Chapter 15
Kirill
Vivian had darted several looks in my direction, pretending as if she wasn’t. I’d noticed a knife was still missing from the block, unaccounted for among the ones being used.
She would lie in wait until I was asleep.
My thoughts turned deliciously filthy about how to handle her disobedience.
Including tying her to the bed.
As soon as I moved toward the counter on the other side of the island, she stiffened even though we were still several feet apart.
But she returned to filling a huge pot with water.
I enjoyed watching her. Every subtle move she made including how she brushed hair from her face or rubbed her palms on the jeans constantly drew my attention.
She was even more nervous around me, the simple and very normal activity tricking her into thinking what we were doing was anything but what it was.
Still playing the game of cat and mouse.
As I began chopping the vegetables, she did her best to keep from even looking in my direction.
It took me a little while to realize she was making bread.
From scratch. While I’d been able to tell by her apartment how organized she was, her anger had pushed her out of her comfort zone.
Flour was everywhere, including on her face.
At least she was much calmer than before.
I wasn’t. I was furious with her father for evoking so much pain within her.
Her hips swayed to the music and I was pleasantly rewarded with the sound of her voice as she sang along to whatever atrocity she was listening to. She even dared belt out a few lyrics. I remained quiet, more amused than I’d been in a long time.
If she’d believed I wasn’t going to be aroused by her actions, then she was mistaken. Granted, there was a chance she was purposely trying to keep me on the cusp of enticement. What better putty in her hands to attempt an escape.
“What?” she barked.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t know you at all, but I do know you want to say something. You don’t like my singing?”
“I think your voice is beautiful. Like the rest of you. All men aren’t alike, Vivian. I’m not your father.”
“Thank God for that. Keep in mind, we’re not going to be friends.”
“What if I don’t want to be just friends?”
Her face paled from catching her off guard. “That’s honest. I appreciate that. Don’t forget garlic.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She skirted around me as if I had the plague.
Her actions only made me crave her that much more.
And long to be her protector. I had to wonder if this was the way Kazimir had felt about Rafaela, which in turn had caused him to make some irrational decisions.
“What did you mean you don’t want to just be friends?” she dared ask a few seconds later.
“What if I want more?”
“I’m not for sale.”
“And I’m not buying. I take what I want.” Every part of me wanted her. Saying the words out loud provided a sense of truth, but reality would continue presenting obstacles.
She tipped her head in my direction, slowly shaking her head. “You can’t merely take everything you want. Have you caught this ghost? Do you have any idea who he is?”
While I’d like to think her question was out of the blue, I knew better. “Not yet. As far as his identity, I believe he’s Kazimir Chertov’s younger brother Mikhail who had my friend imprisoned, hoping he would suffer the way he believed he’d been made to his entire life.”
Why was it so easy to admit the horror of the life I lived? Interesting.
“His own brother? That’s just… horrible.”
“Yes.” I don’t know why I was admitting the truth other than I had a feeling her interference in my life was all a part of the game. What I needed to learn at all costs was what side she was on. “A young man you’d never suspect given he wanted nothing to do with working within the family’s regime.”
“You didn’t…” She bit her lower lip.
“Kill him? No. I wanted to, but Kazimir banished him. Family means everything to him.”
“You think Mikhail has every intention of finishing the job.”
“Russians never let anything go. When they make a decision on something or someone they want, that becomes a lifelong mission. Mikhail is Kazimir’s weakness and in our business, akin to a death warrant.”
“What’s your weakness?” She dragged the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip, her lovely eyes piercing mine. With the slight tremble of her body, she was uncertain but eager for the truth.
“You.”
Finally, she blinked and looked away. “That means this Ghost could win.”
“It’s possible, but I assure you I won’t allow that to happen.”
“Are you that good?”
“I’m that good.”
My words brought a slight change in her demeanor, her tongue darting out across the center of her bottom lip for a second time.
The connection and the emotions were far too unsettling between us.
The simple action was also enticing, enough so that I obviously wasn’t thinking clearly.
At this rate, if not careful, I’d do something unthinkable.
