I saw it, then, that vulnerability I’d glimpsed before. A need, deep within him, that went beyond simple lust and maybe even beyond love. Something soul-deep. I stared back at him, willing him to open up just a little more.
But he jumped to his feet and yelled his frustration instead, hurling his glass across the room. It shattered into a million shining fragments against the wall and I recoiled at the sound. He stood there for a moment, panting. The muscles in his back and shoulders were so hard with tension, they stood out even through his shirt. Part of me expected him to grab me and hurl me against the wall.
But, somehow, I knew he’d never do that.
He suddenly stalked across the room and hurled the door open so hard it banged against the wall. Then he was gone down the companionway and I was left sitting there in shock.
I knew I couldn’t just leave him like that. Somewhere out there, Luka was hurting. Angry, sure. Dangerous, definitely. But I’d caught a glimpse of the parts of him he hid from the world. There was some sort of battle going on inside him, and it was driving him crazy.
I wasn’t the same woman who’d left Langley to go to that party in New York. Meeting him had changed me forever, given me a glimpse of a happiness I used to have. And however fucked up it was that a man who sold death had brought me back to life, I owed him for that.
I’d done this to him. I’d brought this vulnerability to the surface. He’d given me the hope that maybe I wasn’t beyond repair; I had to see if, somehow, I could fix him, too.
I found a pair of sneakers in my luggage that looked ridiculous with the stockings and dress, but it was quicker than running back to the stairs to retrieve my heels. I picked my way carefully past the glass on the floor and looked up and down the empty companionway. It was late at night, now, and the yacht was silent apart from the throb of the engines. Where would he go, if he wanted to be alone?
I headed upstairs and out onto the deck.
Immediately, I knew I’d made a mistake. The cold was like a physical thing, as if someone was jamming knives into my exposed arms and face. I gasped and saw my breath as a rising cloud. I was going to freeze out there in just a few minutes. But I could at least have a look for him before heading back inside.
The yacht was moving fast across ocean that looked as still as black glass. The moon was out and there was no land in sight. I felt my insides shrink down to nothing at the thought of how alone I was out here. No backup. No police. No one who could help me.
I saw him standing at the rail, right at the prow of the yacht. What if I was wrong about him? What if he was still mad and he just tossed me over the side in his rage?
I remembered how I’d felt, after the accident. How I’d shut down and closed everyone out. I’d functioned, but not lived. Luka seemed to be the opposite: he lived like a king, went to clubs, had a string of girlfriends...and yet, when I looked in his eyes, he didn’t look happy. He looked trapped.
I took a deep breath...and moved towards him.
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When I was still ten feet away, and with him still staring out to sea, he suddenly snapped, “What are you doing out here?”
I caught my breath and stopped where I was. “I just came to talk.”
He shook his head, still not turning around. “Go to bed.”
I took a tentative step towards him. “Luka—”
“Got to bed!” he roared.
I stood stock still in the middle of the freezing deck. He was pushing me away, closing me out. Just as he’d shut out Elena and Natalia and Svetlana, I realized.
I’d thought the same as his guards: that he was a callous womanizer, using them and dumping them. What he’d actually done was break up with them before they could get too close.
This is perfect, a little voice inside me thought. I know about the crates, now. I have the batch numbers. I’ll find out more at the meeting, tomorrow. He’ll dump me when we get back to Moscow, I report to Adam and I can go home. Everything will go back to normal.
All I had to do was turn around and walk back to the stateroom. Mission accomplished.
I stood there for long seconds. And then I said, “No.”
He turned to face me. “What?”
“No.”
He stared at me, his eyes narrowed in anger. I could see the years of rage that had been building up inside him, slowly poisoning him. “Arianna,” he grated. “Go to bed.”
“No.” I walked over to him before he could stop me. He had time for a single angry yell before I threw my arms around him and pressed my face to his chest.
This is it, I thought. If I’m wrong about him, this is where he smashes my head against the rail and throws my body over.