“I called the hotel he stayed in last time—when I found the receipt—and asked for them to put me through to Mr. Petrova. He answered on the fourth ring.”

“He’s not going to stop. You know that, right?”

“I do.” So much resignation in those two words.

“So what are you going to do?”

She doesn’t respond right away and when she does, it’s not an answer. “Why am I not good enough, Jesse?” I can’t imagine what it’s like—to be twenty-two, beautiful, and married to a guy who has no intention of being faithful. He sure as hell doesn’t go out of his way to hide it, either.

I admit, I knew what I was getting myself into when I scribbled her room number on a scrap of paper; when I stuck a couple of condoms into my wallet. Since hanging up the phone, I’ve felt like a live wire, exposed: just waiting to make contact with her so I can pass this current through me, so she can feel it too.

And when I turn around to meet her eyes, I know that she’s waiting for it. “You’re plenty good enough, Alex. He’s the problem. Not you.”

The second my tongue touches her lips, she responds, opening to let me taste the inside of her mouth. There’s no doubt she wants it. But when I slide my free hand under her shirt and up her back, pulling her tight into me, I can’t ignore how stiff her body is. I break free to look down at her, at the wild mix of thrill and fear and nervousness dancing within her wide eyes.

What she said to me last night in the garage . . . I can read a lot into that, but I don’t want to. I shouldn’t. She’s trapped in a shitty marriage with an ass**le, she’s kissing strangers on the side of the road—the girl’s a head case right now. I don’t want to confuse her, make things harder for her than they already are. “Is this really what you want?”

She lets go of my arms and takes three steps back to the bed. Turning off the one lit lamp in the room, leaving us with only the glow from the city lights outside the window, she pulls the hem of her shirt over her head and tosses it to the bench at the end of the bed. Her bra follows quickly, giving me a glimpse of a set of small but firm br**sts, with perfect pink ni**les. And then, gripping the waist of her pants, she shimmies them off, underwear and all.

A bare and trembling Alex sits down on the end of the bed and stretches her hand out for me. As if I wasn’t hard enough, the rest of my blood rushes downward and I feel myself strain in my jeans. I don’t think I could stop myself from going to her even if I tried. Still, why does this not feel right? I mean, I’m dying to get inside her, but something is setting off alarm bells inside my head right now.

Her hands immediately go for my belt and I yank my shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. Her eyes skate over my chest as adept fingers unbutton and unzip, pushing my pants and boxers down to my thighs. Her hot, wet mouth takes me in immediately.

“Damn.” I close my eyes as my head falls back, remembering that arrogant ass**le’s comment yesterday about Alex’s talents.

Now I know what’s bothering me. Well, aside from the fact that we shouldn’t be doing this, period. And that I’m thinking about her husband.

“Stop.” I groan as I ease her mouth away from me. It takes me a few moments to slow my breathing. “You’ve never been with anyone other than Viktor, have you?”