“And if I am cold,” he adds, more quietly, “it’s not because of you. It’s just my nature.”
His comment pulls my gaze back to him. I study his profile, the elegant line of his jaw, the subtle tension in his shoulders. I want to believe him.
The rain streaks down the windows like little silver rivers. We pass under a stretch of streetlights that makes everything glow amber. My apartment building looms ahead.
Yuri pulls up to the curb and lets the car idle for a moment, the engine purring beneath us.He shifts into park and cuts the engine. Then he reaches for his door.
“I’ll walk you up.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically as I reach for my things.
He glances out the window, eyes scanning the quiet street, the dim porch lights flickering across cracked sidewalks. I can see his jaw tighten.
“I’m going to walk you up,” he says again, more firmly, not leaving any room for argument.
“Okay, sure.” Clearly, there’s no point in arguing with him.
We walk in silence, side by side, the only sound our footsteps against the wet concrete. The rain is nothing more than a drizzle now, almost a mist. At my door, I fumble with the keys, my fingers clumsy, too aware of the warmth at my back, of his presence, of the impossible heat between us, rising like steam.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
His answer is instant. And velvet-smooth. “I’d love to.”
Inside, the apartment feels smaller than usual. Quiet in a way that amplifies every breath, every heartbeat. I drop my keys into the bowl by the entrance. They clatter loudly in the hush.
I kick off my heels, my shoulders tense. I expect him to stay by the threshold. A part of me needs him to. But he doesn’t. He steps in, slow and certain, and closes the door behind him with a click that feels final. I turn, heart in my throat. His silhouette stands against the shadows like something carved from stone.
“I can’t get mixed up with you,” I whisper, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice.
“You already are.” A breath suspends between us, then Yuri leans in slightly, just enough to make my pulse jump. “You’redangerous when you look at me like that,” he says, his voice low and deep. “Like you know exactly what I want.”
I swallow hard, but I don’t step back. “And what do you want?”
“I want you, Astrid. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you on that plane.”
And there it is. He finally said it out loud.
“You know, I was starting to wonder if you remembered me.”
He chuckles. “You think you’re someone I could forget? No, there was just never the right moment to bring it up.”
I glance away. “Still, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
His hands slide to my waist, thumbs brushing slow, possessive strokes through the thin silk of my blouse. “Then stop me.”
I should. Instead, my hands rise to his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat thrums beneath my palms—steady, strong, and infuriatingly calm.
“You’re not easy to resist,” I murmur.
“I’m not trying to be.”
And just like that, I’m lost in him again. I lean in, caught in the gravity between us, my mouth barely a breath away from his.
He leans in and kisses me, his mouth finding mine like he’s been starving for it, like he’s been waiting, burning for this. I don’t just fall into him. I crash.
My back hits the wall with a muted thud, his hands already working the buttons of my blouse, dragging it down myshoulders. His lips are fire against my neck, tracing the curve of my throat, and I feel his breath there—hot and ragged.
I fumble with his coat, tugging it off, then push at his shirt until my hands are on bare skin. He’s all muscle, heat, and tension, coiled tight.
