If Kirill bought me a dress, he probably expects me to wear it, right? He doesn’t do anything without a reason. That’s just not the kind of man he is.
It’s the dress, right? Or is that just too much for a simple meal? And why on earth is this so hard? Why do I even care? Why is it important that his family likes me anyway?
My shoulders sag under the weight of that thought just as a knock sounds at the door.
“Just came to check up on you. Dinner should be ready in ten,” Kirill says, waltzing into the room.
“So is this, like, a casual family meal, or do you guys go fancy?” His forehead creases in confusion, not having the faintest idea what I’m on about. “Jesus, Kill, what should I wear? Jeans or the dress?!”
“Whatever you feel most comfortable in.”
“Well, that’s no help,” I mutter in annoyance, finally settling for the cocktail dress. If I’m overdressed, I can always blame Kirill since he’s the one who bought me the damn thing, anyway.
Careful not to hurt myself, I slip off my sling and place it on the bed so I can start undressing.
“Do you need any help?” he asks from the doorway, hovering like he’s not sure if he should stay or leave.
“Actually… yeah.” I sigh. “I could use an extra pair of hands, seeing as I only have one.”
Kirill comes to my side immediately, lifting the sweater dress off me in one smooth, gentle motion, never once brushing my injured shoulder. But the second he realizes I’m not wearing anything underneath, he spins around so fast it’s almost comical.
“Going modest on me now?” I tease, grabbing the dress. “You’ve seen me naked before. I wouldn’t have been able to bathe without your help, for crying out loud.”
“That was different,” he snaps.
“Why? Because you were playing doctor while I was the helpless invalid?” He whips around to defend himself—only to find me still completely naked. I grin. “Boo! You looked! Gotcha.”
Kirill’s nostrils flare as he snatches the dress from my hands. “Give me that damn thing,” he growls, moving behind me and sweeping my hair over my good shoulder so he can help me into it. “And where the fuck is your bra and underwear?”
“You mean the bra you burned with the rest of my clothes?” I laugh. “If you wanted me to wear one, you should’ve bought me a new one.”
“And the panties?”
“Threw them away. What good are they if they’re no longer a matching set?”
“Hmm.” He groans, clearly unimpressed with my logic.
I press my lips together in a smile as he gently lifts my arms and eases the dress down my body. Then he turns me around by the waist so quickly it makes me gasp. The feel of his smile brushing between my shoulder blades sends goosebumps racing across my skin.
“Are you cold?” he asks, his tone worried, while his knuckles trail softly down my spine.
I’m burning up, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I’m fine,” I manage to say, though it comes out far too breathless for him to miss how much his touch affects me.
Kirill hums, low and knowing, wreaking havoc on my already frayed nerves. “I wasn’t sure I got your size right, but this dress… it fits you like a glove.”
“Thank you,” I get out, trying to keep my composure and failing miserably when his lips brush the hollow of my neck.
“There. All zipped up,” he murmurs, then gently gathers my hair, running his fingers through it simply because, apparently, he can.
I turn around and steady myself with a hand on his shoulder as I slip on one heel, then the other.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like my shoes?” I ask when a frown starts tugging at his mouth.
“I prefer you in your tailored boots. The ones you wore at my lake house.”
I school my features and try not to look surprised. Not because Kirill liked my other footwear more, but because of therealization that he took me to his home back in Chicago, and I didn’t even know it.
