Chapter 6
Kolya
She stalks toward me, all five-foot-nothing of righteous fury on absurd five-inch heels. Her long brown ponytail swings with each step, which draws my attention to the slim curve of her neck and the delicate line of her rising shoulders. She’s pissed.
Good.
Anger is honest. Easier to manipulate than fear. I can work with this.
I lean back in my chair, relaxed and ready. When she reaches the table, I address her with a neutral voice. “Date leave early?”
Her eyes narrow with indignation. “Why are you here?”
My gaze travels over her with deliberate assessment, from the flushed skin of her cheeks down to the blue fabric that hugs her waist. Not leering. Appraising. Like she’s a painting I’m considering purchasing.
I understand the difference. I’m certain she does too.
Her pupils blow wide, and her pulse flutters at her throat. She flicks her tongue over her lip in a subtle, unconscious gesture that tightens my groin.
Yes. She understands exactly what this is.
I incline my head. “You look good.” More than good. I’d like to wrap that ponytail around my fist and yank while I slam into her from behind.
“What did you do?” Her rising volume attracts glances from nearby tables. “To Greg.”
Having dealt with far more dangerous outbursts than a kindergarten teacher’s outrage, I’ve perfected my skill for ignoring questions. With an unhurried movement, I reach for the bottle of cabernet and pour wine into the second glass I requested. The crimson liquid catches the low light.
“You can’t just stare people into leaving!” Her hands clench at her sides, her knuckles white with tension.
I can when they’re as weak-willed as the clown who believed he deserved to take a woman like you on a date.
I shrug, allowing a flicker of amusement to pierce through my otherwise stoic expression. “I was having a drink. Is that illegal?” My faux innocence is intended to push her buttons.
People get sloppy when they’re emotional. They reveal things.
I slide the extra wine glass toward her in silent invitation and watch the conflict play across her face, the temptation clear as daylight. And her thirst isn’t just for wine.
She recognizes but also fears her attraction.
Smart girl.
“Sit with me.” I soften the command so it can pass as a request. “Sorry if I ruined a great date.”
She hesitates, worrying at her lower lip. I imagine ensnaring that lip between my own teeth and biting down just hard enough to draw blood.
I shove aside the unbidden urge.
Finally, she obeys. “It wasn’t that great.”
I raise my eyebrows in the very picture of surprise. “Oh?”
A genuine smile breaks through her anger. She realizes I’m playing her and goes along with it anyway. “He likes lawnmowers. And fantasy football. And himself.”
“Shortsighted of him.” A corner of my mouth tips up. “I like you.”
Her body trembles, subtly but unmistakably. Her spine straightens a fraction, her shoulders pulling back like a flower angling toward the sun.
Stunning.
I file away the discovery that this woman responds well to praise for future misuse.
Her sip of wine leaves a faint impression of pink lip gloss on the rim. “So, is this what you do? Chase away men and swoop in?”
“First time.” The lie rolls off my tongue without any effort at all. “You looked bored.”
Her shoulders slump. “I was. So bored.”
The truth tastes better than the wine. I drink slowly, studying her over the rim of my glass. She’s softer here, away from her classroom of bright posters and tedious chairs. Less a focused ray of sunshine and more a warm glow. Her guard is lower, too, though not completely down.
Smart again. She’s right not to trust me.
Earlier today, I’d planned to break into her house, scour for the diamonds, and vanish before she returned home. Unfortunately, the neighborhood proved unexpectedly active. Small kids playing in the street, parents chatting on porches, an old man mowing his lawn with meticulous precision.
Too many eyes. Too many potential witnesses.
I switched to Plan B, which involved tucking a small, undetectable tracking device beneath the rear bumper of her aging Volvo. After leaving the school, she swung by her house to change and drove to Amalfi’s Italian Diner. Not a place for a woman dining alone.
A date was the only real possibility, and the realization shot an unexpected jolt of possessiveness through me.
Problematic yet undeniable.
So, once more, I adapted.
I rescued her from the imbecile, and now I intend to soak in her warmth as I loosen her up.
With each sip of wine, the tension in her shoulders eases. I’ve got to give Greg some credit for that. She was using the alcohol as a coping mechanism when I entered the restaurant.
“This wine is excellent.”
“Better than whatever you were drinking before?”
She laughs. “Anything would be. I think he ordered the cheapest bottle on the menu.”
“Criminal.” The disrespect rankles. Even I know better than to skimp on a first date, and I don’t date. If you’re going to do a thing, do it properly.
“So.” She sets down her glass. “You scared away my date. Now what? What’s your endgame here, Kolya?”
Her directness startles me. Most people don’t confront me so openly.
I find that I like it. “Maybe I just wanted your company.”
She snorts. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough.” I lean forward and lower my voice. “I know you care too much about your students. I know you have terrible taste in men. I know you blush when I look at you too long.”
On cue, pink blooms across her cheeks.
Anticipated, but no less pretty for the predictability.
She sips more wine, using the glass to hide her reaction. “What is it you do? For a living, I mean.”
I’m silent for a beat as I weigh my options. “Private security.”
Barely a lie. I do supply security.
For other criminals.
She studies me carefully, eyes narrowing slightly as she processes this information. I wouldn’t have expected this type of examination from her. Beneath all that child-friendly cheerfulness, she’s sharper than she initially appears.
“Right.” She slowly nods. “That explains everything.”
I cock my head. “Everything?” What does she think she knows?
