Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THORA
The next day, I’m halfway through mashing potatoes when my mind wanders back to Anton and everything we did.
Watching him lose control and give in to his hunger for me felt far too good. Having his hands all over my body felt even better.
I press my thighs together as every filthy detail plays through my mind. Jealousy twists in my stomach when I imagine how many women he must have had across the country, maybe even around the world.
My own experience with men has been underwhelming, to say the least. I’ve had a couple of boyfriends, but the sex was always forgettable. The kind you fake your way through while pretending it was better than it really was.
But what happened with Anton? That was on an entirely different planet.
“Who are you cooking all this for?”
I glance over my shoulder and find Greer leaning against the doorway, studying the crowded counters.
“The shelter.”
“Again?” Her eyes narrow with far too much suspicion.
“Yeah. They asked for more food.”
She nods, apparently accepting my carefully constructed lie. I can’t exactly tell her the truth. If she finds out I spent last night tangled up with Anton Marinov, she’ll lose her absolute mind.
I turn back to the containers covering nearly every available surface. I’ve been cooking since seven this morning and somehow it’s already past four, but at least it’s for a good cause. Now I need to figure out how I’m supposed to transport all of it.
“All right. I’ll leave you to it.” Greer gives me one last searching look before walking away, her brown curls bouncing down her back.
Relief settles over me once she’s gone. That woman can practically smell a secret, and the last thing I need is her discovering mine.
Once the potatoes are ready, I spoon them into a large container and tuck it into the box with the rest of the meals.
“Would you like me to carry that to your car, Ms. Whitlock?” one of my father’s men asks.
“That would be great. Thank you.”
While he takes the box outside, I wash my hands and go upstairs to change. The moment I walk into my closet, I stop in front of my clothes, a groan slipping out.
What the hell am I supposed to wear?
After changing my mind several times, I choose a simple white tank with fitted jeans, then pull on my favorite knee-high boots.
Good enough.
I brush through my hair, swipe on some mascara and lipstick, and then give myself a once-over in the mirror before deciding I don’t look terrible.
My SUV is already running when I make it downstairs. I step outside, pull the door shut behind me, and get on the road, trying not to dwell on where I’m headed. Or what might be waiting for me when I arrive.
His place isn’t hard to find in the daylight. I remember the way perfectly.
Getting inside, though, is another story. I’m not even sure his men will recognize me from last night, but I’m not above begging if that’s what it takes. If they tell Anton I’m here, he’ll probably order them to send me away, which is exactly why surprising him is the better option.
As I pull up to the security booth, one of his guards marches out, his expression already arranged into his finest glare.
“What do you want?” His thick Russian accent makes the words sound even less welcoming.
“Uh, I’m Anton’s…”
Friend feels like a dangerous stretch, but I go with it anyway.
“Friend. I was here last night. I’m not sure if you remember me, but…” I point to the box on the passenger seat. “I just wanted to drop off some food for him.”
“He is not home.”
Shit.
“Well, maybe you can let me in really quick? Or I can give one of you the box, and you can drop it off for me.”
“No. He does not like people in his home. You go now.”
Crap.
“I was really hoping to surprise him. Please?” I press my palms together dramatically.
“No. Go.”
My shoulders sink. “I can tell him I snuck in on my own.”
His expression somehow turns even more unimpressed. “Are you crazy?”
Disappointment continues to grow heavier, but I’m not ready to give up yet. As a last-ditch effort, I grab one of the boxes of cookies and hold it out.
“Well…since you won’t let me in, I guess you guys can have these.”
He looks from me to the box. “You are bribing me with cookies?”
“Yes?”
For a second, he just stares at me. Then he takes the box, opens it with a suspicious look, and pops one into his mouth. Poor guy doesn’t know he’s about to taste magic.
He chews once, then twice, and glances down at the box as though it just personally offended him by being that good. A second later, he mutters something in Russian to the other two men and passes it over.
Apparently cookies are a universal language, because within seconds, all three of them are eating them. One of the men even reaches in to get a second.
“So…does this mean you’re going to let me pass, or…”
“On nas ubyot,” another guard says, then puts a third cookie in his mouth.
“If you bring more cookies, we let this slide,” the terrifying one says with a rough chuckle. “Will be worth dying for.”
They all laugh, and honestly, even I didn’t expect that.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t kill you boys for this.” I pause. “Probably.”
One of them lets out a snort as the gate slides aside. “Go.”
“Thank you. I promise I’ll bring more for everyone next time.”
I drive through and follow the long road to the house, pulling into the driveway before grabbing the box from the passenger seat. I’m halfway to the front door when one of the guards stationed outside descends the steps toward me.
“Do you need help, miss?”
“Yes, please.”
He takes the box, and I follow him inside.
“Thank you. Just put it on the kitchen counter.”
“Okay.”
The second he sets it down, I start pulling out containers, hoping I can get everything unpacked before Anton comes home. He’s definitely going to get pissy about this, which, if I’m being honest, I don’t entirely mind. There’s something weirdly sexy about how moody he gets.
I’m reaching for the roasted vegetables when claws skid across the floor behind me. Before I can react, Volchok barrels into the kitchen like a furry missile, nearly knocking me sideways.
“Oh my God.” I burst out laughing as he shoves his giant head against my stomach, tail wagging hard enough to take out furniture.
He lets out a low whining sound and starts licking my face.
“I know, buddy. I missed you too.” I laugh, scratching behind his ears as he practically climbs on top of me.
His entire body wiggles with excitement as I pet him. It’s adorable how quickly a dog this size turns into a giant baby. Eventually, he relaxes enough for me to breathe again, sitting beside me and licking my entire arm.
