"There are lines I don't cross," Nicolai said, his voice hardening slightly. "O'Rourke sees no lines at all."
Something in his tone made me believe him, which was uncomfortable. I didn't want to start thinking of one crime boss as more ethical than another. That was a slippery slope I wasn't ready to slide down.
"So I'm just a pawn in your ongoing chess match with O'Rourke," I said, trying to sound indifferent despite the ridiculous pang of disappointment I felt.
Nicolai's eyes narrowed slightly. "No."
The single word hung between us, loaded with meaning I couldn't quite decipher. Before I could press him, he rose and moved to the refrigerator again, extracting a bottle of water which he placed in front of me.
"You're not a pawn, Mishka," he continued, remaining standing, his height even more imposing from my seated position. "You're..." He paused, seeming to search for the right word. "Unexpected."
I opened the water bottle, suddenly needing something to do with my hands. "That doesn't actually clarify anything."
"No, I suppose it doesn't." He watched me drink, his gaze tracking the movement of my throat. When I set the bottle down, I caught him staring at my lips again, a flash of something primal crossing his features before he controlled it.
Heat crept up my neck that had nothing to do with the soup. What is wrong with me? Stockholm syndrome doesn't set in this fast, does it?
I pushed my empty bowl away slightly, needing some distraction from the intensity building between us. "This was... unexpectedly good. Thank you."
He inclined his head slightly, accepting the thanks with a grace that seemed at odds with his imposing presence. "You're welcome. Would you like more?"
"No, I'm good." I tapped my fingers against the marble countertop, feeling the hum of electronics embedded within it. Security systems, temperature controls, probably even the lighting—all at my fingertips, quite literally.
"So what now?” I asked. “We just sit around waiting for O'Rourke to give up? Because I can tell you from experience, he's not the giving-up type."
Nicolai's expression darkened. "Neither am I."
The way he said it sent another involuntary shiver through me—part warning, part promise. And somehow, despite everything rational in me screaming to run, I believed him.
An awkward silence settled between us as we finished our meal. I stared at my empty bowl, suddenly aware that the hunger keeping me distracted had been satisfied, leaving room for other, more complicated feelings to take its place.
The tension in the air had shifted from wariness to something thicker, heavier—something I wasn't ready to name but couldn't stop feeling.
When Nicolai stood to collect our dishes, I jumped up too quickly, nearly knocking over my water bottle. "I'll help," I said, grabbing it before it spilled.
He raised an eyebrow. "That's not necessary."
"I insist." I reached for my bowl before he could take it. "I may be a fugitive under your protection, but I'm not helpless. Orrude. My mother raised me better than to sit while someone else cleans."
Something softened in his expression at the mention of mothers. "As you wish."
I followed him to the sink, bowl in hand, trying to ignore how the kitchen suddenly felt much smaller with both of us standing in it. Nicolai's presence seemed to expand, taking up more than just physical space. The air itself felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
Get a grip. He's a crime boss who turns into a bear, not a rom-com love interest.
Still, I couldn't help noticing things I should have been ignoring—like how his sleeve rode up when he reached to turn on the faucet, revealing a muscled forearm dusted with dark hair, or how he moved with a predator's grace despite his size.
"Do you wash or do you dry?" he asked, his accented voice dropping lower in our proximity.
"I'll wash," I said quickly, needing something to do with my hands besides notice his.
He stepped aside, allowing me access to the sink, but the movement brought us momentarily closer. I caught his scent—something woodsy and masculine that had no right to be as appealing as it was.
This is ridiculous. I'm not some fairy tale character being seduced by the big bad wolf. Or bear, in this case.
I focused intently on washing the bowls, aware of Nicolai beside me, holding a dish towel with those large, capable hands.
We worked in silence for a few moments, passing dishes between us in a strangely domestic dance. Each brief contact of fingers sent little jolts through my system that had nothing to do with my electronic abilities.
