Page 8 of King of Shadows

I take a bite of my food. I can barely follow what’s happening on the screen, and I’m not really tasting my dinner either. My attention keeps drifting to the man sitting beside me.

It’s ridiculous. Two boyfriends in my entire life. The first was in high school—just two clueless kids stumbling through a messy relationship that ended the moment we graduated. The second was a guy a coworker introduced me to. After he started asking me for money over and over again, I broke things off. So no, neither of them ever made me feel anything like this.

And yet this stranger I’ve known for only a few hours has my stomach doing strange things. A stranger I’m supposed to be afraid of.

“How many hours was your shift today?” His question pulls me from my thoughts.

“Twelve. Why?”

He looks at me for a moment. “You look tired.”

Before I can stop it, a sigh escapes my lips. “You have no idea.”

Something about my answer makes his expression soften. Then, unexpectedly, his fingers reach toward my face, and he catches a loose strand of hair that has escaped my messy bun and gently tucks it behind my ear.

The simple gesture sends a strange little shiver through me.

“Tell me about your day,” he says.

I stare at him surprised. “You want to hear about my day?”

He nods. “Hmm. Was it hectic?”

I blink, then look back at the television. “Very.”

And somehow, I start talking. I tell him about the hospital being packed, the emergency cases that seemed to come in one after another, the nurse who had to leave because of a family emergency and how the rest of us had to pick up the slack.

I tell him about the patient who wouldn’t stop complaining, the coffee I never got to finish, and the lunch I barely touched. I complain about my supervisor. Then I complain about another nurse. Then I realize I’m complaining about the same nurse again.

Then I tell him a few funny stories from work. I tell him about an elderly woman I once took care of who came back with her grandson to bring me flowers after she recovered. I also tell him about some of the kids in the hospital who would share their snacks with me. I really did like them.

And Kazimir just listens. He doesn’t look bored. He doesn’t even seem distracted. He simply sits beside me while I eat and listens to me ramble about my day as if we’ve known each other for years.

At some point, I pause. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but the tiny bit of fear I’d been carrying around since I first saw him seems to have disappeared. And in its place is desire.

The desire to be touched by him. The desire to hear him say my name. The desire to have those luscious lips on mine, and my whole body.

God. Chloe. Get a grip!

“You had a long day,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry I added to it.”

The way he says it, I don’t think this man says sorry very often. “It’s fine,” I mumble.

He reaches for my empty plate before I can stop him and places it on the coffee table. Then his hand closes around my ankle.

I stiffen. “What are you doing?”

“Relax.”

Before I can protest, he lifts my feet and settles them across his thighs.

“You’ve had a hectic day,” he says. “Then you stitched me up. You covered for me when you could have called the police.”

I open my mouth, then close it.

His hands settle around one of my feet. “The least I can do is help you relax.”

I should pull away. But after a shift like mine, a foot rub from the devil himself would be hard to refuse. So when his thumbs press into the sole of my foot, every sensible thought in my head disappears.