Chapter 10 #2
I climb out of the Volvo on unsteady legs.
His dark eyes stay fixed on me as I approach. No wave. No smile. Just that undeviating focus. In this bustling suburban setting, his unnatural stillness creates a black hole around which minivans and soccer moms unknowingly orbit.
“Hi!” Too perky. Way too perky. “This is a coincidence.”
Bree was right. He’s definitely stalking me. There’s an intense, menacing air about him.
I usually avoid men like him at all costs.
“No, it’s not.” He lifts an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side in a predatory way that tingles my nerves. “You asked me to come. But you didn’t say when, so I’ve been waiting. Maybe it was a different kind of coming you were asking for?”
The memory slaps me. A hazy, alcohol-fueled ramble about glitter glue and Hobby Hut. My face warms as embarrassment floods through me.
I invited him. I practically asked him on a date. And here I am thinking he’s some sort of creep. What’s wrong with me?
“Oh, right. I did, didn’t I? And yes, I did mean for you to join me here, to shop. With me. Not the…other thing.”
“You did.” A corner of his mouth lifts slightly, a micro expression that cascades a wave of heat through my belly. “To carry heavy items again, I believe you said.”
“Right. Yes. Heavy items.” Smooth. I fidget with the strap of my bag. “You changed my tire.” The statement hangs between us, loaded with unasked questions.
He nods, an economical gesture that barely shifts the air.
“Why?” I need to understand something—anything—about this man who keeps appearing in my life in unexpected ways.
He shrugs one broad shoulder. “Changing tires can be hard if you lack experience.”
I search his face for hidden meaning, for the catch, for whatever he’s not saying. “That’s it? The whole reason? Nothing else.”
He nods again, face impassive.
How does he stay so quiet all the time? “Were you raised on a film set for Westerns?” The question slips out before I can stop myself, a nervous joke to fill the silence.
And then—miracle of miracles—he laughs. His eyes widen, as if my reaction surprises him too. “Silent films, actually.”
For just a second, his eyes twinkle with amusement.
The knot in my gut eases.
This is normal. We’re just two people on a sort-of date, talking. Maybe I’ve been overthinking everything.
I grab a cart, my hands clumsy and clammy under his scrutiny. A wheel snags on the metal corral, and the whole thing twists sideways, threatening to tip.
Kolya’s unwavering hand covers mine on the handle. The other settles on the cart, stopping its momentum with effortless control.
“I’ve got it.” He takes the cart from me.
Inside, the store buzzes with the usual weekend chaos. Harried moms with craft lists, retirees browsing yarn aisles, teenagers clustered around the model section.
Kolya pushes the cart with unnerving grace, his presence creating a silent, intense bubble. He doesn’t belong here, all dark and jagged in a store of bright colors and softness. Like a butcher knife in a drawer of spoons.
Yet every time I reach for a shelf, he’s beside me.
His knuckles graze mine as he plucks a bag of googly eyes from my grasp and places it in the cart. His palm settles briefly at the small of my back to guide me past a traffic jam of strollers, the heat of his skin burning through my thin blouse.
I bend to grab a pack of glitter glue off a bottom shelf, and Kolya steadies my back when someone jostles past. His possessive gesture triggers an electric thrill within me. How can he exude danger while also being so chivalrous?
My brain scrambles for an explanation.
He’s just protective. Probably ex-military. He did say he works in private security. That’s why he’s so tense, so precise. He moves like a bodyguard because that’s what he is.
But my body has its own interpretation of his touches, his closeness.
I’m hyperaware of the subtle shifts in his breathing when we’re close. The way his eyes linger on my butt when I bend over.
It’s embarrassing how wet I’m getting in aisle five of Hobby Hut on a Saturday afternoon.
Almost as wet as last night, when he took me up against my own kitchen counter.
Which is the elephant in the room.
The thing we’re not talking about.
I try to concentrate on my shopping list. Red felt. Yellow felt. Orange felt. Cotton balls. Scissors with rounded tips. The mundane items ground me, providing a distraction from the man looming beside me, his presence a gravity that’s constantly pulling me off balance.
As I reach up to a high shelf, I finally gather my courage. “About last night.” Our fingers brush when he snags the pipe cleaners for me. Blushing, I avert my gaze. “That was…” I can’t possibly say “the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me,” so I pivot. “Is that…how you usually…?”
Kolya doesn’t answer.
The silence stretches. With my heart pounding in my throat, I glance over my shoulder.
His dark, impossibly deep eyes are fixed on me. “Only when I want something I shouldn’t. Otherwise, I prefer to take my time. See how far I can go.”
How far?
I nearly drop the pipe cleaners as my mind races with passages from my secret romance novels. All the things I’ve read about but never experienced.
All the things this man might do to me…with me…for me.
Insistent, demanding heat pulses between my legs.
“Oh.”
The intensity of his scorching stare weakens my knees. I wonder, vaguely, if being hypnotized feels like this. This inability to glance away, to break the connection even as warning bells clang in the back of one’s mind.
Before I can formulate the words to ask how far he wants to go, his focus shifts.
The playful moment vanishes, replaced by coiled anticipation.
The suddenness of the switch ices my skin.
I follow his gaze.
Two big men in dark clothes watch us from down the aisle. No shopping baskets, no lists clutched in their hands. They’re clearly not here for craft supplies. And they appear even more out of place than the two jerks in hoodies at the farmers market in seventy-five-degree weather.
One leans over to mutter to the other, their eyes never straying from us.
My lungs freeze. We should look the other way and not draw attention to ourselves.
Cling to the illusion of safety in normalcy.
I tug on Kolya’s jacket sleeve and force a feigned brightness into my voice. “Kolya?”