8. Mira
MIRA
I wake to the sound of hammering and the scent of sawdust carried on the morning breeze.
Through my bedroom window, I can see Renat already working in the yard, hauling lumber from a pile near the ruined feed shed.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I remember what we did, and I wonder why this man who was sent here to control my life suddenly cares so much about something as simple as a feed shed.
I watch him for a while before forcing myself to turn away.
The memory of last night crashes over me as I dress and pull on my boots. The taste of rain and lust still lingers on my lips. The rough way his demanding hands felt on my skin. The sound he made when I kissed him back. Heat crawls up my neck, and I curse under my breath.
One mistake. That's all it was.
I slip out the back door before Batya wakes, needing the cold air to clear my head.
Rusalka waits in the paddock, ears pricked forward as I approach with her halter.
She's eager this morning, stepping into the leather without fuss.
It might be a day early for working her too hard, but I think both of us need the exercise.
"Good girl," I murmur, running my hand down her neck. "Let's work."
I push us both harder than usual. We run the length of the property twice, her hooves pounding rhythm into the soft earth.
She's not hitching at all, not even a limp.
When we reach the back pasture, I let her stretch into a full gallop, wind whipping my braid loose from its tie.
The speed clears my mind, forces everything else into the background except the horse beneath me and the ground rushing past.
By the time we return to the barn, sweat darkens her coat and my thighs ache from gripping the saddle.
I cool her down slowly, walking circles in the yard while she catches her breath.
Renat has moved closer to the house now, measuring boards against the damaged shed frame.
He's stripped off his shirt, skin gleaming with perspiration despite the cool morning air.
I try not to look, try to focus on the mare's breathing, the way she tosses her head when a fly buzzes too close to her ears.
But my eyes keep drifting back to the way muscle moves beneath his skin, the dark ink that covers his arms and shoulders.
When he bends to pick up another board, the tattoos across his back shift and flow.
He straightens and turns, catching me watching. Our eyes meet across the yard, and neither of us looks away. He doesn't smile or smirk or give any indication that he's thinking about last night. He just watches me back, green eyes steadily focused on me in an expression that makes my pulse quicken.
Heat floods my cheeks, and I turn Rusalka toward the barn.
" Batya ," I call as I lead her inside. "I need you to check the paddock rail. Third post from the gate is loose." I noticed it while riding and held onto it in my mind as a useful way of keeping my thoughts from straying to the ghost sensations of Renat's mouth on my core and how it felt.
My father emerges from the tack room, wiping grease from his hands with an old rag. "I'll get to it after I finish the bridle repair."
"Maybe you should do it now. Before someone gets hurt."
He gives me a questioning look but nods. "You all right? You seem…"
"I'm fine. Just worried about the rail," I snip, but I feel guilty.
Renat's gotten under my skin and into my head.
This isn't me. It's not like me to be foul tempered or short with my father.
I sigh and walk away, leading Rusalka to her stall for some water, but I carry shame over my reaction with me.
I spend the next hour finding tasks to keep myself busy.
Mucking stalls that were cleaned yesterday.
Organizing feed buckets that didn't need organizing.
Checking hooves that were fine this morning and are still fine now.
Every few minutes, the sound of hammering drifts through the barn, reminding me that Renat is still out there. Still shirtless.
By noon, the sun has climbed high enough to turn the barn stuffy. Batya has moved on to patching holes in the fence line, muttering about the cost of wire and whether we can make it through another winter.
I need liniment for the mare's legs. The bottle sits on a shelf near the wash station at the far end of the barn. I've been putting off the trip for an hour, but her tendons need attention after the hard workout this morning.
I walk quickly, head down, focused on reaching the shelf and getting back to safer territory. But as I round the corner, I nearly collide with a wall of muscle and warm skin.
Renat stands at the wash station, water streaming down his face and chest from the ladle he's just poured over his head.
His shirt hangs from a nail on the support beam, and droplets cling to the dark ink that covers his chest. Water traces the lines of his tattoos, following the curve of muscle down to the waistband of his jeans.
I freeze. Can't move forward, can't step back. Can't do anything but stare at the way water beads on his shoulders and drips from the ends of his hair.
He turns at the sound of my footsteps, and our eyes lock. Neither of us moves. The barn suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker. I can hear my own breathing, can feel my pulse hammering against my ribs.
"I…" I start then stop, clear my throat, and try again. "Liniment."
He steps aside without a word, giving me access to the shelf. But the space is narrow, and when I reach for the bottle, my arm brushes against his. His skin is warm and damp, and the contact sends electricity racing up my spine.
I grab the bottle and turn to go, but his voice stops me. "Mira."
I don't turn around, can't trust myself to look at him again. "What?"
"We should talk."
"No. We shouldn't."
I take a step toward the door, but he moves to block my path. He's not threatening, just… there. Solid and immovable and too close.
"About yesterday."
I force myself to meet his eyes, to keep my voice steady when every instinct screams at me to run.
"What happened was a mistake," I say. "You're good-looking, and I'm only human. But it won't happen again."
His expression doesn't change, but I see his jaw tighten. "Is that what you think it was? A mistake?"
"I know that's what it was."
"And if I said I disagree?"
My heart stutters, but I shake my head. "Doesn't change anything. You're here to destroy everything I care about. I can't forget that."
"I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to be honest."
"I am being honest."
"No. You're being scared."
His accusation hits closer to home than I want to admit. I am scared. Terrified of the way he makes me feel, of how easily he breaks through every defense I've built. But admitting that gives him power I can't afford to lose.
"I need to get back to work," I say.
I start to walk past him, but he catches my wrist. His thumb traces across my pulse point, and I know he can feel how fast my heart is racing.
"Mira."
"Let me go, please…"
He does, immediately. Drops his hand and steps back, giving me room to leave. But he doesn't stop watching me, doesn't let me escape the weight of his attention.
"This isn't over," he says quietly.
I don't answer, can't trust my voice not to betray everything I'm trying to hide. Instead, I walk away, forcing myself to move at a normal pace when every muscle in my body wants to run.
But he's right, and we both know it. I can feel his eyes on me until I'm out of sight, can feel the pull between us even through walls and distance. The taste of him still lingers on my lips, and the memory of his hands on my skin makes my knees weak.
I lean against the mare's stall door and close my eyes, trying to get my breathing under control. She nickers softly and bumps my shoulder with her nose, and I stroke her neck without thinking.
"You're right, girl," I whisper. "I'm in trouble."
The sound of hammering starts up again outside, and I know Renat has gone back to work. Gone back to rebuilding the shed that the storm destroyed, the same way he's rebuilding every assumption I had about him. Every reason I had to hate him.
I'm lying to myself if I think last night was just a mistake. Lying if I think it won't happen again. The desire is still there, burning beneath my skin every time I see him, every time he looks at me with those steady green eyes and sees through every wall I try to build.
But deep down, I already know the truth. I'm fighting a battle I've already lost against a man who sees through every lie I tell—including the ones I tell myself.
The mare nudges my hand, looking for treats I don't have. I scratch behind her ears instead, focusing on her warmth and the familiar comfort of her presence. She doesn't ask questions or demand answers I don't have. She just exists as a steady, uncomplicated part of my world.
Unlike everything else in my life right now.
The hammering stops, and I hear Renat's voice carrying across the yard as he talks to Batya about lumber and nails. He sounds normal, unaffected by what happened between us in the barn. But I know better now. I've seen beneath the surface, felt the heat that burns under all that control.
And God help me, I want to feel it again.