Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Artyom
I barely slept. Not because of the attack, or the body on the floor that Mikhail dragged away with a grin like he’d just been handed a late birthday gift—but because of her. Because Kira slept next to me, naked, curled against me and smelling like soap.
I finally manage to doze for a few hours at dawn.
I wake up later than I had planned and quickly go downstairs in the dining room trying to look like a man who’s in control of his life and not one who spent half the night checking if the woman in his bed is still breathing.
Mikhail is already halfway through a plate piled so high it makes me nauseous just looking at it.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he was raised in a barn.
“So,” he says, stabbing a fork into a piece of cheese, “cleanup was beautiful. Real clean, despite the mess of blood you left.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Misha. It’s breakfast.”
He smirks like he lives for the moment he can disgust me.
I try to focus on the food in front of me, but my appetite is gone.
My brain is still stuck somewhere between last night’s adrenaline and the memory of her shaking in the bathroom, as if I can still feel her skin under my hands when she looked at me like she couldn’t tell if she wanted to run or hold on to me.
I’m halfway through my coffee when I see movement at the entrance.
Irina walks in like the whole room belongs to her, heels clicking, posture perfect. She gives Mikhail a glance like he’s some stray dog chewing on furniture, then turns her attention to me, softening her expression instantly.
“Artyom,” she says, her voice warm in that calculating way of hers, “I hoped I’d find you here.”
Mikhail snorts. “Of course, she did. She hoped it all night.”
She ignores him.
I don’t bother standing or smiling. I’m tired, irritated and her presence is the last thing I want right now.
“Morning,” I say, voice flat.
She moves closer, her perfume clinging to the air like she wants to weave herself into it, her hand brushing the back of my chair as if she has the right. “You left early last night,” she says lightly.
“Work,” I say simply.
Her eyes search my face, looking for openings, for the weak spots she thinks she can exploit.
Usually, she’s bold with touching, teasing, trying to push boundaries she thinks I’ll eventually cave to, but today there’s hesitation and a flicker of uncertainty.
She’s watching me differently, like she can sense the shift in me even if she can’t place it yet.
Mikhail sees it too. He smirks into his cup, amused. “You’re off your game this morning, Ira.”
She shoots him a glare razor-sharp enough to cut tile, but Mikhail just flashes her a lazy grin.
“Artyom… if you have time later, maybe we could—”
Her words die, because she sees where my eyes snap to.
Kira walks into the dining room with her hair still damp from the shower, wearing one of the dresses Calina forced her to buy, simple and soft, hugging her waist in a way I’m definitely not prepared for.
Her cheeks are flushed, maybe from rushing down the stairs, maybe from remembering last night, maybe because she’s looking at Irina already leaning toward me and her jaw tightens so quickly, I feel it in my damn chest.
I sit back in my chair, watching her approach. I’m ready for her anger, for her glare, for something sarcastic and defensive.
What I’m not ready for is the way she goes straight to me like she owns the spot beside me, stopping close enough that her hip brushes my shoulder, her fingers curling lightly around the back of my neck as she leans down and kisses me.
Her mouth lands on mine with heat and certainty, slow at first, enough that I feel the full sweep of her lips against mine, the warm press of her breath, the tiny tremor she tries to hide, but then she tilts her head a little and it deepens.
Her mouth opens just enough to pull me in, to drag something sharp and greedy out of me before I can stop it.
It wipes every thought clean out of my head.
I freeze for half a breath because I’m not expecting it, because she’s never touched me like this before, but the shock lasts barely a second.
My hand moves before my brain does, going straight to her waist, fingers locking around it, pulling her down into the kiss like I need her closer, need her weight against me, need the sound she makes when I squeeze.
Her breath catches in her throat, soft and helpless and hot as hell, and the sound goes straight through me, settling low, tightening everything in me at once.
A shiver runs through her body, subtle but real, and I feel it under my palm, feel the way she melts just an inch before she catches herself again.
Irina stiffens as if someone slapped her.
Mikhail grins so wide he nearly drops his fork. “Well. Good morning to you too.”
Kira pulls back slowly, her lips still tinged, eyes dropping to my mouth like she’s not done with me. I feel it like a punch.
