“I… um… so what are you going to put on?” I ask, heat creeping up my neck under that piercing gaze of his.
“Nothing,” he says simply with a wink.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim as he steps closer to the icy surface in nothing but his socks. “You’ll catch your death!”
“How do you Americans say it? Ah yes… this isn’t my first rodeo,milaya. Don’t worry.”
Am I worried? I must be because my chest tightens, afraid this idiot will lose a toe to frostbite just to prove a point.
Kirill steps onto the frozen lake first, his socks whispering over the glassy surface as he tests his weight. Then he glances back at me with that infuriating little smirk, the one that saysI know exactly what I’m doing, and you should trust me.
“Come on,” he coaxes, outstretching his hand to me.
I stare down at his boots, unconvinced of this being a good idea. They’re huge on my feet, even with the laces wrapped around my ankles twice, but they’re warm, and apparently, my ticket onto the ice.
“If I break my neck, yours is soon to follow. Remember that,” I warn, slipping my hand into his.
Kirill’s fingers curl around mine, steady and sure. “I’ll catch you before you hit the ground. You have my word.”
“The word of aBratvaunderboss… how reassuring.”
I exhale slowly, trying to shake off the nerves crawling up my spine. This cannot be how I go out. If my fate is to die in my prime, then let it be with blood on my blades after I’ve put up a good fight and not from slipping on a damn frozen lake.
The moment my boot touches the ice, I slide—an immediate, uncontrolled swoop that rips a squeal out of me. “Oh, my God!”
He laughs, pulling me closer, moving backward with effortless control while I flail as if the ice personally hated me.
“It’s all about balance,” he says lightly. “Just hold on tight.”
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse, gripping his hand harder than necessary as my feet skid out again.
“A little,” he admits, guiding me into another slide. “You’re cute when you pretend not to be terrified.”
“I amnotterrified.”
Of course, that’s when I lurch straight into him. His free hand snaps to my waist as he steadies us, his body warm through his thin black shirt under his winter coat, his breath brushing my cheek.
“Sure you’re not.” he murmurs, his lips twitching with amusement.
Damn it.
Hating him would be a lot easier if I wasn’t this obsessed with watching his mouth move.
Unaware of my thoughts, Kirill pushes off again, gliding smoothly in his stupid socks while I cling onto him. We skate-wobble-fall-skim across the lake in this ridiculous, absurd rhythm that shouldn’t work but somehow does. The whole thing is so bizarre and so stupidly silly that I start laughing until my ribs ache.
“When you hijacked my class, this is not what I thought we’d be doing,” I manage between laughs.
“And what exactly did you think I wanted to do to you?”
“Have a guess?” I raise a brow at him.
Kirill laughs, that deep, low sound making something flutter in my stomach.
“All in good time,milaya. Let’s get to know each other before we get toknoweach other,” he says, the last words dripping with suggestion.
“Are you saying that if I told you I’d be okay with you taking me back to my car and fucking my brains out, you’d say no?” I joke halfheartedly, but apparently Kirill doesn’t find it funny.
Instead, he stops dead in his tracks, his black eyes narrowing—dangerous, unreadable. The shift in his gaze wipes the taunting grin right off my face.
