Sordid (9 page)

“Where am I?” My throat was scratchy and my voice hoarse.

“One of the guest rooms.” He stood and retrieved a red sports drink off of the floor, holding it out to me. I hadn’t realized how parched I was until he unscrewed the top and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered. I drank half the bottle before coming up for air. I tried to keep the nerves in check. I glanced around the room. “How did I . . .”

“Get here? You don’t remember?”

I shook my head and drank the rest of the bottle. On top of the nausea, I felt shaky and weak.

Luka studied me intently. “You got sick in the car. I decided to bring you back here so I could keep an eye on you.”

My ears burned with embarrassment. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“It happens,” he said casually. “How are you feeling?”

I pressed my lips together. I felt like garbage. Things were still moving too fast and I was sluggish. Yet I had to answer, because he stood beside the bed, waiting on me. “Not great,” I mustered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think . . . I had that much to drink.”

He took the empty bottle from my hands. “You’ll feel better if you have something to eat. Can you stand up?”

Something was . . . off. It took me a second to recognize he’d just asked me a question, rather than give me a command. And that brought the whole of the previous night flooding back to me in a hurry.

I wasn’t a virgin anymore. I’d slept with Luka Markovic. This was literally the morning after, and he was offering me breakfast. No, wait. He’d coaxed and persuaded me last night, maybe even manipulated. Things had spiraled out of control and gone too far, and then he’d forced himself on me.

I swallowed hard. I needed to get out of here before I let it happen again.

My legs were shaky but worked well enough as I tugged my socks up, climbed out of the bed, and smoothed my hands over my rumpled costume. I had to look like a hot mess. There was a doorway off to the side and I could see the darkened bathroom beyond.

The bedroom I’d awoken in was timeless and elegant. The greens and golds reeked of sophistication, not the style of a mid-twenty-year-old man. He’d said this was one of the guest rooms, indicating there were multiple ones. I assumed it was his family home. Luka still lived with his parents?

“Can I?” I motioned to the bathroom.

“Sure. I put a shirt in there, in case you want to change.” His gaze drifted downward to the dried stain on my waist.

My face heated again with shame. I’d thrown up and gotten it on myself. It looked like it had been cleaned, but still. “Thank you,” I choked out and darted into the bathroom.

The dark eyeliner and shadow I’d layered on last night was smeared beneath my eyes. I looked awful. I pulled quickly at the ponytails, freeing my hair, and raked a hand through my unkempt strands, forcing them to lay flat. There was a men’s white dress shirt folded neatly on the marble counter top, and after I’d finished scrubbing my eyes, I contemplated what to do.

It was Luka’s shirt.

I’d expected an old t-shirt, not something so nice and formal. The fabric looked expensive. Was this a test? He’d figured me out last night when he said I wanted to look my best, so this had to be deliberate. I shed the white blouse and put on the dress shirt that was too big on me. The shirttails hung as long as my short skirt did.

Oh.

It
was
a test. I was fairly certain he was waiting to see if I’d come out wearing just his shirt and nothing else. Seductive. I couldn’t, not in a million years. Instead I made do by rolling up the sleeves and leaving the top few buttons undone.

He casually noted my skirt still in place but said nothing. It looked stupid, but I needed to send the message. I wasn’t happy about the way last night had gone, and had to put distance between us, even though I was wearing his beautiful shirt that smelled like him.

“Come on, I’ve got breakfast ready. You want coffee?”

I wanted to leave, but I also didn’t want to be rude. I was grateful he hadn’t dumped me off at the dorms, and he’d been different this morning. A cup of coffee wouldn’t change what had happened, but it wouldn’t kill me either. It’d make it easier to politely ask for a ride home, so I nodded.

I followed behind him out into the hallway where the décor was sophisticated. Dark wood, crown molding, and beautiful paintings decorated the long hall of closed doors and stairs to the right. My footfalls were quiet on the plush carpet as we wound down the curved staircase.

The entryway to the house was impressive. Daylight from oversized windows glanced off of the tiered crystal chandelier, positioned over a gorgeous wooden inlay in the hardwood floor. Obviously the car dealership business was going well for the Markovic family.

Luka either ignored my gawking, or didn’t notice. We traipsed past the dining room that had enough seating for twelve, and turned into a gourmet kitchen which was state-of-the-art. There was a table tucked to one side, which held two place settings and a full breakfast waiting to be served. Fresh fruit, pastries, bacon, and eggs. How had he prepared all this?

I stood dumbfounded as he slipped into one of the chairs and set about pouring his coffee. He added cream and sugar, and when he realized I hadn’t moved, his gaze turned up to mine. “You going to join me?”

There was an edge to his words, as if trying to walk a fine line between polite and commanding. I couldn’t help but feel like he was restraining his true self, the version I’d seen last night. I took the chair across from him and watched him pour my cup. It was all so . . . adult-like.

“If you want something else, let me know. My chef keeps the kitchen stocked, so she can make almost anything.”

My chef.
Sweet Jesus. I stared down at my steaming cup, not wanting to say anything because I worried I’d sound like the poor, naïve girl I was. I added sugar and cream, stirring until the coffee turned a milk chocolate color.

