39
ARIA
Iplant myself in front of Nikolai's study door, blocking his path to the garage where his car is waiting. He's about to walk out of here and confront the bastard who photographed us, and he thinks I'm staying behind like some helpless damsel?
Not happening.
My spine is straight, my chin lifted in a way that I know drives him crazy. The kind of defiance that makes his jaw tic and his eyes flash with something that's equal parts frustration and heat.
"Move, Aria." His voice carries that edge of command that probably makes grown men scramble to obey.
Not me.
"No." I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the subtle swell of my stomach press against my forearms. "I'm coming with you."
"This isn't a negotiation." He takes a step closer, and I catch the scent of his cologne mixed with something darker. The predator beneath the expensive suit. "You're staying here where it's safe."
"Safe?" The word tastes bitter on my tongue. "Someone violated our privacy. You think I'm going to sit here and wait while you handle it?"
His eyes narrow, and I watch him calculate his options. He could physically move me. His body is all coiled muscle and controlled violence. But something in my expression must tell him I'll fight him every step of the way, and we both know that's a scene neither of us wants.
"You stay in the car," he finally says, his accent thickening with barely controlled frustration. "You don't get out. You don't interfere. Understood?"
"Understood." I step aside, victory making my pulse quicken.
His hand finds the small of my back as we walk toward the garage, the touch possessive and protective all at once. The heat of his palm seeps through my dress, and my traitorous body responds with a flush that has nothing to do with the temperature. I hate how aware I am of him, how every casual touch makes my skin prickle with electricity.
The drive to the industrial district passes in tense silence. Nikolai's hand rests on my thigh, his thumb tracing absent circles that make concentration impossible. I watch the city slide past the tinted windows and try not to think about what we're driving toward. What Nikolai might do to the man who photographed us.
"What will you do to him?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
His thumb stills against my leg. "What needs to be done."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." His fingers tighten fractionally on my thigh. "Some things you don't need to see,Solnyshka."
The endearment makes something warm bloom in my chest despite everything. I've learned it means "little sun" in Russian, and the way he says it, rough and intimate, does things to my pulse I refuse to examine too closely.
The warehouse looms ahead, all rusted metal and broken windows. Cyril's car pulls up behind us, and I watch through the rearview mirror as Nikolai's second-in-command emerges with two other men I don't recognize. They move with that same controlled efficiency, like violence is just another tool in their arsenal.
"Stay here," Nikolai says, his hand cupping my jaw and turning my face toward his. "I mean it, Aria. Don't get out of this car."
"I won't." The lie comes easily, but I see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. He knows me too well already.
His thumb brushes across my lower lip, the touch sending heat cascading through my body. For a heartbeat, I think he's going to kiss me, and I'm not sure if I want him to or if I'll push him away. But he just studies my face like he's memorizing it, then releases me and steps out into the fading light.
I watch him walk toward the warehouse entrance, his stride purposeful and predatory. The way he moves makes my mouth go dry. All that controlled power wrapped in an expensive suit, and I know exactly what that body feels like pressed against mine. The memory makes heat pool low in my belly despite the circumstances.
Five minutes pass. Then ten. My fingers drum against my thigh, and I'm acutely aware of my security guard in the driver's seat, his eyes scanning the perimeter with mechanical precision.
"I need to see," I say, already reaching for the door handle.
His hand shoots out, catching my wrist. "The Pakhan said?—"
"I know what he said." I meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. "But that man violated my privacy too. I have a right to face him."
He studies me for a long moment, then releases my wrist with a sigh that suggests he knows this is a battle he won't win. "Stay close to me. Don't speak unless spoken to. And if things go sideways, you run. Understood?"