“Good boy.”
I rub the top of his head, and his tail wags faster.
“I know you’re happy to see me, but I have to hurry and put all this food away before your owner gets home,” I tell him while grabbing a container. “And trust me, you’re significantly friendlier than he is.”
Volchok huffs like he agrees.
I slide the containers into the fridge one by one. Roasted chicken. Rice. Ribs. A few sides. God, I hope he actually likes all this.
But I had to do it. Food is one of the only ways I know how to take care of people, and this man needs a few home-cooked meals in his fridge.
“What are you doing here?”
I jump, spinning around so fast I nearly knock my hip into the fridge. Anton stands a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that cold, closed-off stare of his.
“I’m sorry. Uh, I made you food and your men took pity on me and let me in.”
His nostrils flare. “I’m going to fire all of them. In fact, no. I am going to kill them.”
My eyes expand. “Please don’t.” I take a cautious step toward him, still unsure whether he even wants me here. “I don’t need their deaths on my conscience. I only wanted to make sure you had something to eat.”
His jaw clenches, and his gaze flicks to the fridge, completely unimpressed.
“I thought you might appreciate it. The last time I was here, your fridge looked like a sad bachelor’s cry for help, so I figured you could use some actual meals.”
“I don’t remember asking you to feed me.”
“Yet here we are.” I offer him a bright smile. “You’re welcome.”
He just keeps staring at me, his chest rising and falling.
Okay…that’s not intimidating at all.
“Well…all right.” I scratch my temple. “I guess I’ll go. See you. Maybe.”
I head for the door, but one word stops me before I can move any further.
“Stay.”
My heart trips in my chest, and my feet instantly obey. I keep my back to him until the heat of his body gathers behind me and his fingers graze up my arm, the hesitant touch revealing how badly he wants to reach for me again.
When I finally face him, he’s already drawn away. His hesitant eyes trap mine, but beneath the distance is an unfamiliar need. The struggle of a man trying to hold on to something he has never had.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
A smile warms my face. “I could eat.”
“Fine. But this doesn’t mean we’re friends.” He turns back to the open refrigerator.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, we’re back to that now? Fine. I’ll play along.” As I walk past him, I bump my elbow lightly against his side. “But just so you know, it’s okay to like me, Marinov. It won’t kill you.”
A low groan leaves him. “Have I told you how annoying you are today?”
“Not yet.” I drop into the chair at the counter. “But there’s still time.”
His jaw works, mouth tilting as he reaches for two plates. He’s such a softie. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“In that case…” he mutters, sliding a plate toward me. “You drive me crazy.”
Crazy? How? Please do elaborate.
“You love it.”
“A little too much,” he says under his breath as he grabs the containers.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Just eat so I can get you out of here.”
“You always say the sweetest things.” I chuckle as he shakes his head and takes the empty chair beside me.
I don’t miss that. He could’ve sat across from me, but instead, he chose to be nearby. Trying not to look too pleased, I turn to my food.
He likes me. He doesn’t have to admit it, but I already know.
We eat in comfortable silence, and every so often, I catch him glancing my way.
It takes everything in me not to grin like a completely infatuated idiot, but Anton makes that nearly impossible.
He spends so much time shutting people out that I doubt he even notices the tenderness slipping through whenever he’s with me.
When he peers at me again, he laughs, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. The sound is so real, it does dangerous things to my heart.
“What?” I pick at my potatoes before taking another bite.
He gestures toward my face. “You’ve got something there.”
“Where?” My fingers fly to the corner of my mouth, but his laughter only grows. “Oh, that’s funny to you?”
“Very.” Satisfaction glints in his eyes as he cuts into the chicken.
“All right.”
I scoop a little mashed potato onto my fingertip, lean across the counter, and press it onto the end of his nose. He goes completely still, and the disbelief crossing his face sends a grin spreading across mine.
“Oh, now you’re in trouble, printsessa.” He grabs his napkin and wipes off the mess I made.
“Really?”
“Da.”
The look in his eyes as he rises from the chair should probably make me nervous.
Instead, my pulse jumps for an entirely different reason, anticipation unfurling beneath my skin as he studies my face with slow, deliberate focus.
He grips the sides of my swivel chair and turns me away from the counter until I’m facing him completely.
I don’t move. Barely breathe. The space between us disappears inch by inch, his eyes burning into mine.
A deep throb pulses between my thighs, the need for him growing until it borders on pain. His fingers hook beneath my chin and tilt my face higher before his attention drops to my mouth.
Kiss me. Just kiss me. Please.
He leans in, drawing out the anticipation until I feel his breath brush my lips. The dark promise in his stare sends a rush through me as his mouth pauses just above mine.
Then, at the last possible instant, he drags his tongue across my chin. “All better.”
My heart kicks so violently, it almost hurts.
Anton holds my stare while his thumb traces my lower lip, leaving me to wonder why he won’t put his mouth there instead. We’ve already had sex. Why is kissing me such a big deal?
“Uh…thanks.” I clasp my trembling hands together in my lap.
A flicker of smug triumph crosses his face before he returns to his meal, perfectly composed while my thoughts remain completely scrambled.
ANTON
Why can’t I get her out of my fucking system? Why did I ask her to stay?
Chto ya delayu? What am I doing?
And she cooked for me? Why would she do that?
No one has ever cooked for me before. I’m not sure I hate it either. Or maybe it’s because it’s from her.
Blyat. Here I go again with that bullshit.
The longer I sit beside her, listening to her talk and laugh, the more I realize I don’t actually mind it. And that’s the problem.
Because nothing good ever stays, and eventually she’ll be gone too.