I cross the room to the bed and slide in beside her. Immediately she curls into me, her head finding that spot beneath my chin like she was made to fit there.
Her arm drapes across my chest, and she releases a soft sigh that sounds like relief.
"Thank you," she murmurs against my shirt.
I wrap my arms around her. "Sleep,malyshka. I'm not going anywhere."
She makes a small sound and presses closer. Her leg slides between mine, and her fingers curl into my shirt again, and damn if this doesn’t feel like everything I thought it would.
Each second pulls me deeper into something I've been consumed by for months now.
Ever since the day I saw her outside her gallery. When I left my car and crossed the street to purposely put myself in her path so those big brown eyes would look up and see me.
I close my eyes against the memory and press my lips to the top of her head.
In a matter of hours, the storm will pass.
But what it leaves behind will change everything.
21
HOLLY
Something tugs at me from the edge of sleep, and my eyes flick open, and it takes me a moment to get my bearings. That I’m in Nikolai’s bedroom where it’s dark and quiet and impossibly still.
The storm has passed.
I feel for the space beside me, but it’s empty.
My gaze drifts around the frost-hazed room, and I see him, standing tall and motionless at the window. He’s shirtless and in nothing but sweatpants, the hard lines of his body outlined in a faint green-blue light.
Aurora Borealis.
The Northern Lights.
They shimmer in the sky beyond the glass, ethereal and impossible, casting long glows across the floor and Nikolai’s bare skin. His breath fogs faintly against the cold pane of glass. He doesn't move. Just watches, lost in thought.
My heart does a slow twist.
Wrapping the blanket around me, I rise and pad barefoot across the room. He doesn’t look back, but I see his shoulders tense when I stop behind him.
“You should be sleeping,” he says.
“So should you,” I whisper, my voice small in the hush between us.
Silence as the Aurora dances green-gold over the trees outside.
Everything in Nikolai’s body is rigid, like he’s containing something that doesn’t want to be caged.
I lift my hand before I can stop myself, and my fingers brush the plane of his back.
His breath catches, and I feel him tense up.
He doesn’t turn. But his voice lowers to an unsteady growl.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Holly.”
“Yes, I do.” I step closer, the blanket slipping from my shoulders and pooling at my feet. The cold bites instantly at my skin, but I don’t care. I run my fingers down the curve of his muscular back. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
