KATYA

 

I CAREFULLY STYLE my hair up into a sleek ponytail and put on more makeup than necessary since I'm going to be working out in the gym this morning and probably sweating most of it off.

When I make sure my smoky eye is just right, I flash a smile in the mirror.  I have an ulterior motive — I want to look pretty in the off chance that I see Jackson today.

When he turned me down last night, it definitely left a bruise on my ego.  At first, I thought maybe he swung the other way or batted for the other team, as they say, but the fact that he was rock hard for me quickly squashed that idea.

Is he simply not attracted to me?  What the hell is his deal anyway?

I thought I had men figured out.  I've learned mostly through observation that if you throw yourselves at them, they accept whatever you're willing to give…and sometimes what you're not willing to give.

I made mistakes in my past seducing Pavel's guards that promised to let me go.  That obviously didn't work out so well in my favor.  They took what they wanted, and I received more beatings in return after they told Pavel of my escape plan.

And after I learned my lesson to not trust anyone, the guards just took what they wanted anyway without any promise of freedom or promises of anything, for that matter.

I was a toy to all of them, including my husband.  A living, breathing fuck doll.

But Jackson doesn't strike me as a man who takes something that isn't being offered willingly.  So why, when I threw myself at him, did he turn me down?

Feeling angry and confused, I slip into my workout clothes, which consist of a black and neon pink sports bra and matching, tight-fitting yoga pants.  All of the clothes in my closet are too tight for me, but I realize now they're going to work to my advantage.

Checking myself in the bathroom mirror one last time, I leave the room and go straight to the gym.  To my disappointment, Jackson is nowhere to be found.

I thought I had his schedule pretty down pat, but he keeps changing his routine.  I'll just have to try harder.

Wraith looks up when I enter.  He's wearing athletic pants and a white tank top, which showcases his massive build.  He's doing curls with the biggest barbell I've ever seen in my life.  His huge muscles bulge every time he lifts it, and he's barely breaking a sweat.

Even though he's attractive in a big, beastly kind of way with a hard yet handsome face, I find myself not even feeling one-tenth of what I feel when I'm around Jackson.

I try to tell myself that it's because I need to use Jackson to get what I want — his protection.  But in the back of my mind, I don't know if that's one-hundred percent true.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I put on a tight smile and walk towards Wraith.  "Will you show me some self-defense moves?" I ask.

He raises a blond brow at me and sets the weight down with a thud.  "You want me to train you?"

"Yes," I tell him.  And then add, "Please."  If I'm going to be thrown out on my ass in the real world after Jackson's cousin wakes up, I need to have some sort of skill developed.  Might as well let this giant of a man train me.  Hell, if I can outfox him, I can beat anybody.

His blue eyes narrow at me.  "If you think you can later use them against me, you're wrong, Princess."

I grimace at him using that nickname.  I'm far from a princess, like he clearly believes.  Nothing about my life has been a fairy tale, and I almost want to set him straight and make him shut his big, dumb mouth.

Wraith then says, "I'll know exactly what your next move is…always."

A shiver runs up my spine at his words, but I stand my ground.  "I'm not planning on using them against you."  I'm going to need them after I get kicked off of this island, I think to myself, but I don't say it out loud.

Wraith stares at me for a long minute before he finally says, "Let's go to the mats."

I follow him over to the corner of the gym where large, padded wrestling mats are on the floor.  He stands a few feet away from me with a smirk on his face, and I smirk right back.

"I'm not going to go easy on you," he tells me in Russian.

"I don't expect you to," I confess to him in our native tongue.