“Nothing is all right here, Mikhail,” she snapped. “Nothing is all right about this life you live.”
I bit my tongue, not rising to the obvious bait to argue with her on that point. We’d never see eye to eye. She’d never understand why I was in this position and how I would always keep thislifestyle. Being in power was in my blood. It was who I was in my soul.
Her judgment wasn’t necessary, though. Iwaskeeping her safe. My men were looking into the Popovs and the Giovannis to determine which one, or if both, had targeted her. The Giovanni assassin I killed in the parking garage pointed the fingers at them. But Andre and Roman uncovered and intercepted a sniper waiting to take her out at her apartment building, too, and that had Niko Popov’s name written all over it.
“Nothing is all right about deliberately choosing to hurt people. To kill them. To torture them!”
I urged her up the stairs faster, not willing to let her reach a hysterical decibel of protest out here where anyone could hear.
“Sometimes, things are as black and white as you might want them to seem.”
She whirled from me, yanking out of my grip as we reached the landing near her guest suite. “That’s not true! There is a clear difference between wanting to do good versus doing harm.”
“If you’re trying to persuade me to become a saint, it’s a lost cause, sweetheart.”
She slapped me, whipping her hand out with the hit.
I narrowed my eyes at her as I backed her into her room.
“Don’t you dare call mesweetheart. Like I’m some toy for you to keep, a prisoner to lock up here just because you think you’re the boss of me.”
I tilted my head to the side, knowing she would never, ever forgive me if I laughed at her now. I was tempted to. Because Iwasthe boss. I would always be the fucking boss around here. The longer I watched her, her eyes blazing bright with anger, her lips parted in a scowl, the more I couldn’t wish this away. She was radiant, arguing back with me and giving as good as she got. She wasn’t as naïve and weak as I first thought. Sheltered, yes. But so fucking passionate about her beliefs, too.
“I am the boss around here, Claire,” I reminded her tightly. Instead of pushing her a little further and staying to argue some more, which would seriously challenge the control I had with her within my reach, I shook my head and backed up. “Next time, don’t think you can go snooping. If you can’t handle seeing a little bit of the hard side of life, stay in here.”
“No.” She followed after me, furious and fired up. “I don’t want to stay here, dammit. Not anymore.”
I studied her, knowing she had to mean that to some degree. I’d heard her express it plenty of times.
Just this morning, I nearly tripped over my own feet, doing a double-take at catching her talking to Anya in the kitchen. My angry daughter had yet to speak to me. So, when I saw them seated together and both of them actually having a conversation, I accepted it as a breakthrough of some kind.
“I don’t want to be here,” Anya said stiffly when Claire asked if she wanted to be in school instead of stuck in this building all day long. “I don’t want to be here at all,” she insisted like the spoiled brat Olga’s family had turned her into.
Claire didn’t freak out or rush into a plan to spare my daughter, to free her. Instead, she candidly stared back at her and said, “Me too.” Raising one brow, she leaned over to rest her elbow onthe counter and her chin in her hand as she asked, “What’syourstory?”
Anya scrunched up her face. “You first.”
Claire shrugged. “I am a doctor. Your father came into the emergency room needing me to save his life.”
“You should’ve thought twice.”
Claire shook her head and lowered her gaze to her uneaten toast on the plate. “No. If I start thinking like that, I’m no better than any of them.”
It pissed me off, overhearing that. Not just because it proved how hateful Anya still was, but also because it sounded like Claire knew she was better and superior—at least morally—than I was.
And damn it all if that wasn’t the clearest reason I should give up on keeping this sexy doctor or imagining a start to anything with her.
“I need to leave,” Claire stated, jarring me out of the memory from this morning. “I can’t stay here, Mikhail. I should never have come here at all!”
“No.” I stalked toward her, pushed to counter her and make her understand that it wasn’t possible yet. For her safety. And for my desire.
“You can’t tell me what to do!” She flung her arms up, flustered, as she backpedaled. I didn’t stop, walking her further into the room. “I appreciate your saving my life that night. I do. I truly respect that you did a hard thing and killed that man before he killed me. Thank you. But I can’t stay here. I need to leave.”
“You can stay here,” I lied. “And you need to understand that I’m nowhere near ready to let you go.”
“It’s not up to you,” she shouted, pushing at my chest as the backs of her knees hit the bed. “You can’t control my life. You can’t decide when I’m a witness or accomplice to your crimes, dammit.”
“It’s not up to you, either, to escape.” I gripped her chin with my thumb and finger, tipping her face up as I stepped into her space. “I won’t let you decide when you can give up on this pull between us.”
