Page 17 of Twilight Sins

I snort. “Not my people. My people would call it a castle.”

“Does that make me a prince?”

I whip towards him, mouth hanging open. “This is your house?”

“According to you, it’s my castle.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” Amusement sparkles in his eyes.

I look from Yakov to the house and back again. Each time, I’m expecting one or the other to disappear. But they both stay stubbornly in place.

The mansion grows bigger and bigger until we’re so close that I can’t take it all in at once. The car comes to a stop and I’m still staring up at the stone archways and what looks like a balcony around the second floor when my door opens. I didn’t even see Yakov get out, but now, he’s standing in front of me with his hand extended.

I grab his hand and he pulls me out of the car. I start to turn back to thank the driver—maybe apologize for scandalizing him—but Yakov closes the door and he drives around to the back of the house.

It’s only when we’re alone… in front of Yakov’s mansion… in the dark… that I realize something idiotic.

“I don’t have my car! I left it back at the restaurant. I—I completely forgot about it.”

“Nikandr will retrieve it for you in the morning.” Yakov turns and heads for the door.

My feet, however, are glued to the cement.

In the morning.

Yakov is under the impression I won’t need my car until the morning.

Because I’ll be staying here.

The pieces take longer than necessary to shift around and click together because this isn’t a very complicated puzzle.

Yakov wants to have sex. He wants me to sleep here.

I’m still in the middle of the driveway when Yakov reaches the front porch and turns back. “You’ll find it’s a lot more comfortable inside.”

I doubt that very much. “Comfortable” is me, alone in my apartment. “Comfortable” would’ve been bailing on yet another terrible date, grabbing a stale donut from the gas station around the corner, and falling asleep with a book in my hands.

Nothing about Yakov is comfortable.

Which is why I peel my feet off the pavement and follow after him.

Comfort is for the birds.

7

LUNA

Yakov might actually be a prince.

How else could he explain the domed ceiling, complete with skylight, above his entryway? Or the oil portrait of what has to be a child-version of Yakov and his two younger siblings hanging over the fireplace in the living room?

Not to mention the library. Shelves and shelves of books with a wooden rolling ladder straight out of Beauty and the Beast. Yakov comes in with a drink in each hand. He places mine on the shelf next to me. I snatch it up quickly, more worried about warping the perfect wood with condensation than he is, apparently.

“If you’re not a prince, then you killed one and stole his life.” I run my finger along a row of leather-bound books. “This place is insane.”

“That’s what happened. I’m a murderer. You got me.”