“The way you move. How your eyes are always scanning. How you handled those guys at the farmers market.” She gestures vaguely. “You’re very…efficient.”
Not necessarily a compliment, but I’ll consider it one. “Thank you.”
She rests her chin in her palm and scrutinizes me with renewed interest. “I was starting to think you were a PI or something.” Her tone shifts to humor. “Like, are you following me?”
“Nope.” I keep my expression neutral. “New in town. Just got a job.”
Her face crumples in confusion, brows drawing together. “Oh. I thought you were Manny’s dad?”
I ponder my options. Tell the truth and admit I lied about having a child in her class, or double down on the deception.
There’s no real choice. I never had any intention of being honest with her. But I can start a new lie to further muddle my cover story.
“No.” I tinge my tone with mild surprise. “I’m his uncle.”
Her face twists. “But at the school the other night, you said—”
“I was there for Manny. His parents couldn’t go, so they asked if I could. I recently moved here after my divorce.” Gaslighting is best performed with the utmost confidence. “Family helps family.”
She gawks at me, clearly trying to reconcile this new information with her memories. I never explicitly claimed to be Manny’s father, but I never denied it either. Well, I may’ve said the word daddy…
Uncertainty clouds her eyes.
Good. She should doubt her perceptions and question her recollection. Accepting everything at face value makes you vulnerable.
“But you… At the farmers market, you said—”
“That I have him on weekends.” The lies compound, a house of cards constructed with the steady hands of someone who’s done this a thousand times before. “I do, sometimes. His parents both travel for work.”
Pursing her lips, she taps her nails against the stem of her wine glass. I’m rewriting her reality, and she suspects as much without quite grasping how.
Her disorientation fits my intentions perfectly.
“I just thought… Never mind. That’s nice of you to help your brother.”
“Sister.” I offer a simple correction just to throw another wrench in her attempts to make sense of things. “Roman is my sister’s kid.”
Before she can process that claim, the server approaches Chloe’s abandoned table, frowning between the cash and the bill left by her fleeing date.
She waves him over. “Sorry about that. He had to leave suddenly. I’ll cover the rest.”
He nods, placing the bill on the table. “No problem. Would you like your food to go?”
Chloe pulls her bag onto her lap. “Yes, please.”
This whole situation ignites hot fury in my chest.
Her date left her with the bill. Pathetic.
I pass my card to the server before Chloe can even open her wallet. “Add her tab to mine and close it out.”
Chloe purses her lips. “You don’t—” Her bag tips into her lap, and the contents spill onto the floor between us. “Oh, I’m so clumsy.”
“My fault.” With a rehearsed laugh, I bend down to assist. “Let me get that.”
We both crouch, gathering lipstick, keys, a small packet of tissues… My fingers brush hers.
She inhales sharply and tugs her hand away. While she’s distracted by my touch, I palm her phone with my other hand, slipping the device into my jacket pocket in one smooth motion.
As we straighten, her cheeks flush again. Whether from the wine, our proximity, or embarrassment, I can’t tell. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I offer her the purse, minus one smartphone.
Despite her earlier doubt, she’s entirely too trusting.
The server returns with my card, the receipt, and Chloe’s meal.
I sign quickly, adding a hefty tip, partly to impress Chloe, partly because it’s good practice to be remembered favorably by service staff.
They see everything, recall faces, and overhear conversations.
Better to be the generous tipper than the rude customer when descriptions start circulating.
Grabbing the doggie bag, I stand and offer my hand. “Ready?”
She hesitates before placing her small, soft palm in mine. A teacher’s hand, with traces of marker still visible along the side of her index finger. I wonder how those fingers would feel trailing down my stomach, slipping beneath my waistband until they close around my—
I lift her to her feet with a little more force than necessary, bringing her close enough that I can smell her delicate vanilla perfume.
“I should get home.” She doesn’t move. “It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
After the warmth of the restaurant, the night air outside feels cool against my skin.
At the sight of Chloe hugging herself, I fight the urge to offer my jacket.
Too revealing. The holster would stand out and distract her. I need her off-kilter, not wary.
Besides, the gesture would imply concern.
I cannot care.
Instead, I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the parking lot. She doesn’t shy away from the contact.
When we reach her Volvo, she spins around to face me, keys clutched in her hand like a talisman. “Thank you. For the wine.”
“Thank you for the company.” I glide closer, invading her space.
She backs up farther than necessary, until she’s pressed against her car door. Her eyes never leave mine. I spot traces of fear, as well as something else. Hunger.
I lean in even more, bracing one hand against the door and effectively caging her between my body and the metal.
Her breath quickens, pupils dilating in the dim light of the parking lot. Heat radiates from her skin.
She wants this.
Me.
Heady, intoxicating power thrums through me. I could take her mouth right this second. Claim her. My eyes drop to her waiting lips.
She wouldn’t resist.
But that’s not the game.
I stop, my mouth an inch from hers. Close enough for her shallow breaths to tickle my skin. Close enough that she only needs to drift forward, just slightly, to bridge the gap.
She doesn’t.
I retreat and open her door before giving her the leftovers. “Get home safe, Chloe.”
Pivoting, I stroll away, leaving her breathless and frustrated.
Control maintained. Game still in play.
After a few moments, her door closes, and the engine sputters to life. The sound of her tires on asphalt fades as she drives away. Only then do I allow myself to reach into my pocket and close my fingers around her phone.
Phase one complete.
Time for phase two.