Chapter Three #3
No kidding. Most people didn’t make me feel like I was simultaneously in danger and the safest I've ever been.
The kitchen was warm, steam rising from the hot water, and I was acutely aware of the heat radiating from Nicolai's body just inches from mine.
We continued our careful choreography—me washing, him drying, both of us avoiding direct contact while seeming to gravitate closer with each passing item.
"So," I ventured, desperate to break the loaded silence, "bear shifter. That's got to be interesting at airport security."
His lip quirked. "I have private transportation."
"Of course you do. Let me guess—a jet with 'Crime Airways' painted on the side?"
"Just a discreet logo," he replied with mock seriousness. "Bears don't like to advertise."
I snorted, surprised by his humor. "Good to know."
I handed him the pot, our fingers brushing. This time, I didn't pull away quite as quickly. His eyes caught mine, holding my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Something wild flickered in their depths—something that made my heart stutter in my chest.
Warning bells clanged in my head. This attraction made no sense.
Stockholm syndrome wasn't supposed to set in this quickly.
And yet, here I was, noticing the curve of his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip, the way his shirt stretched across his chest when he reached to place a dried bowl in the cabinet.
Mishka, you disaster. Stop ogling the supernatural crime boss.
"How long have you been running from O'Rourke?" Nicolai asked suddenly, breaking into my inappropriate thoughts.
I blinked, refocusing. "About three months. Ever since his people identified what I could do."
"And before that?"
"Normal life, or as normal as it gets when you can manipulate electronics with your mind." I shrugged, passing him another utensil. "I was a cyber-security consultant. Ironic, right?"
"Using your abilities professionally?"
"Sometimes," I admitted. "Though most clients didn't know that was how I found their vulnerabilities so quickly."
He nodded, as if filing away this information. "And family?"
"None that would notice I'm missing." I kept my tone deliberately light. "My mother died a few years ago. Father was never in the picture. No siblings."
Something changed in Nicolai's posture—a subtle shift that brought him fractionally closer. "You're alone."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "I'm used to it."
"Perhaps you shouldn't have to be."
The words hung between us, loaded with meaning I wasn't ready to examine.
I reached for the last spoon at the same moment Nicolai moved to take a clean glass from the drying rack, and suddenly we were colliding—his solid chest against my shoulder, his arm brushing mine, our bodies connecting in a half-dozen places at once.
Time seemed to stop.
I froze, the spoon slipping from my fingers to clatter in the sink. Every point of contact between us burned, electric in a way that had nothing to do with my abilities. I looked up, finding his face inches from mine, those dark eyes intense and hungry.
Oh.
His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, and I realized he was taking in my scent the way his bear would. Something primal and possessive flashed across his features, there and gone in an instant, but not before sending a shock of heat straight through me.
"Nicolai," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His pupils dilated at the sound of his name on my lips. One large hand moved to steady me, resting lightly on my hip, burning through the fabric of my borrowed clothes.
Neither of us moved—caught in a moment of perfect tension, like a rubber band stretched to its limit.
I could feel his heartbeat, strong and fast, where our bodies connected. Or maybe it was mine. Maybe they'd synchronized, falling into the same rapid rhythm. His breath mingled with mine in the narrow space between us, warm and flavored with the soup we'd shared.
The rational part of my brain screamed to pull away, to reestablish distance and safety. But another part—a part I didn't recognize—wanted to lean in, to close that final inch of separation and discover if his lips tasted as good as they looked.
What was happening to me?
Nicolai's hand tightened slightly on my hip, his breathing uneven. I sensed the internal struggle within him—his human side maintaining rigid control while his bear nature roared to claim what it had already decided was his.
"We should..." he began, his voice rougher than I'd heard it yet.
"Yeah," I agreed, though neither of us moved.
His other hand came up slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away. When I didn't, his fingertips brushed my cheek with surprising gentleness, as if I were something precious that might break.
Ridiculous. I'm not fragile. I've survived three months on the run from one of the most dangerous men in the city. Yet under Nicolai's touch, I felt strangely vulnerable—not with fear, but with want.
"This is..." I tried to find words, failed, and settled for, "complicated."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Very."
"I barely know you." My protest sounded weak even to my own ears.
"True." His thumb traced the line of my jaw, leaving fire in its wake. "And yet..."
And yet… Those two words contained multitudes—acknowledged the inexplicable pull between us, the attraction that defied logic or sense.
The electronic systems around us hummed with my heightened emotions, lights flickering almost imperceptibly. Nicolai noticed—of course he did—his eyes briefly leaving mine to track the subtle changes before returning with increased intensity.
Something shifted in his gaze then—hunger giving way to something more complex, more dangerous. Tenderness. Protection. Desire. All wrapped up in a look that made my knees weak.
This man, this predator who had declared me under his protection only hours ago, was looking at me like I was something precious he'd found unexpectedly.
And the most terrifying part wasn't that I was attracted to a supernatural crime boss—it was that I wanted him to keep looking at me exactly that way.