“Your music is still terrible,” she finally says, and there’s the ghost of a smile on her lips.
Despite everything—the fear and the weight of what we’re facing—I feel my own mouth twitch. “Noted.”
She snorts. “I’m serious. Nickelback? Creed? What’s next, Limp Bizkit?”
Damn, why is she hitting all of my favorites right now? “What’s wrong with Limp Bizkit?”
Her smile widens slightly and it makes my heart warm. “Everything. Everything is wrong with Limp Bizkit.”
“You have very strong opinions about music,” I say dryly, running my thumb over her knuckles.
“Someone has to save you from yourself.” She shifts slightly, and suddenly we’re closer. We’re not quite touching beyond our joined hands, but we’re close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body. “You’re a crime lord. You should have better taste.”
“I’ll work on it.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, because she’s so close and she smells so good and I’m drowning in it.
Her eyes meet mine, and whatever playfulness was there fades into something else. Something heavier. More complicated.
“I keep thinking about—” She stops, bites her lip. “Never mind.”
“What?” I shouldn’t push but I need to know what she was going to say. “Tell me.”
“The way you smiled when I was teasing you.” Her free hand comes up, fingers brushing along my jaw so gently it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. “I’ve never seen you smile like that. I’ve only seen the ones you use for business. It’s like you forgot to be—” She searches for the word. “Guarded.”
I should move away from her touch but her fingers are tracing the line of my jaw, and I’m leaning into it like a starving man offered bread.
“You make me forget,” I admit, the words escaping before I can stop them and her fingers still.
“Forget what?”
Everything. Every rule I’ve built my life around. Every reason I should stay away from you. Every promise I made to myself about keeping distance.
“To be careful,” I say instead, nearly sighing when her fingers continue their dance over my face.
Her thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, and the touch sends desire straight through me. “Maybe being careful is overrated,” she murmurs.
I swallow, focusing solely on her touch. “Careful keeps people alive,” I counter.
“We almost died yesterday,” Vera says, her eyes trained on her fingers touching my face. “We were as careful as we could be, and it almost wasn’t enough.” She glances up at me. “So maybe—maybe careful isn’t as important as…”
She doesn’t finish, but I see it in her eyes the way she’s looking at me like I’m something other than what I’ve tried so hard to be.
“Vera.” Her name comes out like a warning. Or like longing. I don’t even fucking know anymore.
Her hand slides from my jaw into my hair, fingers threading through the strands, and I have to close my eyes against the sensation. It’s too much.She’stoo much.
When I open them again, she’s closer. So close I can feel her breath on my face and can see every detail of her features in the moonlight—the flush on her cheeks, the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat, the way her lips are slightly parted.
My hand comes up, cupping her face, my thumb tracing her cheekbone. She leans into the touch, her eyes falling half-closed, and the trust in that gesture undoes me.
I’m leaning in. We both are. The distance between us shrinking with every breath until I can almost taste her?—
I pull back sharply, my hand dropping from her face like I’ve been burned. This is Alexei’s girl—what am Idoing?
“You should rest,” I say, but my voice is too rough and strained to be convincing. My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure she can hear it.
Disappointment flashes across her face before she can hide it, and that small glimpse of vulnerability makes me hate myself. “Right,” she mumbles, her face reddening. “Of course.”
I swallow heavily, hating that I’ve embarrassed her, but if I cross that line, there’s no going back. “I should—I probably need to go.”