“You started without me,” she murmurs, trying to sound annoyed, but her voice is too soft, too warm, too affected. She glances at Irina, and the look she gives her is territorial in a way that lights something violent and hungry in my chest.
Irina clears her throat, straightening her posture. “I didn’t realize you were joining us.”
The smile Kira gives her is slow. “I noticed.”
Mikhail coughs loudly to hide a laugh.
I should pull back and put some distance between us, because I know this is temporary, fake, a simple deal. But she’s standing so close I can smell her skin, still carrying the faintest trace of last night, and I do nothing.
“It’s fine,” I say, my hand still on her waist. “Sit.”
She does, sliding into the seat beside me, her knee brushing mine under the table like she’s doing it on purpose, and each time she shifts, I feel heat coil low in my stomach.
Irina watches all of it with a frozen smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“How was your night?” she asks, voice tight.
Kira doesn’t even blink. “Perfect.”
I bite back a sound that’s dangerously close to a laugh or a groan, because she’s lying and the way she says it makes it sound like last night was something she’d die to repeat.
Irina’s jaw clenches. “I see.”
Mikhail leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes flicking between us with open amusement. “You two look cozy.”
Kira nudges my leg with hers again, subtle but deliberate. “Do we?”
I meet her eyes. There’s something wild in them, something new she’s trying to get a hold of and failing, and I feel the pull, the tightness, the need to drag her somewhere private and finish the kiss she started.
“Yes,” I say, my voice low enough only she hears. “We do.”
Her breath stutters.
Irina pushes her chair back. “I think I’ll leave you to your… breakfast.” The last word is bitter.
Neither of us tells her to stay.
Kira watches her walk away, then exhales slowly, like she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath the whole time. Her shoulders drop, and her hand drifts down to her lap. For a moment, she looks almost confused with herself.
I turn my head toward her. “What was that?”
She doesn’t look at me. “What?”
“You know what.”
She swallows. “I don’t like the way she talks to you.”
Mikhail lets out a bark of laughter. “Possessive. I like you.”
Kira shoots him a glare as color rises to her cheeks. “Shut up.”
He grins harder. “You shut up.”
I ignore him, my attention fixed on her because this is the first time her reactions are this real and raw, and I love that she doesn’t know how to hide them yet.
“Kira,” I say quietly.
She finally looks at me, her eyes wide and a bit panicked, like she just realized what she did.
“I just… didn’t like it,” she mutters, looking down at the table, fingers twisting together nervously. “I didn’t think. It just happened.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “I noticed.”
Her cheeks redden, the flush rising fast, and she looks away for the first time since she walked in. She pushes her chair back a little too quickly, palms flat on the table like she needs something to hold on to.
“I’m… I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” she mutters, already standing, trying to sound casual but her voice isn’t steady enough to sell it.
I watch the way her fingers tremble as she smooths her dress, the way she keeps her eyes anywhere but on me, and it hits me again how much that kiss got to her. How much she’s trying to hide it.
Kira
I leave the dining room fast enough that I know it looks suspicious, but staying there another second with Artyom staring at me like that, like he knows exactly what that kiss did to me, feels like a terrible idea.
I can still feel his fingers on my waist, the pressure of them, that low rumble in his voice that hit somewhere deep in my stomach, and my whole body is wired and shaky in a way I can’t pretend is anything except wanting him.
The bathroom is empty. I shut the door behind me and lean against it for a second, trying to breathe like a normal human being.
My hands are shaking. I didn’t mean to kiss him like that, not like I had any claim on him, but the moment I saw Irina leaning toward him, her hand practically touching his chair, her voice soft and sweet, something snapped, and suddenly I felt possessive in a way I hadn’t before.
And now I’m here, staring at myself in the mirror, almost not recognizing the girl looking back. I splash cold water on my face, press my palms against the sink, lower my head. My heart is still beating way too fast. My lips still feel swollen.
I’m trying to pull myself together when the door opens and Irina walks in, her menacing eyes already on me through the mirror. She closes the door behind her, careful, graceful, like everything she does is meant to be seen.
“Kira,” she says, her voice even, something between warm and sharp.
I straighten, wiping my hands on a paper towel. “Irina.”