Horrifyingly, he crosses over to me.
I freeze with my hand buried in the box. To my everlasting embarrassment, he gazes down at what I’m holding.
“Any particular reason why you’re fondling someone else’s anal training set? A nice one, too, made of solid glass.” He winks. “And, yeah, I’m terrified.”
I have no clue if he’s joking or not.
I recline against the shelf. “You ever have to hide in someone’s basement before?”
Wait. What did he say? Anal what?
My eyes widen.That’swhat those are? I drop the set like it’s a hot plate and wipe off my hands on the hard edges of the cardboard
Despite his silence, I can tell he’s amused at the blush burning my cheeks.
“Once. Didn’t end with fireworks.” At the sight of his lecherous smirk, heat cascades through my body. “Though, if you’re wanting to try something new…and down to share toys… Nah, don’t see any cleaner in there. Got to keep it safe.”
What the heck?
“Maybe later.” I clap my palm over my mouth. What am I saying? Did he think I was talking about the…trainers? “I didn’t mean…”
“Fine. I’ll find something else to do with my time.” With a hint of a grin, Kolya grabs one of the tea towels I was folding. He sits on a blanket, pulls out his gun, and starts polishing the cold metal.
He said anal with such nonchalance.
Why doesn’t that scare me?
I’m morbidly fascinated by his efficient movements, the way he handles the weapon with casual familiarity. “So…private security. What kinds of jobs do you do?”
His hand slows. “Whatever the boss says.”
Recalling his earlier words, I take a wild guess. “Things that make ‘dangerous people’ not like you?”
He returns his attention to his gun. “Usually.”
“And then they chase you through suburban neighborhoods?”
“Apparently.”
After a long breath, I go for the question that’s been niggling my brain. “What if these guys are after…me?”
His dark brown eyes slide to mine, and he’s quiet for so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. “Does anyone have a reason to hunt you, Chloe?”
“I…don’t know.” When I close my eyes, traumatic memories barrel in.
The tropical storm. Gunfire. Screaming. My terrified nine-year-old self hiding under the porch of the closest beachbungalow. A man running, his gun in hand. His gaze meeting mine between the wooden slats.
My eyes snap open to find Kolya studying me with an almost telepathic intensity. But how could he know about the island?
He breaks eye contact, and some of my tension eases.
“You don’t say much.”
Just his eyes come up this time. “You talk a lot.”
We stare at each other, the charged moment stretching between us. Then I smile.
Kolya smiles too.
