I thought about saying aren’t all Russian women called Natalia or Natasha? But I was pretty sure that wouldn’t fly.
“You said her name in your sleep.” It was the first thing that popped into my head.
He frowned. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”
I thought I was going to be sick.
Then he frowned more deeply, looking uncertain. “Do I?”
Nancy had once told me that the best way to make a lie believable was to believe it yourself, to convince yourself that you were telling the truth. I imagined Luka spooning me, so close that I could feel his breath on my ear. I could easily imagine that sexy Russian accent, muttering a name. “You did last night,” I said confidently. “You kept muttering about her.”
Luka’s jaw set. I could tell he believed me, but tentatively. He seemed disturbed that I’d supposedly discovered a weakness. “What did I say?” he asked.
My mind flashed back to all those phone calls. When he’d dumped her, she’d angrily reminded him, in her precise, clipped tones, about all the wonderful things she’d done for him. The things she’d let him do to her.
“You were telling her”—I felt myself redden, which hopefully made it seem authentic –“you were telling her you were going to take her up the ass again,” I said.
And for the first time ever, Luka dropped his eyes from mine. Was that a tiny hint of a blush in his cheeks? If it was, it was gone in a second. “Okay,” he said.
Whew.
Then he frowned. “How did you understand what I was saying?”
Shit! I hadn’t thought of that. I wasn’t supposed to understand Russian, let alone muttered Russian sleep-talking. I decided to go for broke. “You said it in English,” I said nonchalantly, digging my nails into my palms.
He frowned again. Then he seemed to remember something and nodded to himself, as if he now understood. “Ah. I see.”
“What?”
He shook his head. The matter was closed. But, now that the danger was passed, I was intrigued. “No, tell me—what?”
“Is sex thing, is not for you.” His English always got mangled when he was flustered, or excited.
“Because I’m an innocent?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“But it’s okay for you to corrupt me when you want to?” I asked.
Now there was a gleam in his eye. “Yes.”
I kept staring at him and, eventually, he relented. “I must have been dreaming about a sex game I used to play with Natalia,” he said. “I used to speak to her in English, when we played it.”
“Why?”
“I’d be interrogating her.”
“Interrogating—”
He smirked. “She used to pretend to be an American spy.”
My stomach did a full somersault and then plummeted into my feet. “Oh.”
He patted my shoulder. He’d cheered up, now, amused at how shocked I looked. “We will be sailing, soon. I’ll go and see about some dinner.” He nodded at the torn panties on the floor. “You find some new ones. Or just leave them off.” He kissed the top of my head and strode out the door, his shoulders almost brushing the door frame.
I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Now that he’d gone, the adrenaline washed through me, leaving me a trembling mess. I’d come that close to blowing my cover. I’d got angry and Natalia’s name had slipped out. All it had taken was for me to lose control.
And around Luka, losing control was inevitable.