"Is that where you went to...that night? Russia?" she asked me as I reached the door. That night. She said it like she was disturbed by just the memory, while, even though I hated it, that night had fueled my obsession for her for years. l'd dreamed of it, fantasized of her, and fought a physical battle with myself not to go back to New York just to see her in the flesh. Contempt spread like frostbite in my chest. I turned to look at her, ignored the soft curves of her body as she leaned against the wall where I'd put her. "Fortunately for Russia, their women seem to have a little more self-respect than to drop their clothes for a man they hate. Guess I needed a change of scenery." Anger flashed in her eyes. As soon as I stepped into the hall, a thunk hit the door before I could pull it closed. I gritted my teeth. She'd thrown her goddamn shoe at me.