Page 88

I looked up at him sharply, surprised to find he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t even offended either. Just looked kind of disappointed.

“I made a promise,” he said softly. “I wasn’t going to fuck it up, so I came alone.”

Fuck. I believed him. He really had come here alone. How could his men allow him to visit a strange city alone, especially given he would be around his rival? For all they knew, I planned to ambush their leader.

“You are not alone.” I cleared my throat and forced my tone back to neutral. “You’ve got me.”

“Your men can never know about us.”

“Maybe not right now, but they know why we’re here. It won’t be surprising if we have to work together to keep the kids safe. Who knows? Maybe working together will be the start of them seeing you in a different light.” With long strides, I closed the gap between us and cupped Yuriy’s face. “I don’t plan to keep us a secret forever, Yuriy.”

He widened his eyes. “But—we can’t. Ever. They’ll never accept it. My men will never accept you.”

“I said what I said. It may take a little time, but it will happen.”

Yuriy groaned. “You don’t have to come out on my behalf, Stanislav. I’m perfectly fine being your dirty little secret.”

His attempt at humor didn’t land. Not today. Not with what had happened last night. I tightened my hand on his cheek, painful enough to say what I didn’t know how to voice. He obviously cared less than I did about us.

I stepped away, blanking my expression and locking my jaw. Back to the man of steel I had to be. I crossed to the closet, pulled on boxers and then jeans, my movements clipped.

Behind me, Yuriy sighed dramatically. “Why are you pouting now?”

“I don’t pout,” I said coldly. “When we go out today to get those silly Christmas gifts, we’ll meet my contact then. It’s probably best if I meet him alone.”

He hated that answer. I heard it in the silence that pulsed too long between us.

“Stanislav,” he said, his voice softer, “talk to me.”

I ignored him. Buttoned my jeans. Reached for a shirt. Socks. Walked toward the door. He caught my arm before I passed him. The grip was a contradiction, threat and affection wrapped in one.

“Release me,” I said quietly.

“Come on,” he murmured, stepping closer, chest brushing mine. “Am I going to have to put you on your back for us to get along? We can’t live in bed twenty-four seven, Stas. I’d like to get along when we’re upright too.”

I glared at him, annoyance warring with something stupid and warm.

“Guess what,” he said with a grin. “I just thought of something. We’ve never actually been on a date.”

“A date,” I repeated flatly.

“Yes,” he said, smug as sin. “How about I take you out tonight?”

I shrugged like it meant nothing. “Whatever.”

Inside? My stomach had been overtaken by a swarm of butterflies. From Yuriy’s grin, he saw right through my nonchalance. He chuckled, tugging my chin. “You’re going to be high maintenance, aren’t you?”

He leaned in and kissed me, soft and slow enough to crack the walls I’d hastily thrown up. I was too damn weak, folding like a cheap tent as I opened up for him and let him in. Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him tighter against me to deepen the kiss.

A knock sounded once. Then the door flew open.

We broke apart.

Zasha froze in the doorway, a pile of fresh bed linens in his arms, eyes wide, face draining of color. “I was—I heard the shower—I thought you were in the shower.” He shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at a naked Yuriy still against me, my arm around his back.

Yuriy wriggled. “Let me go, Stas.”

I dropped my arm, and he stepped back, wrapping the damp towel around his waist. It did nothing to hide the semi he’d gotten from kissing me.