The shower feels like heaven. Hot water runs down my body as I wash my hair, letting the familiar routine ground me in this unfamiliar place.
From my limited wardrobe, I choose a sage green sundress, soft cotton that flows to my knees, with delicate cap sleeves that are easy to manage with my injury and comfortable enough for a day of recovery. One flat sandal goes on my good foot, and a thick sock protects the other.
The apartment stretches quietly around me as I make my way toward the kitchen, but the rich aroma of coffee beckons like a siren song. My stomach responds with another demanding growl.
Then I see him.
The winter garden's glass walls offer an unobstructed view of a covered terrace where Anton moves through what appears to be tai chi forms. Slow, controlled movements that showcase every line of muscle across his shoulders and back.
Sunlight streams through where retractable panels disappeared into the walls. It's an outdoor sanctuary thirty floors above the city.
He finishes the sequence and drops into push-ups without pause. Sweet Mary, mother of God. No shirt. Just athletic shorts that cling to powerful thighs. I'm mesmerized by the muscles flexing and releasing across his back, by the intricate tattoo work covering his arms and back.
Anton Baev is devastating. Six-foot-four of pure muscle moving with the fluid precision of a predator.
A killer's body. A gentleman's touch. A brain annihilator.
My gaze drifts to the photograph on the side table, and reality crashes back.
Could I live in someone's shadow? Could anyone?
Most people carry ghosts of past relationships—the one who got away, the first heartbreak, the almost-perfect match. But this feels different. Heavier. Katya isn't a memory; she's a presence.
What would I know about competing with that kind of love? My romantic experience barely qualifies as experience at all. A few dates. One boyfriend, if that even counts.
We kissed, made out in his car, but I never felt that deep pull everyone talks about. He was plenty attractive, young, but hollow underneath. Nothing to discover. Nothing to unwrap.
Anton is the opposite of hollow. Every conversation reveals new layers, new contradictions to explore. Dangerous and gentle. Controlled and passionate. Professional and romantic.
And I so want him.
The thought ambushes me, sending heat rushing through my chest. Outside, Anton transitions into another set of push-ups, completely unaware of my internal crisis.
He knows so much about me. Meanwhile, I'm still collecting puzzle pieces, trying to understand the man behind the mystery.
The retractable panels slide shut behind Anton with barely a whisper. He moves toward me, towel draped over one shoulder, shirt bunched in his other hand. Sweat glistens across the planes of his chest, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every line of ink that maps stories across his skin.
"How did you sleep?" His voice carries that familiar, seductive gravel.
"Well," I manage, gripping my crutches tighter as he approaches. "Better than expected."
Anton pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and I'm treated to the devastating sight of his shoulders stretching the black fabric as it settles across his torso.
"I noticed the curtains were closed when I woke up," I say, needing something to focus on besides the way his shirt clings to still-damp skin. "Did you come in?"
"No." Anton's mouth curves slightly. "I closed them from the living room. Did that wake you?"
"No. Didyousleep okay?" I ask, though I already know the answer from the exhaustion still etched around his eyes.
"I took a nap. Short one."
I've grown up around men like this, men who operate on a different level. Whatever training shaped them, they can push past normal human limits and still be lethal. Anton's been protecting me for forty-eight hours straight, and he's still sharp as a blade.
"What would you like to eat? You must be hungry."
"I would love coffee first," I say gratefully. "What do you have?"
"I wasn't sure what you'd be in the mood for," Anton admits, running the towel through his dark hair. "So I ordered a selection. Eggs Benedict from The Plaza, Belgian waffles with seasonal berries from Sarabeth's, lobster bisque from Le Bernardin, and truffle risotto from Eleven Madison Park."
