The Russian's Acquistion(77)
Not with me.
“What about you?” He felt his blood slowing with time. “Because you deserve to be happy too.”
“I know.” She swallowed, blinking rapidly, head down. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since I’ve been here.”
Aleksy didn’t understand why her saying that staggered him. He’d already figured out what kind of woman she was. He’d chosen to believe her when she said otherwise, but he’d known. She’d been a virgin. A powerless one that he’d exploited. He was utterly sincere in telling her she deserved everything that her heart desired.
It would come at a terrible cost to him, but he’d pay it. For once, he’d act with the sort of honor she thought he possessed.
* * *
Clair held on to her composure with superhuman effort, losing hope as Aleksy’s expression grew stonier, washing away the footings of her confidence. She reacted by pulling herself inward, taking refuge behind an air of insouciance that wouldn’t betray how much this really meant to her.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t looking for a permanent relationship. When I was a child, all I ever wanted was to be adopted into a family.” She set down her fork and folded her hands in her lap, aware of him becoming still, listening so closely the air around them seemed to vibrate. “As the years passed and I wasn’t chosen, I convinced myself being part of a family was the last thing I wanted. I really believed it. Self-preservation, I suppose.” She shrugged, the movement jerky and not nearly as careless as she wanted to be.
His slow blink was almost a wince.
Clair could hear the voices in her head warning this gamble wouldn’t pay off. It made her keep a few cards against her chest, only saying, “But living in this house, thinking about how your parents felt about each other and, I believe, how my parents felt, as well… It made me realize I want a different kind of family. Not parents, but a husband and children.”
Her clammy fingers had clenched themselves together under the table and she kept them hidden, fingernails digging into the backs of her hands so she wouldn’t betray how anxious she was for him to show some sign he wanted those things too. With her…
“I understand.” He sat back, his mouth curling with self-deprecation. “I knew you weren’t proper mistress material— Clair, that’s a compliment,” he hurried to say when she gasped and stood, impaled by the remark.
She began clearing the food they hadn’t touched. “No, you’re right,” she rushed out, clattering dishes. “I know I’m not good at this.” She was breaking into pieces on the inside but refused to let him see it. It would only make this worse. “When we met, I was afraid of every type of relationship. I was so terrified I’d get hurt, I didn’t let anyone near me. Now I know it doesn’t actually kill you to be close to someone. Literally, physically close, I mean.” Her smile was brittle. “I’ll be able to take that forward…”
She stumbled to a halt, unnerved by the way his eyes went black. Jealousy?
Ducking her head, she let her hair fall forward, hiding her confusion. Hiding the way her face wanted to crumple because she was so full of longing and so unsure.
With a deep breath, she steeled herself and lifted her chin. “Still a long way off before I risk falling in love, but…” She trailed off, bravado tank on empty. “I’m just sorry I’m not—” Her throat began to thicken. What you wanted. “I’m going to pack.”