Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(30)

“A toothbrush,” he guesses, playing into it like a game. I peek at him through my fingers and realize he’s smiling. “I have an extra one, never used.”

“That’s…convenient.”

“One of my brothers is a kleptomaniac and likes to steal pointless things from the gift store.” He adds quickly, “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Timo?” I wonder.

“Luka. He’s nineteen and another pain in my ass.” Even as he says it, there’s an incredible amount of love in his voice.

The elevator makes a stop on the twentieth floor. I expect more people to gather on, but it’s empty, just delaying our ride.

“Pajamas,” he guesses.

I didn’t even think about that. My suitcase will never know how much I miss it. “I’m going to sleep in what I have on.” I immobilize for the thousandth time as he inspects my long coat and stilettos again. Probably imagining what little there is underneath. The corset wire is definitely poking into my boob.

“You can sleep in one of my shirts,” he offers, not as a sexual advance or anything. I think it’s a friendly gesture. But then those gray irises inadvertently tear through my defenses and practically shed my clothes—I can’t tell anymore. That’s not a look you give to a friend.

“Thanks,” I manage to say, zeroing in on the fact that I’ve only worn one guy’s shirt before: Shay’s.

“But that’s not what you’re stressing over,” he realizes, sweeping my features once more. He turns his body more towards me, genuinely intrigued. “It’s something that you don’t think I have.”

“Correct assumption,” I nod tensely. Part of me doesn’t even want him to guess it—

“Tampons,” he says, right then. Yeah, I don’t feel any better by that either.

The color drains from my face.

“I’m right.” He tilts his head at me like aren’t I? He doesn’t balk. Or flinch or cringe.

“Maybe…”

He gives me one of the nicest smiles. “I live with a girl, myshka, so I have some. Don’t worry.”

I stay ashen, and the bottom of my stomach plummets to the carpet. What’s worse: I sense him studying my reaction, and his lips lower, smile entirely gone.

“That’s…cool,” I reply back, unsure of what else to add. The elevator doors spring open, on his floor.

I’m about to step into Nikolai Kotova’s world.

I just wonder who else is in it.



*



By the time we reach his door, my nerves have been shot to hell. It doesn’t help that music blares through the walls and into the hotel hallway. The loud pop beats are emanating from his room—no one else’s.

Nikolai’s demeanor has changed, doing a one-eighty. His eyes tighten and no longer fix on me but whatever’s happening inside.

I picture drugs. Lots of drugs. Alcohol. Maybe even dry humping. An orgy of epic Vegas proportions.

“Is…this normal?” I ask. “The music, I mean.”

“It’s not uncommon, unfortunately,” he says lowly. He swipes his card, and when the light flashes green, he pushes through with an authoritative stride.

But I freeze right in the doorway. Surprise widens my eyes.

It’s empty.

No grinding bodies. No spilt liquor. No rolled dollar bills and cocaine.

I tentatively walk inside, his suite a lot fancier than I anticipated. The back wall is all window with a skyline view of the city. The furniture is modern and sleek with black and white décor. I can’t help but notice the strain in Nikolai’s posture as he walks further inside, and I don’t think it’s about me staying at his place. Or else he would’ve been like this on the elevator.

Suede decorative pillows litter the ground, and the television blares, playing reruns of a popular reality show. Nikolai finds the stereo remote on the glass coffee table, powering that off first.

My ears almost stop ringing, but the television speakers are louder without the interference. On the TV, four guys stand in the cold, surrounded by snow. One sneers, “You must be a real f**king idiot if you think we’d be okay with someone our age sleeping with our girlfriends’ seventeen-year-old little sister.”

“She’s a model, man. We’ve spent nights at our friends’ flat—” The television blinks to black. Nikolai sets down the remote.

“I hate that guy,” he says under his breath, referring to Julian, the show’s villain.

My brows rise. “You watch Princesses of Philly?” It’s a guilty pleasure, only one season to keep rewatching.

“Katya is obsessed with it,” he says. I guess he watches it with her. Whoever her is. Maybe he has a Shay. A girl Shay, I mean.

A Haley to his Lucas.

For some reason, this thought only downturns my lips. I trek forward while he bends down and picks up a pair of black heels and checks his watch again. I try not to notice the silver purse and studded clutch lying around too.

My collarbones protrude as I hold in a breath. “I didn’t think Aerial Ethereal rooms would be this nice,” I say, making small talk. I pass the kitchen and enter the carpeted living room where he stands.

Nikolai glances back at me. “I wish they weren’t. AE uses it as an excuse to keep our salaries lower than they should be. I would give up the view for another grand a month.”