No doubt about it, bringing her here is far from ideal. She’s not necessarily any safer at my place than she was at Priest’s, but at least I’m here with her to protect her if need be. I wasn’t about to camp out in my brother’s penthouse for the next week and a half to watch over her and keep her out of trouble. I want my own damn bed.
And besides, if Sidorov wants to come for me, he’s going to have to do it with Kalashnikovs blazing. I’m ready for him. Start a war, and you’re going to get a fucking war.
Currently, there isn’t a war.
There’s just me and the dinner I’m struggling to make for two. I’ve never cooked for a woman before. For myself, yes. I enjoy relaxing with a glass of wine and preparing a meal when I have the time.
Alone.
Cid makes a trilling purr as I start filling a pot with water to boil for the pasta. I look up just in time to catch Isla sailing around the corner, still looking annoyed with me for forcing her here.
“Settled in?” I ask, trying not to notice the way her tee catches on her breasts as she moves.
She frowns at me and comes into my kitchen in bare feet. “As settled as I’ll be.”
Her toenails are painted red. Seeing her at home like this in my kitchen, wearing faded old jeans, her hair pulled up, shouldn’t make my dick harder than a rock.
But it does.
Fuck me, Ilikehaving her here.
And I can’t allow that feeling to continue. It’s far too dangerous. I have to smash it the same way I did Marco’s fingers.
“Better than being kidnapped by the Bratva,” I bite out. “Believe me, if Sidorov took you, you’d rather be dead.”
Her face goes pale, and I don’t feel any better about scaring her. Everything I just said is the truth, but I didn’t need to say it now. For as tough and as strong and as stubborn as she is, Isla has a fragile side that I’ve caught glimpses of, and I can’t shake the feeling there’s something more to her story that I don’t know. First in the plane, then earlier this afternoon at Priest’s penthouse. Those panic attacks, that fear I saw in her eyes, weregenuine. I should know because I’ve seen it before in the eyes of men just before I’ve ended them.
She leans against the counter opposite me, keeping her distance as if she’s afraid I’ll bite. Wise girl. I’m particularly rabid when it comes to her, and I still haven’t been able to figure out why. I’ve hooked up with plenty of women and never felt the way I do about her. She’s under my fucking skin, straight to the bone, lodged in me like a bullet.
“Is that why you insisted on moving Cid and me out of the penthouse? You think this Russian Mafia guy wanted to abduct me?”
The way she says it, I can tell she thinks it’s farfetched. But that’s only because she’s a stranger to this world and she has no clue what kind of a crazy motherfucker Mikhail Sidorov is.
I turn off the faucet, realizing I’ve overfilled the pot, and dump some into the sink before setting it back on the range. “I have no clue what he wanted, but this way, if he tries anything, he has to go through me first. At the penthouse, you’re too far away for me to reach you in time.”
It might be only a handful of blocks away, but after I waited for a car and drove through city traffic, she’d have been long gone before I arrived. I set the stainless-steel lid on the pot with more force than necessary at the thought, and the clang ricochets through the kitchen.
“I still don’t understand what the Russian mob would want with me,” she says from behind me.
I light the burner and turn back to her. “It’s not you they want to get to. It’s Priest. And they’re not going to get him, so they’re looking for easier targets. Targets like the cat sitter who ignores the fucking rules and goes traipsing across the street without an escort for protection.”
“I’m sorry about that,” she says softly, taking me by surprise. “I didn’t realize how serious it was. I thought you were just beingan egotistical dick. But if I had listened, you wouldn’t have hurt Marco.”
“If Marco had obeyed orders, I wouldn’t have had to do that, but he didn’t. He knew he had to pay for it.” That’s the way of things. You can either accept it or die trying to fight it, and you’re not going to win.
I measure out a tablespoon of whole black peppercorns and toss them into the oil I’ve been slowly heating up. They sizzle.
“I guess I don’t understand your world.”
Her voice surprises me. She’s moved closer. The olive oil is fragrant and the peppercorns are starting to release their aroma, but above it all, I catch pineapples and citrus. In a flash, I’m thrown back into that night, the taste of her on my tongue, the way her pussy felt, wrapped so snugly around my cock, how she raked her nails down my back and told me to fuck her harder.
I stir the peppercorns with too much vigor and send a few of them splashing over the edge of the pan.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Need some help?”
She’s at my side now, and yes, I do need some fucking help, but not the kind she can give me. I need my hand and ten minutes alone in a hot shower, neither of which I’m going to get in this moment.
