I arched a brow. “Don’t you?”

“Not in that area of my life,” he amended. “Even though you’re far from my type, I was affected.” He used his right forefinger to twist the thumb ring on that same hand. I’d noticed he’d done that before when he’d seemed uncomfortable. A tell? That could come in handy. “Any man would’ve been, so don’t read more into it than that.”

“Far from your type.” How could that comment wound me? “You’re not exactly mine either, Siberian.” Probably not the best idea to taunt the assassin. I rose. “You seem determined to humiliate me and pick a fight with me. I’m not interested in either.” I turned away and marched down the aisle. “Wake me up when we get there.”

He called after me, “The only thing I told Kovalev about your personal life is that you have no current lover to leave behind. I won’t mention how eager you were to remedy that situation tonight.”

I stiffened, turning at the door of one of the suites. “Why were you so angry at the bar?”

He finally drank that vodka down, which gave me chills for some reason. “I didn’t like seeing the daughter of a great man throwing herself at me, trolling for trouble.”

“Throwing myself? Are you insane? I introduced myself and offered to buy you a drink.” My ire kept mounting. “And I really hope you’re not going to try to slut-shame me—because I will go off like a bottle rocket!” It was times like this when my virginity embarrassed me.

He stood, then stalked up to me. With his every step closer, my breaths shallowed. What would he do? I had no idea—excitement warred with uneasiness.

He towered over me, toe-to-toe, and I craned my head up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze. Whenever he was angry, his eyes appeared hard and glinting, like cold amber. Otherwise, they were molten gold, like now. . . .

“Of all the men in the bar, you picked me for a reason, little girl.” His voice had gotten huskier, his accent rougher; I responded to it as if he’d touched me. “And it wasn’t to talk about classes.”

Inner shake. “I picked you because you were a mystery. I can read men with ease, but not you. That made me curious.”

He rested his hand on the wall above my head, surrounding me with his heat. “When a woman singles me out”—he leaned down to murmur at my ear—“it’s because she wants to get f**ked. She looks at the scars and tattoos and knows she’ll get f**ked hard.”

I gasped, melting for him.

“Is that what you wanted of me, Natalya?” His warm breaths traced over my ear, hardening my ni**les even more. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, squeezing my thighs together.

“Th-that’s not why I approached you.” That might have been why I’d approached him.

“Little liar. You think I can’t tell when a woman wants me buried deep inside her?” He eased back to study my face. “And when you didn’t get what you wanted, you settled for a nice . . . hot . . . bath.”

I swallowed, beginning to pant.

Voice hoarse, he said, “Were you thinking about me when you touched yourself?”

Between breaths, I said, “I’m not telling you that.”

“You just did, pet.” He straightened, as if a trance had been broken between us. With a vile curse, he turned from me. “Just go to bed.”

I watched his broad back as he strode away to pour another vodka. With a curse of my own, I slammed the cabin door behind me.

That man was going to drive me insane before we ever reached the motherland!

In a huff, I yanked down the cover and crawled into the sumptuous bed. Then lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling out of sorts, hating that I was forced to wear that man’s clothing.

Hating that it turned me on.

Why him? Why was I so strong in every other aspect of my life and so weak with him? After so many years of holding out for Mr. Right, I would have given my virginity to Sevastyan in the dirt.

In high school, I’d never imagined I would be a twenty-four-year-old virgin, because I’d been so curious about the deed. And, damn, I’d been game.

But the drunken boys I’d fooled around with had been ham-handed and slavering, never inspiring me to go further. Sex, it had seemed, wasn’t for me. At least, not with guys like the ones I’d known.

The problem with growing up in a small town and going to a tiny school? There hadn’t been a big selection of males to choose from.

When I got to college, I’d felt like I’d won the lottery—starstruck by the assortment of men. My curiosity hadn’t lessened, and I’d been sure I’d lose my virginity before homecoming.

In preparation, I’d learned all about sex, through voracious reading, rooming with Jess, and my own breathless research. Oh, and my burgeoning interest in high-quality lady  p**n .

I’d hooked up with guy after guy, but inevitably each one would do something to prevent me from sealing the deal.

The one who’d fingered me like he was digging to China.

The one who’d prematurely ejaculated into the condom he’d been rolling on, then been too embarrassed to ever call me again.

The one who’d wanted me on top, dominating him, when I was pretty sure my tastes ran in the exact opposite direction. (Confirmed by my recent encounter in the cornfield?)

Was it too much to ask for an attractive, dominant guy with sexual skill, one who wasn’t a minute-to-win-it two-pump chump?