Dark Desire, Lauren Smith [reading well TXT] 📗

“Hey, Mom. Yeah, I got through okay.”

“So now you’re safe in LA, right?” Her mother’s tone turned sharp with worry. “Your father and I should be there in a few days. We wanted to come right away, but all the flights were booked up.”

“I’ll be fine until you get here. I’m almost at Dr. Devereaux’s house. I’m just stuck in traffic.”

“Good. Your father and I can’t wait to see you. He’ll be sad he missed you. He’s just run to the store for a few things.”

“I’ll send him a text when I get to the house,” she promised. Elena couldn’t imagine how terrified her parents must have been when she’d gone missing. They’d tried to act all calm, but when she’d first seen them on the computer at the embassy in Ulaanbaatar, her mother had burst into tears.

“You know, I really like that man, Dr. Devereaux.”

“Me too,” Elena admitted. She’d had to tell her parents all the details of what had happened to her—how could she not?—and she’d told them about Royce and his grad student assistant, Kenzie, and how they had saved her. Royce and Kenzie had flown back to the States earlier and had made the trip to Maine to personally introduce themselves to her parents and tell them that Elena was alive and well.

For the most part.

“You know, he said you can transfer to his university on Long Island anytime.”

“I know. I’ve been thinking about it.” But the truth was, right now she just needed to find herself again. She couldn’t make another big life change until she felt more secure.

“Call me when you get there. Text me Dr. Deveraux’s address so your father and I will have it for when we come.”

“I will,” Elena promised, and hung up.

The driver stopped at the gatehouse and helped Elena with her suitcase, then drove off. Elena approached the gate and checked her email for the gate code. She pressed the five-digit code on the keypad, and the white wall of the gate slid open silently.

Elena’s jaw hit the ground as she saw the house in front of her. She had expected a cozy beach house, but what she was looking at was no quaint cottage. It was a mansion. Something her Malibu Barbie would have had when Elena was a child. The front of the house looked like an Italian villa, and there was a lush garden between her and the front door. Beyond it was an endless expanse of blue water.

Elena rolled her suitcase down the stone walkway to the front door. The same code unlocked that door as well. She stepped into the house, and her heart leapt with quiet joy. It was even more beautiful inside, with modern décor that was light and airy, yet the furniture looked comfortable and lived in. She could stay in a place like this and just feel safe and calm forever. It was paradise. She closed the front door behind her and left her suitcase by the spiral staircase that led up to the second floor.

“Oh, wow . . .” Ahead of her was a huge living room with a large leather sectional sofa and a massive eighty-five-inch TV. Beyond that was a kitchen that was bigger than her dorm room at Pepperdine. Elena kept walking until she reached the outdoor deck, and then she froze.

She wasn’t alone. A man stood at the balcony’s edge, hands braced on the railing, his face hidden from her as he stared at the sea. He wore khaki shorts, a pair of athletic shoes, and a loose black T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders as the breeze plastered it against his skin.

That wasn’t Royce . . .

Fear spiked within her. She stumbled back and tripped over the rug and fell to the ground with a crash. Her head glanced off the island counter, and she cried out in pain.

The man on the porch turned to face her, and Elena flinched, her eyes closing as she waited for whatever awful thing would come next. His footfalls were quick as he rushed toward her.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she begged, and held her hands and arms above her face to shield herself.

“Kiska?” a familiar, rich deep voice said to her.

Slowly, she forced her eyes open and lowered her hands from her face.

Dimitri Razin, the man who’d been so kind, so helpful on the flight from Moscow, was crouching over her inside Royce Devereaux’s Malibu house.

“Dimitri?” she gasped. “Wh—what are you doing here?” It couldn’t be a coincidence he was here. This had to be a trap. He was one of Vadym’s men, come to take her back.

“My old friend owns this house. He heard I was to be staying in Los Angeles for a few months, and he told me I could stay here rather than at a hotel. What are you doing here?” he aske as she got to her feet.

She looked at him, uncertain. She made sure she kept her distance from him, enough room to run if he made any sudden moves, but she tried to look as if she were calmer now. “Uh . . . the same thing. I lost my dorm at Pepperdine, and since I’m not taking classes, a friend offered to let me stay here for the semester.”

“Ah . . .” Understanding lit Dimitri’s eyes. “You are a friend of Royce Devereaux?”

Elena nodded. “You as well?” Why hadn’t Royce warned her that he was going to let some random stranger—a Russian, no less—stay here while she was here? As soon as she had a moment alone, she was going to call him and demand answers.

“We’ve known each other a long time. He is a good man.”

“On that we agree.” She started to sit up and groaned as pain swamped her. She reached up to touch her head, and blood came away on her fingertips.

“Here, let me.”

He tried to reach for her, and she flinched back. Then the reality of what she’d done swamped her, and she forced herself to relax as he