Most people hide what they feel around me.
Fear. Greed. Hate.
All masked behind fake smiles.
Natalya doesn’t mask anything.
She feels openly, even when she tries not to.
That alone makes her dangerous to a man like me.
Vanda peeks out from under the counter. When she sees me, her ears prick up. She doesn’t come running, but she doesn’t hide either. That’s progress.
I offer her the duck.
“See? Peace offering.”
She inches forward, sniffs, then snatches it from my hand and trots away with it. The tiniest smile tugs my mouth.
Natalya laughs, a soft, breathy sound that hits me dead center.
“She likes you,” she says.
“I know,” I answer simply.
Her lips twitch. “Cocky.”
“Honest,” I correct, stepping closer. Not touching her. Not crowding. But close enough that she feels me, the same way I feel her. “Dogs respond to truth.”
She tilts her head slightly. “And people?”
“People lie,” I say. “Even to themselves.”
Her breath catches.
I move past her toward the small table in the corner and set the food down. She watches me the whole time, her eyes wide, cheeks flushed, fidgeting with a ribbon from a bouquet she was wrapping.
She’s nervous.
And I shouldn’t like that.
But I do.
I sit, elbows on my knees, watching her in return.
There is something about her that pulls emotions out of me I haven’t felt in years. Maybe ever. This magnetic, electric thing between us, it shouldn’t exist. But it’s there. Unavoidable.
Undeniable.
I clear my throat and force myself to speak, to say something normal.
“Mikhail asked me to check on you while Andrei is away.”
Her brows lift. “So you’re babysitting me?”
“No.” My voice comes out sharper than intended. I soften it. “I’m making sure you’re safe.”
She shifts on her feet. “You could have sent someone else. Or called.”
