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testament to his honor that he responded with alacrity. “Until your husband pays off his debt.”
    She closed her eyes, a throb at her temples announcing the onset of a splitting headache. “That might take a while.”
    “The sooner he pays, the sooner you’ll be rid of me.”
    She looked up in surprise, the bitterness of his tone telling her this was as hard on him as it was on her. When she caught his gaze, she thought she saw a hint of compassion flicker across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by a mask of indifference.
    “Why are you doing this?” she wanted to know. “Why would you offer to help a complete stranger?”
    For a moment, he didn’t speak, the silence weighing heavy on her soul, then he offered, “Isn’t it enough that I want to repay the kindness you displayed to Yana? What more reason do you want?”
    It was enough, she knew. She had helped one of his, now he was returning the favor. And yet, beneath the surface of his composure there lurked an emotion deeper than mere gratitude. Silent fury. But why? What had she ever done to him? What could have provoked such anger?
    “If we are to be husband and wife,” she murmured, growing uneasy under his steady gaze, “we shall be living together under the same roof?”
    “Of course. No other way to keep up the appearance. If my employer suspects foul play, he will have not only your head but mine as well.”
    “So I’m to be your wife… with everything that entails?” She didn’t know how to pose the question, hoping a hint would suffice.
    That anger once again reared its ugly head, and he lashed out in words. “If you are asking me if I will demand you share my bed, the answer is yes. The house where I live has servants. If we occupy separate bedrooms, they will know, and before long it will be the end of us.”
    She cast down her eyes demurely. “Share your bed and… what else?”
    “Nothing,” he grunted. He then cupped her chin and forced her to look up. “Have no fear, Joanna. I won’t demand you offer me more than what you are willing to give. I won’t lay a finger on you unless you ask me to.”
    “I never will,” she returned, giving him a look of defiance. “Is that a problem to you?”
    For a moment, she thought he would lash out, not just in words, but physically as well, for a flash of anger passed over his dark features. Then it was gone, and he nodded curtly. “It will not be a problem.” He offered his arm. “Now you need to come with me. Yury wants to meet my future bride.”
    A surge of panic rose in her chest. “Yury? You mean—“
    “The man your husband owes money to, yes.”
    The man who had ordered the thin man to have her murdered. Fear clogged her throat. Would she be able to keep up appearances? She flicked a glance at the man she was going to marry. She didn’t love this man. She didn’t even know him.
    As if surmising the turmoil roiling in her gut, he spoke softly. “We met at Barney’s. I like to go there for the late night concerts. You to soak up the atmosphere for the book you’re working on. We happened to be seated at the same table, got into conversation and one thing led to another.”
    She swallowed. “How did you know I was a writer?”
    He gestured at the wall of books in the living room. “Not hard to figure out.” He picked up her suitcase and started walking her to his van outside, Ram following on a trot. As he opened the passenger side door and helped her up, he said, “One more thing.”
    “Yes?”
    Before she knew what was happening, he’d lifted himself up, so his face was level with hers, put his hand on her cheek, and lowered his lips to hers. As the kiss deepened, his hand snuck around her neck, and he pulled her in, claiming, not asking, his mouth crashing down on hers with an insistence and an urgency that had her reeling, her body shivering from the sudden onslaught.
    She jerked back, and when their lips parted, they were inches away, his eyes hot and glowering.