“It’s an imperial staircase. Many royal houses in Russia have it.”

I turned to him, not realizing I had asked the question out loud. Then I turned back to the stairs. “That’s a little arrogant, don’t you think?” I side-eyed him. “Comparing yourself to royalty and all.”

His lip lifted so slightly that I might’ve imagined it. “That’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it?” He side-eyed me right back. “To assume I don’t stem from royalty.”

My eyes widened as I whispered, “Do you?”

He turned to me and, I swear, his eyes smiled. “No.”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head as he walked to the left side of the stairs and began to walk up. “Follow me, mouse.”

Mouse? Why mouse? Why not just call me what I am?

A street rat.

At the top of the stairs, we came across two halls, one leading left, and the other leading to the right. He seemed to hesitate a moment before he turned left, and took me to the door at the very end of the hall. He placed his hand on the fancy brass lever and threw the door open, lifting a hand to turn on the lights.

It was a bedroom. Definitely a man’s bedroom. A woman would be too conservative to furnish a room in such garish furniture and strong, royal colors.

It looked more like an apartment, really, at least four times the size of a normal bedroom. I definitely couldn’t complain about the room, if this was to be where I was going to sleep. There were three floor-to-ceiling windows in this one room. The drapes were the fancy, ruched kind in a dark burgundy with gold trim. In the right corner of the room was a large, maroon, suede sectional sofa, which took on an L-shape to fit into the angle perfectly. The bed was placed opposite the couch, a king-sized mahogany sleigh bed with heavy dark red covers and more pillows than was necessary. There was no TV, or any sort of entertainment other than the full wall-to-wall bookshelf on the left.

I stood there, mouth gaping. “Wow. This is so fancy.”

His next sentence had me confused. “This is my room.”

“Then why—” Realization had me taking a step back and away from him. My voice deceptively calm, I stated, “I am not sleeping with you.”

He looked me up and down then scoffed. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Oh, Mina…again with the assumptions!

I turned my head to hide the fact that my face was now beet red. I was making a goddamn fool out of myself. Of course he didn’t want to sleep with me, not when he had an endless stream of gorgeous women likely panting for him down at Bleeding Hearts. I was such a jerk. “I don’t understand.”

Lev stepped farther into the room before turning left and disappearing into what must have been a hidden closet. When he came back to me, he was minus his suit jacket and his sleeves were rolled up. He stopped a foot away from me, held up his phone, and before I could say a word, the flash went off.

“Hey,” I complained, scrunching my nose.

He shrugged, placing the cell into his pocket. “Just a little insurance policy, in case you decide to leave in the middle of the night with some of my things.” He looked at me. “It’s nothing personal. I don’t know you. I’m positive you’re not sure about me either. You don’t know me. But as long as you’re in my home, you and I will be sleeping in the same room.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand and kept talking. “The sofa folds out into a bed. That’s where I’ll sleep. You can take the bed. You’ll forgive me for not putting my trust into someone who I’ve known for less than three hours. Especially under the circumstances we met.”

Well…when he put it like that, maybe I was being a bit of a brat by protesting.

Okay. I was just going to have to pull up my big-girl panties and deal.

Speaking of panties... “I don’t have any clean clothes.” I held up my bag. “Is there somewhere I can wash these?”

He took the bag from me and I blanched. “No, wait, I can do it!” I jumped for it, but he held it out of my reach. “Give it back!”

“I just want to be sure you don’t have anything dangerous in here.” He eyed me good. “My safety will always come before your pride. Got that?”

Well, shit.

It took me a whole five seconds to give in. “Okay, but can I please be the one to empty it?” He hesitated. I plead gently, “Please.”

He waited a moment before he handed me the bag. “Okay, but you’ll do it right here. Right in front of me.”

Damn it. I would just have to try and conceal what I needed to as inconspicuously as I could. One by one, I took things out of my pack. Two t-shirts, a ratty men’s sweater, which served me well in the colder weather, a pair of black jeans with holes at the bottom, a pair of grey socks, and…

Wrapping them quickly, I tried to slip them into my pocket, but a hand gripping my wrist stopped me. He squeezed tight and I went rigid.

“Show me.”

Pride held me captive. My cheeks burned.

He squeezed hard enough to bruise and I winced. “Show me.”

I pulled them out of my pocket and tossed them onto the bed. Distressed, I whispered, “Panties. Just panties.”

He glanced at the black balls of material on the bed before turning my bag upside down and shaking it. The small Swiss army knife I’d found on the street fell out of the side pocket. I immediately defended the concealment. “It’s blunt.”

With analyzing eyes, he held it up to examine it. “You could still stick it through someone if you needed it to.” He put it into his pocket. “You won’t need this anymore.”

Of course I wouldn’t. How about my soul? Want that, too? It’s not like I need it.

I was grateful, of course, but I still didn’t understand this guy’s motive.

Taking my bag, he shoved the clothes back into them and threw it high onto his shoulder. “Come,” he ordered, and dutiful as I was, I followed. A door on the left side of the room, next to the wall-to-wall bookshelf, was opened, and at the sight of the bath, shower, shampoo, and soaps, a tremor of delight coursed through me.

“You can wash up in here. Take your time.” He stepped back and added, “I only ask that you don’t lock the door. I won’t come in unless I need to. When I call out, please respond, or else I’ll believe you’re in need of assistance.”

That sounded reasonable. But still, I asked, “You promise you won’t come in?”

His cold eyes pierced me. “I’m not looking for a cheap thrill.” At my blunt stare, he uttered, “I won’t enter. Not unless you ask me to.”

“Trust me, I won’t be asking you to.” I stepped inside and moved to close the door, but it stopped an inch short.

A light whiskey eye peered in at me. “Remove your clothes and hand them to me through the door.” Just as I was about to ask ‘what for?’ in the snarkiest tone possible, he went on, “I’ll put them in to wash with the others.”

The door closed and I removed my clothes, and wrapping a fluffy burgundy towel around me, I turned the knob, threw the clothes, and called out, “Thank you.”

A moment of silence, then, “You’re welcome.”

Lev left me in peace and quiet while I filled the tub with hot water and men’s scented body wash. I glanced down at that tub before looking back at myself in the mirror.

I was dirty. Grimy.

As much as I wanted to slide down into that bath, I decided to shower first, and from the moment I too warm water hit me, sluicing down my bare body, warming the chill from me, something crossed between a laugh and a sob escaped me. Lifting my face up into the spray, I let myself be consumed by the feeling of ecstasy as I reached up and massaged shampoo through my hair. And I did this smiling, although it was wobbly.

I resumed washing away four months of filth. To say it felt good would have been understatement of the century.

It felt divine.

Showering as quickly as I could, I made my way out and moved to the tub, carefully stepping into the near-scorching water and bathed away lonely nights in a cold alleyway.