I caught him off guard by mentioning his boss’s name. Did he really think I wouldn’t remember? Or was it because he hadn’t mentioned Mr. Grey’s name except when he took the call in the car, thinking I was still unconscious?
But he regained his composure almost as fast as he showed his unwanted surprise. “Or maybe,” he narrowed his eyes, “there’s more to Isabella than meets the eye.”
The way he said my name—my real name—while staring right at me, sent a shiver down my spine. Did he suspect? Was he testing me? I kept my expression neutral, channeling years of practice at hiding my true reactions.
“There’s more to both of us than meets the eye, Zotov.” I met his gaze steadily, letting a hint of challenge creep into my voice. Two could play at this game of half-truths and implications.
His fingers flexed against my waist, the pressure just shy of uncomfortable. The tiny bathroom suddenly felt even smaller, his body heat seeping into my skin wherever we touched. The intensity in his eyes had shifted from calculation to something darker, more dangerous.
I fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. One wrong move, one slip in my carefully maintained façade, and everything could unravel. But showing nervousness now would only confirm his suspicions.
His finger traced my jaw, the touch feather-light but sending sparks racing across my skin. I allowed it and forced myself to remain still. This could work to my advantage—if he was attracted to me, I could use that. Even though the mere thought made my throat tighten.
I did not want unwanted attraction…from anyone.
And I did not want the jolt of electricity that shot through me at his touch. My breath caught when his finger reached my chin, and he tilted my face up slightly.
Our eyes met and locked. The calculation from moments ago shifted into something else entirely—something dark and magnetic that made my pulse race. His pale blue eyes had darkened, pupils dilated as he stared down at me. The air between us grew thick with tension, making it hard to breathe.
I recognized the danger in this attraction. This wasn’t just about physical chemistry—this was the kind of connection that could make me forget who he was, what he’d done. The kind that could make me slip up and reveal too much.
From the way his jaw clenched, the slight flare of his nostrils, I knew he felt it, too. Knew he recognized how dangerous this was becoming. His finger stilled against my chin, but he didn’t pull away.
Merda. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I could handle his intimidation tactics, his questioning, even his physical presence. But this…this magnetic pull was something else entirely. Something that threatened to shatter all my carefully maintained control.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the tension. “Sir? We’ll be encountering more turbulence. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”
The voice felt like a bucket of ice water. I sucked in a sharp breath, reality crashing back.Dio, what was I doing?Getting lost in Ivan Zotov’s eyes like some lovesick teenager?
Zotov shifted back slightly though his hand remained at my waist. The small increase in space between us cleared my head a little but not enough. Not when I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, still smell his scent mixed with the recycled air.
“We should—” My voice came out embarrassingly husky. I cleared my throat and tried again. “We should go back.”
His eyes hadn’t left my face, that calculating look returning despite the lingering heat in his gaze. “Should we?”
Another knock. “Sir? You really should return to your seats now.”
Zotov’s jaw tightened, but he finally stepped back, letting his hand drop from my waist. The loss of contact shouldn’t have felt so significant. I straightened my shoulders, gathering my composure like armor.
Whatever had just happened—or almost happened—between us needed to be locked away and forgotten. I couldn’t afford distractions, not with so much at stake. Not with Mira’s safety on the line.
But as I slipped down from the counter, our bodies brushed unavoidably in the tiny space, and I knew something fundamental had shifted. The air between us crackled with unresolved tension, with questions neither of us had asked and truths neither of us had spoken.
I slipped past him, aiming for the door. My fingers had barely opened the lock when his hand wrapped around my waist, yanking me back against him. I spun around, and wewere face to face again, close…too close. I pressed my palms against his chest.
His heart hammered beneath my right hand, the rapid rhythm matching my own pulse. Holy shit. He was just as affected as I was.
The realization sent a dangerous thrill through me. I should pull away. I needed to pull away. But his arm around my waist kept me anchored in place, and my traitorous body refused to fight it.
“Let me go,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
His fingers flexed against my arm, not painful but firm. “No.”
The plane lurched suddenly, turbulence rocking us sideways. My body pressed fully against his as we both fought to maintain balance. His arm wrapped tighter around my waist, steadying me while he anchored us with his other hand and leg. The protective gesture felt natural, instinctive—and that terrified me more than any amount of questioning or intimidation.
My hands fisted in his shirt, holding on as another wave of turbulence hit. The tiny bathroom seemed to tilt and spin, but Zotov’s body remained solid and steady against mine—an anchor in the chaos even though he was the last person I should trust to keep me safe.
His heart still raced beneath my palm, betraying that his calm exterior was just as much a façade as my own, as the door behind me opened.
