Chapter Ten #3
I unwrap my sandwich and moan when I take a bite out of it. It’s even better than usual. “Something about how I’m yours and no man’s allowed to be nice to me.”
His smile widens. “I was actually thinking of sneaking up behind the old man and strangling the breath out of him.”
I pause chewing and my eyes widen. “What?”
Leonid holds my gaze for a minute, and then he bursts out laughing. For the first time since I met him, his eyes crinkle with amusement that makes it seem like there are stars dancing in them.
He’s even more handsome when he laughs. God.
For a moment I forget this man kidnapped me. I forget he’s part of the bratva and his hands are soaked with blood. I forget how he threatened my parents and my best friend.
I forget all the reasons I shouldn’t fall for him.
Sweet heavens, I need to stop acting like an idiot and falling for every little thing this man does. So even though I’m tempted to laugh along with him, I hide my amusement beneath unreasonable fury. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
His brow cocks. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s not.” While I’m thinking of something else to say, his phone rings.
He mutters something angrily in Russian, then glances at me one more time before leaving my office.
Determined not to let him occupy any more space in my head, I finish my sandwich and get back to work.
The next hour passes surprisingly quickly.
I lose myself in schedules, booking requests, inventory reports, and a mountain of emails that somehow multiplied while I was gone. It’s only when I stand to grab a file from the cabinet that I notice him again.
Leonid is standing on the upper deck of one of the larger yachts, discussing something with Artem. From this distance, I can’t make out his expression, but when one of the deckhands says something to him, he doesn’t answer immediately.
His gaze remains fixed on the office window.
On me.
Only after several seconds does he turn toward the deckhand to reply to whatever he said.
When the deckhand nods and walks away, his attention shifts back to me in full force.
My breath hitches and I quickly look away as heat creeps up my cheeks and spreads all the way down to my core.
Ridiculous.
The man is probably thinking about murder, extortion, or whatever bratva men do for fun in their spare time besides kidnapping women and forcing them into marriage.
He’s not looking at me.
Definitely not.
My eyes drift back to the computer screen, but thirty seconds later, they’re on him again. A part of me wonders if he feels the same way about me. If he spends most of his time trying to decide whether I’m attracted to him.
I immediately hate myself.
He’s speaking to a yacht owner who happens to be one of the wealthy regulars. The older man is gesturing animatedly while Leonid listens with the same detached expression he wears around almost everyone.
Then something catches his attention.
His head turns straight toward the office, and our eyes meet through two layers of glass and half a marina. The corner of his mouth lifts with something that doesn’t quite look like a smile.
It’s the sort of look that says he knows exactly what I was doing and what I’m thinking. His gaze pierces right through my soul, as if he can read all the dirty, fucked-up thoughts in my head.
I drop into my chair so quickly I nearly knock over my coffee. For the next five minutes, I become extremely interested in the spreadsheet in front of me.
Unfortunately, spreadsheets don’t stop me from being aware of him.
Or from wondering whether he’s still looking at me.
The worst part?
I want him to be.
I force myself to focus on work.
A few minutes later, movement outside catches my attention.
A supply truck rolls through one of the service gates near the fuel dock.
Nobody stops it.
Nobody searches it.
The guard barely glances at the driver before waving him through.
Interesting.
I watch the truck disappear down the access road leading to the main highway.
For the second time since arriving at the marina this morning, I find myself studying the place differently.
Not as a charter manager.
As someone looking for a way out.
The marina is nothing like Leonid’s mansion.
There are tourists everywhere, making it easy to blend into the crowd. Workers moving between docks add to the chaos. Delivery vehicles come and go throughout the day. Boats arrive. Boats leave.
Freedom is right there.
Close enough to touch.
Don’t try to run, or I can’t promise your best friend or parents will be safe.
My grip tightens around the mouse.
Damn him.
Maybe he’s bluffing.
Maybe he isn’t.
The problem is that I’m not willing to gamble the people I love to find out.
A bitter laugh escapes me.
A week ago, escaping was all I could think about.
Now freedom is sitting right in front of me, and somehow I’m still here.
Still working.
Still stealing glances at my criminal husband.
Still wondering if he’s still looking at me.
The realization is unsettling enough to make me immediately bury myself in another spreadsheet.
Some questions are better left unanswered.