“I thought you’d like to know that Stefanov is having the house watched. There’s a man outside. He’s discreet, but we picked him up via infrared.”
“Are you sure he’s Stefanov’s?”
“Yeah. We used a night vision camera and ran the face recognition program.”
I smile grimly. We’re already like old-time enemies, Stefanov and I, having eyes on each other. I can’t wait to crush that motherfucker like a bug under my shoe. “Keep tabs on him.”
“Already doing it. He entered a building across the river. He’s making himself comfortable on the top floor as we speak.”
“Good. Let me know if more men join the party,” I say before ending the call.
It’s never difficult to smoke termites from the woodworks. You just have to light a fire underneath them.
12
Kate
Drowning in guilt over being an accomplice to murder, I spend another two hours in the library. My mind goes round in circles until my brain feels like mush and I can’t think anymore.
In the end, Alex gave me an easy out by taking away my choices. There’s nothing I can do while being locked up and cut off from the rest of the world—for now, at least—and in a way, I’m grateful. Even if I had access to a phone, I could never tell on Alex. I’d sooner die than send him to prison—but this is not even an option right now. There’s no one to call, no one to turn to. I can’t trust anyone, not even the police. What’s unfolding is bigger than I could’ve imagined. Two deadly forces are at war, and I’m caught in the middle. All I want is for Alex to get out of this alive. Selfishly, I just want this to be over so we can go back to our lives. I want to work and do what I do best—care for the sick and injured. Most of all, I want to be there for my mom when she comes home from the clinic.
Rubbing the heels of my palms over my eyes, I get up from the sofa. I’m tired, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. Despite my mental exhaustion, I can’t shut down my brain. Tonight’s events keep running through my mind.
Maybe some warm milk will do the trick.
Lost in my thoughts, I make my way to the kitchen. As I turn the corner, I bump into a hard chest.
Gasping, I stumble back a step. Strong hands clasp my upper arms to steady me. Off balance, I stare at the naked chest at my eyelevel. A manly dusting of dark hair covers powerful pecs. Broad shoulders and well-cut muscles look as if they were carved from stone. Pajama bottoms ride low on slim masculine hips, exposing the deep lines of abs angling down to the groin. A thicker triangle of hair showing just above the elastic hints at what lies below the thin cotton of the pants. The fabric molds around a heavy cock, drawing a perfect outline of its impressive length, thick girth, and the groove that runs around the head.
Tearing my gaze from the sculpted body in front of me, I finally meet Alex’s eyes. He stares down at me with heat sizzling in his blue irises, but his features are schooled.
“Alex,” I say, cringing inwardly at how breathless my voice sounds.
He raises a brow. “Looking for something?”
I wet my dry lips. “I was going to warm up some milk.”
A hint of sympathy warms his tone. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“Like you, it seems.”
Crossing his arms, he takes a wide stance. “I need a workout. I was just on my way to the gym.”
He’s occupying all the space in the hallway, blocking my path. My pulse spikes, partly in anticipation and partly with a need to flee. My body is interpreting our positions as those of a hunter and his prey, and it likes the idea a little too much. It warms to the scenario, sending all of the heat straight to the juncture of my legs.
“I’ll just…” Swallowing, I point toward the kitchen.
“Do you want me to get that?”
I blink, struggling to focus through the fog of desire that’s invaded my senses. “W-what?”
Lustful intent narrows his eyes. In a low voice, he asks, “Would you like me to warm up some milk for you? I can bring it to the room.”
“Oh, no.” My reply is rushed. “I’ll just, um, you know.” Taking a breath, I pull my lecherous self together. “Do you want some?” When the icy blue of his eyes darkens a shade, I add hastily, “Milk. Do you want some milk?”
“Sure,” he says slowly. “Why not?”
“Okay.”
I move to the left, all but running in my haste to escape his presence. At the same moment, he takes a step to let me pass. The breath leaves my lungs with an oomph as our bodies collide for a second time. Like earlier, he catches me, testing my balance with his hands on my waist. I should pull away, but I don’t. He should let me go, but he holds on.
Carefully, as if not wanting to scare me with a sudden movement, he wraps his arms around my body and pulls me close. His size and power envelop me, sheltering me from the harshness of our reality. How I’ve missed the warmth and safety of his embrace. Some of the tension leaves my body as I press my cheek against his chest and absorb the welcome relief of the security he offers. I didn’t realize how much I needed the comfort of his touch until now.
Gripping my chin, he tilts my face. When he lowers his head, I don’t turn away. I close my eyes and do the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I step off into the abyss and tumble into the darkness—for better or for worse.
“Katyusha,” he says in a rough voice, dragging his lips over my jaw to the corner of my mouth.
The kiss he plants there is dry and light. I’ve missed how warm and hard his chest feels against mine. I’ve missed dragging my hands through the soft strands of his short hair. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I act on the fantasy. A groan escapes from deep in his throat as I close my fingers and pull his hair gently in the process. The pressure of his hand on my lower back increases, arching my body as he draws me to him and rubs against me.
The hardness that grows against my hip makes me utter an involuntary moan.
“Yes,” he growls, cupping my ass and pressing me tighter while he spears the fingers of his other hand through my hair.
In contrast to the roughness with which he palms my ass cheek, his hold on my nape is tender. Burrowing my face in his neck, I inhale deeply. His skin smells like a seductive mix of cardamom and musky man. His stubble pricks my lips when I bring them to his jaw. Trailing my hands over his shoulders and down to his chest, I trace the grooves that define his muscles. Under the solid slab of strength beneath my palms, his heart pounds with a wild beat. His callused palm catches on the wool of my dress as he smooths a hand down the outside of my thigh.
Skimming his fingertips over my nape, he brings his hand around and folds his fingers around my neck. The touch is possessive and tender. My breathing quickens as he aligns our lips, letting a second of anticipation pass before he presses our mouths together.
Fireworks explode in my belly. The house, the city, Russia, why we’re here—everything vanishes as he parts my lips and slips his tongue inside my mouth. He drags in a breath, stealing my air. In response, I gasp into our kiss.
He sweeps his tongue over mine, teasing and testing. When I sag in his hold, all but melting against him, he pulls me closer by the gentle hold on my neck and kisses me with skillful precision. The strokes of his tongue are meticulous, designed to arouse, and he succeeds.