Touching her again was not only going to lead to muddy water, it would create a decision that couldn’t easily be reversed, which wasn’t in our best interest.
But I was no longer certain I had that level of control when I was with her.
Now that my arrival had been announced with firecrackers, the game would change directions.
I doubted it would take long for the Ghost to realize another player had entered the waiting room, eager to play the game.
As the minutes dragged on, I became even more concerned that having her with me could spell the kind of danger I couldn’t control. Not good all the way around.
Now she was standing in front of the oven, her eyes barely open as she offered the digital screen a stern glare.
She pressed a couple of buttons before groaning.
After she pushed a few others, I sensed the aggravation building.
“Damn it. This thing doesn’t work and bread is needed. Bread is absolutely needed.”
I dumped everything into a pot including the crushed tomatoes, far too amused from her irritation. As I stirred, she continued fighting, pressing one button after another. When I noticed she was ready to punch the oven, I intervened, grasping her fisted hand before she did something crazy.
“Why don’t you allow me.” I pulled her hand away then pressed the buttons. “What temperature?”
“Oh! Three seventy-five. I tried everything.” She jerked her arm free, even doing a little dance from anger. She moved away, punching the air a few times. Every silly action allowed me to enjoy moments that before might have seemed trivial.
Or so very normal.
Maybe knowing my best friend had almost lost everything that mattered to him would forever weigh heavily on my mind.
Unable to help myself, I started to laugh.
Her reaction I suspected was one she’d provide to anyone else she knew wasn’t seriously attempting an act of humiliation.
She punched me playfully.
In the gut.
In the chest.
Then in the shoulder.
And as soon as she did, my body reacted, pain tearing through my shoulder, a nasty guttural sound rising from my throat.
“Oh, shit. I am so sorry.” She reacted instantly, turning off the stove and moving the pan of sauce.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re coming with me and don’t argue. I might be your prisoner but I’m also your doctor.”
“Oh, yeah? Who made you my physician?”
The look she shot me could corkscrew a man into the ground. “You did.”
I didn’t argue with her, the ache in my shoulder more prominent than it had been before. While pain was something I was used to experiencing, the dull throb was as annoying as my cloying questions had been to her.
She took me by the hand of my good arm, pulling me up the stairs as she would a tantrum-throwing child. Her grip was firm, determination written all over her face. Once inside the master bath, she studied my face the entire time she was pulling out the supplies she’d brought with her.
“Can you take your shirt off or do you need my help?”
I smirked at her question, but my amusement turned into a grimace as soon as I lifted my shoulder.
“Just stop,” she directed. “Jesus. I knew I should have taken you to an examination room.”
“As you might have noticed, there was no time.”
Her jaw clenched after issuing a few curse words that would rival a sailor. As angry as she seemed, she was completely gentle with me in helping me remove my shirt. Once she started to peel away the bandage, she was all business.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. It looks like it’s becoming infected. I didn’t clean it well enough because you had too much blood on you. You still do.” Using a single finger, she pushed me against the counter. “Sit. You’re too tall.”
“I haven’t had a single lady complain before.”
“That’s because you are manically manipulative.” She yanked a washcloth from the cabinet, turning on the water with a quick snap of her wrist.
“Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I know to be true. Now sit still.”
She was so close that I could still gather a slight hint of whatever perfume she’d used hours before.
The fragrance was sweet, slightly floral with a mere hint of spices.
A perfect combination for a woman with two distinct sides.
When she moved between my legs, I involuntarily dropped my head, taking a deep whiff of the crook of her neck.
Stiffening, she pulled back, the evil eye returning.
“Okay. I’m sorry,” I told her.
“No, you’re not. You’re like some small child with a toy in his hand.”
“Does that mean I’m allowed to play?”
“No! Sit still. You’re driving me crazy.”
While I did as she asked, that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy studying the long line of her neck, appreciating her near perfect physique.
“Stop staring at me.” Every huff was an admittance of desire. Every twitch of her lips and I hungered to use her mouth for something utterly indecent.
When she realized both where my eyes had landed and that her full breasts were mere inches from my mouth, she growled.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”