What the…
All I can do is stare.
“Wait, what?” My brain trips over itself. “Y-you own the diner?”
He nods once.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He shrugs. “You never asked.”
My head spins as pieces rearrange themselves.
Why didn’t Mark tell me? Did Kirill ask him not to?
God…
His gaze holds mine. “And I will let the Whitlocks know you won’t be working at the ranch either. They won’t be too surprised.”
“And why is that?”
“Because they know I didn’t want you there to begin with.”
Right. The tension between Jace and him. How could I forget?
“Thank you,” I say again, because it’s the only thing I have left. “For all of this. For saving me from one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. For offering me this job and a place to sleep. I don’t…I don’t know why you’re doing all of this for me, but I appreciate it.”
He goes still.
“I told you already. I care about you. I care about what happens to you. Ti moya problema,” he murmurs, and I feel the power of his words in every molecule.
“What does that mean?”
His mouth tips in that almost smile again. “It means you are my problem, Sloane. Mine.”
The words slide under my skin, both warm and dangerous.
“Now get some sleep.” He leans in and kisses my forehead, and I swear I sense the vibration of a groan in his chest.
I don’t want him to leave. I want him beside me, in this bed, arms around me like he can keep every nightmare away if I just hold on tight enough.
Before he can step back, my hand moves on instinct, my fingers circling his wrist and catching him there. The uneven beat of his pulse jumps beneath my palm as his gaze drops to where I’m touching him, then lifts to mine, something unguarded slipping through before he can hide it.
“Kirill—”
He shifts closer instead of pulling away. His free hand lifts and his thumb brushes over my bottom lip in a slow, careful stroke that makes my chest tighten.
“Ne smotri na menya tak.” The husky way he says it sends my heart racing.
He lowers his forehead to mine, the barest contact, like he needs it to steady himself. The room narrows to just this—his warmth, the faint scent of him, the way his eyes keep falling to my mouth like he’s fighting a battle I can’t see.
Then he inclines his head and drops a kiss to the center of my forehead, his hand cupping my jaw. I close my eyes against the ache blooming in my chest, wanting him to be mine so badly, knowing I’d destroy any chance of that if he ever finds out why I’m really here.
“Spokoynoy nochi, malyshka,” he rasps softly against my skin. “Good night.”
When he finally straightens, his gaze remains on me one last time before he turns and walks away. The door clicks softly behind him, leaving me alone in a room that still feels like him.
I sink back onto the bed, clutching his T-shirt to my chest, with his scent wrapped around me and the echo of his words still vibrating deep beneath my ribs.
