Page 42 of Beautifully Deranged

“Get dressed,” he says smoothly. “We have somewhere to be.”

I plant my hands on my hips. “Oh, do we?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Mikhail.”

He charges at me. One second I’m standing, glaring at him. The next, I’m upside down over his fucking shoulder. I shriek, pounding my fists against his back. “Put me the fuck down, you psycho!”

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“I hate you.”

“Mm.” He carries me like I weigh nothing, heading toward my bedroom. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be clenching your thighs around me like that.”

I freeze, mortification searing through me.

“I will bite you.”

“Go ahead.” His hand smooths over my calf, slow and possessive. “Might even like it.”

Heat flares up my spine. I swear, I’m going to kill him. But I can’t lie to myself, I’m not really fighting anymore. My struggles went weak the moment he touched me, the moment he spoke in that low, patient tone that makes my insides coil.

I hate that he does this to me.

I sag against his shoulder with a loud, dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

He stops. “Fine?”

I groan. “I’ll get dressed, you absolute menace.”

I feel the rumble of his laughter before he finally sets me down. “Good girl.”

I flip him off and stomp to my closet, pretending I don’t feel the heat crawling up my neck.

***

The drive is silent.

Not tense. Just… charged.

Mikhail drives like he does everything else: calm, patient, completely unbothered by my very obvious attempts to ignore him. The car slows. I glance out the window, frowning. “Why are we here?”

He gets out, rounds the car, and opens my door, offering me his hand. I don’t take it. I step out, arms crossed, watching as he leads me to the building in front of us. It’s modern and sleek, with massive windows lining the front. My eyes catch the sign with my name on it above what looks like an art studio. My stomach twists. I look up at him, something thick and heavy clogging my throat.

“It’s yours.”

“What?”

“This place. It’s yours.” He gestures at the studio, so casual, like he didn’t just—just—

I swallow. “You can’t—”

“I can. And I did.”

“I never asked for this.”

“You didn’t have to.”

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