When I hit twenty, I’d thought, I’ve waited this long . . . I’d figured I might as well hold out until I experienced blazing, blinding lust for a man who met all my qualifications. But no man had.

Until tonight.

Sevastyan ticked all my boxes—yet he’d sneered that I wasn’t his type.

Okay, was it too much to ask for a guy who met my qualifications, who liked me—and who wasn’t an ass**le?

Sighing, I gazed out one of the windows, saw the moon and the stars closer to me than they’d ever been. Because I was on a plane, heading toward a great big unknown. To my “new life.”

Damn it, I needed to get my mind off Sevastyan and think about what tomorrow might bring. Just hours ago, I’d despaired of ever finding my biological parents. Now I was on my way to meet my father. Would he like me? Would I like him—despite his occupation?

Maybe I should look at this trip to Russia as a mini sabbatical from my life, a short time-out from my larger game. Like Jess’s vacation. Tomorrow I could call to arrange for incompletes in my classes and get a pal to cover my teaching. The server jobs had been so grueling and shitty that I wouldn’t waste a long-distance call on either.

Yes, everyone needed a break now and then.

The drone of the engines began to lull me, and the worst of my frustration started to fade. I felt like I was floating on the soft mattress, between silken sheets as light as air. Though I’d thought I was too keyed-up to sleep, I soon passed out.

And dreamed of Sevastyan.

In a sizzling reverie, he lifted me from my bath, cradling my naked, soaking body to carry me to bed. There, he followed every drop of water with his mouth before settling between my thighs. . . .

“Natalya,” he groaned right at my flesh—all hot breath and slicked tongue. “Natalya.” He raised his face, licked his sexy lips, and asked, “Are you dreaming of me?”

Huh? Dreaming? I opened my eyes—and found the Siberian staring down at me.

Chapter 7

Moonlight illuminated his beautifully rugged face, making my heart lurch. “Sevastyan?” He was lying beside me, head propped on his hand, a position that belied the tension coming off him.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I nearly moaned to behold his bare chest, packed with rigid slabs of muscle. His smooth skin sported wicked-looking tattoos. High on both of his pecs were large eight-pointed stars, intricately shaded. Two Russian domes adorned one brawny arm; on his other, a patterned band encircled his bicep.

Those markings and the latent power in his body left me spellbound. “What are you doing in bed with me?” And why can’t I manage to be afraid of you?

His breaths came quickly. He reminded me of a rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap. “I heard you moaning,” he grated. “Came in, saw you rocking your hips beneath the covers.”

I flushed, averting my gaze—which fell on his flat stomach, on the dark line of hair trailing from his navel. I had the mad urge to nuzzle it.

“Just when I think you’re shameless, your cheeks heat.”

I forced myself to face him. “You’ve explained what I was doing. What the hell were you doing?”

“Watching you and getting harder by the heartbeat.” He pressed his hips closer to my side, letting me feel his sizable erection against my thigh.

I gasped, my body going soft when treated to the unyielding heat of his.

No, no, this man was an ass**le! I reminded myself of his ricocheting mood swings. “You can leave now.” I was proud of how resolute I sounded. “I’ll try not to disturb you again.”

As if I hadn’t spoken, he rasped, “You make . . . you make these sounds. Your whimper, your moan. I hear them, and thought leaves my brain.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Chut’.” Slightly. “I’ve been replaying how I saw you in the bath, stroking yourself with these fingers.” He peeled my right hand from the cover—which I’d been clutching like a roller-coaster safety bar—then pressed my fingertips against his face. “I only wish you’d finished yourself in front of me.”

I wished I had too! Then maybe I wouldn’t be overcome with lust right now, falling even further under his spell.

His hooded eyes flicked over my face, then lower. “What were you dreaming of to make these so hard?”

I followed his glance down. My ni**les were stiff against the fabric of the shirt I wore.

“Tell me, pet, why were you on the verge of a wet dream?”

I couldn’t resist him before; now, on this bed, hearing his rumbling, seductive voice, I feared I was defenseless. No! Be strong, Nat. “Why do you insist on calling me pet?”

“Maybe because you make a man want to collar and keep you.”

“Right.” I knew he was just being a smart-ass, but the idea gave me shivers.

“Tell me about your dream.”

“Why should I? You’ll just give me that disgusted look and go all icy again.”

“Icy? That’s the last thing I feel right now.”

I swallowed when he began unfastening the buttons on the shirt, spreading the lapels just shy of baring my br**sts.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. But I wanted them bared, wanted him to see them and desire me.

Hey, I was on vacation from my life, right? So why couldn’t this man be my fall holiday fling?

He took the starched edge of the shirt and lightly scraped it over my left nipple. Oh, God, oh, God . . .