I'd never done something so romantically frivolous as to give a woman a pet name. Such eccentricities came naturally from an evolving intimacy with a partner, something I'd never craved.
So why now? Why her?
I dismissed the momentary lapse in judgment and focused on the task at hand. It had to be because I was tired. That was the only reason I would be wasting time playing cat and mouse with this little girl.
My hand tightened around her wrist—the bones delicate beneath my fingers, her pulse hammering against my palm like a trapped bird.
Her lip trembled as she tried in vain to pull away, and the sight of it sent an unwelcome jolt of heat through my chest.
"Let me go," she cried out, her voice cracking on the last word.
She was stronger than I would've guessed. Wiry muscle flexed beneath that pale skin as she twisted against my grip, her breath coming in sharp gasps that made her chest rise and fall in a way I shouldn't be noticing.
There was something about this girl.Maya soloveykafit her far better than Eleanor ever would. Eleanor was too proper and prim for a woman with purple hair the color of bruised lilacs who played the guitar like she was pouring her soul out into the ether. Who smelled like vanilla and something darker—jasmine, maybe, or the ghost of cigarette smoke from a club's stage.
Chert voz'mi.Dammit. There I went again with all this poetic bullshit.
Obviously, I'd been pushing myself too hard as of late. My cousins' recent distractions meant I had to pick up the slack all the way from the other side of the Atlantic. Another issue I needed to address while I was here.
I had always preferred the cold logic of numbers. Even my taste in music was all about the cadence, the rhythm, and the instruments' logic. The swell and ebb of force and structure.
Not sweet, haunting melodies sung by a girl caught in her mother's political moves.
If I wanted to deal with family politics, emotional clutter, and women who were in way over their heads, I would willingly spend more time with my cousins.
I needed to stop wasting time and get her mother back in line, then get back on a plane and return to the calming, dreary weather of London.
When I tightened my hand around her wrist, I expected her to submit.
With her soft lilac hair and glossy pink lips that were currently twisted in a snarl, she looked like a woman who'd submit so prettily. Who'd melt under the right kind of pressure.
Instead, her fingers curled into claws, short nails painted lilac, sharp enough to draw blood.
As she pulled her wrist out of my grip with a vicious yank, her other hand slashed out at my face.
She was fast, faster than I would have expected. But not fast enough.
I dodged her attack, the breeze of her swing kissing my cheek.
Then she wrapped those delicate little fingers tipped with claws around a stapler—red plastic, absurdly bright—and swung it at my face. The weight of it caused her to stumble slightly, throwing her off balance, and I almost laughed.
She lashed out over and over, the stapler cutting through the air with whistling snaps, and I dodged each time, giving her a taunting smile, letting her try to land a hit.
Letting her wear herself out while I drank in the sight of her—flushed cheeks with that pretty mouth open, panting with exertion.
"Come on,mayasoloveyka," I murmured, my voice low and goading. "I thought you wanted to hurt me."
Her eyes became wild and unfocused, giving me a glimpse of the fierce woman underneath, of all the rage and fear and something else. Something hungry that heated my blood.
Sweat gleamed at her temple, and a strand of purple hair stuck to her neck.
"Iwillhurt you," she spat, her voice raw. "I'll?—"
When she got a little too close for comfort, when the edge of the stapler actually grazed my jaw with a sting that surprised me, I grabbed her wrist, squeezing until the stapler fell from her fingers to the floor with a hollow clatter.
The sound echoed in the sudden silence.
She was breathing hard now, her chest heaving against me. We were closer than I'd realized, close enough that the heat radiated off her body onto mine and her vanilla-jasmine scent, mixed with the sharp tang of her sweat and fear, filled my lungs.
