Chapter 8
brOOKLYN
Heat throbs inside me as the sleek, black sports car bombs through the neon streets of New York. Just being in the same tightly-enclosed space with this man sets me on edge.
It also weirdly puts me at total ease.
Nirvana plays quietly through the car speakers as we drive in otherwise silence. I don’t know where we’re going, and he hasn’t volunteered that information, but somehow, I don’t care. I’m certainly not worried about it.
“I wanted to check in on you,” he finally murmurs in that smooth, honeyed, hormone-stoking voice.
“Oh.”
Fucking oh ?
Just kill me now .
I don’t know why I’m so awkward around him. Why he makes me so nervous, so anxious in a tingly, teasing sort of way.
“Thank you again for the other night…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “ Sir .”
Fuck , why does saying that give me such a thrill?
Kir nods, his eyes on the road as we drive seemingly aimlessly through the city.
“I’d like you to try to think, now that you’ve had some time to recover from the shock, who the men who attacked you were.”
My head snaps to the side. “I-I really don’t know. Just some drunk assholes.”
Kir’s eyes tense slightly, his grip tightening on the wheel.
“And what, Ms. Ellis, were you doing alone in that neighborhood?”
It’s the mix of stern and strict blended with nurturing and protective that has my core melting just a little.
“I was meeting a friend,” I lie, forcing an embarrassed laugh from my throat. “At that strip club. Her idea,” I finish, like that somehow absolves me of any blame in this totally fictitious version of events.
“A friend,” Kir echoes.
I nod. “Yep.”
“The same friend who lives at the address you have on file with the ballet?”
My head snaps to the side, eyes widening at him in shock. Kir just calmly watches the road, driving with one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick shift.
“As in, the place where you do not actually live?”
Fuck. Fuckity-fuckity-fuckerton.
“I’m…in between places,” I mumble. “I’m, uh, staying on a friend’s couch for a couple of weeks. That’s all.”
I smile weakly. Kir glances over at me, a dark eyebrow cocked in a sinful way before he turns his attention back to the road.
I glance in alarm at the glowing clock on the touchscreen dash.
“I…actually need to get to work.” I frown. ”My other work. My second job.”
Kir just nods, still watching the road. “I’ll drive you.”
Shitshitshit .
This is going from bad to worse. I start to ask myself why on Earth I got into this man’s car. But then I realize the answer is that he’s drop dead gorgeous, and I’m the fucking idiot who would probably willingly get into the serial killer’s van.
Regardless, he’s obviously not driving me to The Mirage right now.
“Oh…” I turn to smile at him. “Thanks, but don’t worry about it.”
“I insist.”
Goddammit .
“Well, thank you…” I swallow. “Sir.”
I open my phone and quickly find a random office building in Midtown and rattle off the address. “I just started the other day,” I explain.
Kir nods, turning down another street.
“So, Ms. Ellis, tell me about your interest in the Ballet Imperiya Korona. ”
My head snaps to the side, staring at him with zero chill whatsoever.
“Uh...what?” I try. Smooth, girl. Smooth .
Kir shoots me an amused look, making my face instantly heat.
“How… How do you know about that?” I finally ask quietly, feeling like a kid who’s just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“Because the Zakharova is my company,” he says evenly. “And I like to know when dancers might be leaving.” He eyes slide to me for a second. “Especially the extremely talented ones.”
I feel my face burn as I quickly look down at my hands.
“You know, Ivan Yelchin and I are old friends.”
My pulse quickens as I remember Dove’s words.
“I know it’s a long shot,” I say quietly. “But it’s my dream to dance with that company.”
“Why?”
My lips pull into a smile.
“Because it’s the best.” I quickly recover from the fumble. “I mean, aside from the Zakharova, of course.”
Kir chuckles quietly and pulls up at a curb.
Oh. We’re here.
For some reason, I don’t want to get out of this car anytime soon. Or, like, ever.
Kir glances up doubtfully through the windshield at the huge office building.
“You work here?”
I don’t miss the suspicious note in his tone.
“Just a temp thing,” I shrug. “A spare gig to pick up some extra cash.”
Kir nods.
“Well…anyway…” I smile at him, feeling my pulse thud as those dark devil eyes slide across the dash to lock with mine.
“Thanks again…for everything,” I say quietly.
I start to turn to leave. Suddenly, Kir frowns, and his hand shoots out to cup my jaw. My breath seizes as he tips my chin up and to the side, his eyes zeroing in on my temple and his mouth tightening to a line.
“Who hits you.”
I freeze.
He’s so close.
Cupping my jaw in his hand, touching my skin.
Right in my space. Breathing my air.
The heated throb tightens in my core.
“Oh, that…” My throat bobs as I touch my temple. “It’s from those four assholes the other night. I think I must have hit it when they?—”
“The bruise is older than that.” Kir’s hand releases my jaw, his eyes flickering in the dim glow of the dashboard. “It’s someone else.”
I quickly shake my head. “It’s nothing, really.”
Another pulse throbs through my lower belly before I grab the strap of my bag, open the door, and get out.
“It’s not ,” he growls. “Why are you covering for someone who is hurting you?”
Sometimes, you just react without thinking, and then you’re left wondering why the hell you did what you did.
This is one of those times.
I whirl back to him, leaning down and staring at him through the open door.
“Because the Ballet Imperiya Korona expects talent and pedigree!” I blurt. “They want polish, and a classy image, and me getting mixed up with the police isn’t going to help with that!”
Shit .
There’s a moment of stunned silence after I say it, and I cringe inside.
“I… I should get going.”
“Indeed. Wouldn’t want to be late for your temp job ,” Kir says quietly. He glances through the windshield again, up at the office building. “In the totally dark, deserted office building…at ten at night.”
I smile weakly. Kir smiles back. “I do hope you’re staying safer out there, Ms. Ellis.”
“Thank you again for the other night,” I reply quietly. “ Sir .”