“Tell me about your family,” Luka said as I was mid-sip.

I swallowed and it seared down my throat. “My family?”

“Yes. I want to know everything about you. We’ll start with your family.” This he said in the tone I was more familiar with. An order, not a request.

I paused, my hand lingering on the handle to my mug as I considered his demand. He wanted to know everything about me? Why? A weird tickle crept up the back of my neck. “There’s not much to say. They’re pretty normal.”

“Are your parents still together? Siblings?”

“Yeah,” I said. “And yes. I’ve got a younger brother.”

“Are you close?”

“In age, or relationship?”

“Both.” Luka took a sip of his coffee, but his gaze was fixed on mine.

“No, not really. Jonathan is four years younger.” My tone was clipped. We were night and day different.

Luka’s focus sharpened. “Tell me about him.”

My forehead wrinkled with skepticism. “You want to know about my brother?”

“You’re an easy read, Addison. What’s the deal with your brother?”

I scowled, not enjoying how good Luka was at cutting straight through my subtext. I was too hungover and off balance to muster much of a fight. “Jonathan’s senior class elected him homecoming king last week.”

“And?”

How was I going to explain it? My gaze wandered away to glance out the window. Beyond the large, pristinely maintained back yard, the house backed up to a golf course. Of course it did. I squinted against the sunlight, which made my headache throb.

“Tell me why that bothers you,” Luka said. This time his tone was more forceful.

I sighed and swung my focus back to the man who kept me on edge. “Because things come easy for him. He doesn’t struggle to make friends. He always knows the right thing to say and the right thing to do.” I sounded jealous, because I was. “Everyone
loves
Jonathan.”

“You struggle to make friends?” He asked it lightly, and I
had
said it, but it stung, regardless. I didn’t want anyone pointing out what I didn’t excel at.

So I didn’t answer. Instead I grabbed a bagel from the tray of pastries and busied myself slathering it in cream cheese. No one was as driven or focused as I was, or had priorities as warped as mine. Therefore, I struggled terribly to make friends.

“Vasilije is the same as your brother. And that’s . . .” His voice was surprisingly low and hesitant, but then his expression firmed up. “Friends are overrated.”

I considered his statement critically. It sounded like a defensive response a person without friends would say. And although I told myself I didn’t need friends, I also didn’t believe it.

Luka hadn’t touched the large spread of food. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you usually go home on the weekends?”

Randhurst wasn’t a suitcase school, where the students went home on Fridays. It was private, and expensive, and had offered me the largest scholarship out of all my choices. It pulled from all over the country, was large and nice, and there was plenty to do with the campus being only an hour outside of Chicago. It was enough of a draw that students typically didn’t want to leave.

Plus . . . “No. I don’t have a car.”

“Where are you from?”

I chewed a bite of my bagel and swallowed slowly. What was with the twenty questions? “Mokena. It’s a suburb on the south side of the city.”

“I know where it is.” He took another sip of his coffee and set the mug down with a soft thud. “Why pre-med?”

“Why does it feel like you’re interrogating me?”

He blinked slowly, and his eyes were so damn calculating, it made my heart race. “Maybe that’s what this is now. You’re the one who’s defensive while I’m just trying to make conversation.”

I didn’t believe it for one second. There was an angle he was playing at, I was sure of it.

“Or maybe,” he continued, “I’m working up to ask you a question I’m pretty sure will make you stop talking, so I’m trying to get what I can out of you before that happens.”

Chapter

Six

I tensed.
“What? What question?”

Luka looked annoyed. “I just told you, we’ll work up to it. First, I want to know why you want to be a doctor.”

My appetite waned as I stared at him. Perhaps the morning had thrown him off. Maybe he was one of those people who couldn’t get going until they had a cup of coffee, because now the Luka from last night was back in full force. The dark edge in his eyes and the commanding tone filled his voice, which was so good at pushing me.

“Do you already know what kind you want to be?”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “A surgeon.”

His face filled with surprise, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in half of a smile. “Oh, I see.”

“What do you see?” My tone was laced with sarcasm.

“You don’t want to go into the medical field to offer comfort and compassion. You’re doing it for the challenge.”

I swallowed a breath. How in the hell? I faked disdain. “What are you talking about?”

“My cousin’s a nurse and she hates surgeons. Says they all have God complexes in the operating room.” Luka put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “They live to cut.”

I sighed. “I understand what you’re saying.” I’d seen it with my own eyes at the hospital where I volunteered. “A lot of surgeons can be arrogant jackasses, but it’s necessary. You want confidence from the person who’s going to have to cut you to help you heal.”

“So, they’re, what? Excused from being assholes, because their position demands confidence?”

It felt like he was laying a trap for me, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

A shiver glanced down my back when Luka appeared pleased. “And what about you? Will your patients think you’re an asshole?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because I lacked the confidence needed, and . . . “Because I care way more than I should about what people think of me.”

His half-smile was back, this time accompanied by a shake of his head, as if what I was saying was too good to be true.