Chapter 9 Vera
VERA
Iwake to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and an arm heavy across my waist. The events of last night flood back—dinner, wine, Misha's hands on my skin, the way he made me feel alive. My cheeks burn at the memory.
Misha sleeps beside me, his dark hair mussed from my fingers, his face relaxed in a way I haven't seen before.
The tattoos on his chest rise and fall with each breath.
He looks younger lying next to me, but I'm not foolish enough to believe we could ever really be something.
He's not my father's age, but closer to that than to something that would resemble an appropriate age for me.
I should leave, slip out quietly, find my dress, call a cab. Batya will wonder where I spent the night, though he's never questioned my independence before. The responsible thing would be to go home, shower, pretend this was a beautiful mistake that can't happen again.
But I don't want to leave. I want to memorize the way the morning light plays across his skin, the way his arm feels possessive even in sleep.
His eyes open, those ice-blue depths focusing on me immediately. "Good morning," he says gruffly, his grip tightening.
"Good morning." My voice comes out a little rough and I clear my throat. "I should probably—"
"Stay for breakfast." He pulls me closer, his lips finding the sensitive spot below my ear. "I make excellent coffee."
"I need to get to work. The horses—"
"Can wait another hour." His hand traces down my spine, and I shiver despite the warmth of the room. "Besides, you work too hard. When was the last time someone took care of you?"
The observation is a keen one. I can't remember the last time anyone worried about my needs instead of the other way around. My mother was the same way, though she firmly believed women take care of the men in their lives. And yet, there is this soul craving I have to be nurtured and cared for.
"I really should go," I say, but my resolve weakens when he kisses my shoulder.
"Then let me drive you. I was heading that direction anyway."
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed in yesterday's clothes, feeling conspicuous and rumpled.
Misha appears in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt that makes his eyes look even more intense.
He hands me a travel mug of coffee that tastes better than anything I could make at home, and I wonder if there's a chance he could stop by my place so I can grab something more suitable for work.
"Thank you," I say, inhaling the rich aroma.
"You don't have to thank me for coffee, Vera.
" His kiss, pressed to my forehead, is warm and intense, and I find myself enjoying it more than I know is acceptable.
This man is high-class, and I'm a stable hand.
I don't belong in his world in any way, besides the fact that I'm probably twenty years younger than him.
The drive to the stables passes too quickly, though Misha does stop for me to grab some different clothes.
Batya is still sleeping, and I return to his car where his hand rests on my thigh, his thumb moving in lazy circles that make concentration impossible.
Every touch sends heat spiraling through me, reminding me of last night.
"I have meetings all day," he says as we approach the track, "but tonight—"
"Tonight, I really should go home. Batya will worry if I'm out two nights in a row."
His thumb stops moving. "Will he? Or are you having second thoughts?"
I look at his profile, noting the tension in his jaw. "I'm not having second thoughts. Last night was…" I search for words that don't sound inadequate. "Last night was perfect."
"But?"
"But I don't want to rush into anything. This is all new for me."
He pulls into the staff parking area and turns to face me.
The darkness I glimpsed occasionally the night before is back in his eyes, more pronounced now.
He's feeling possessive over me, and I like it.
He was gentle and incredible when we were together.
It's something I will cherish my entire life.
"You were incredible," he says, his voice low. "I can't stop thinking about the way you responded to my touch, the sounds you made. I want you again, Vera. Tonight."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Misha—"
"I know you want it too. I can see it in your eyes right now."
He's right. Even sitting here in broad daylight, I want him. The memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he made me feel cherished and desired—it's intoxicating.
"I'll think about it," I whisper.
"Think fast. I'm not a patient man."
He leans over and kisses me, deeply and possessively, until I'm breathless and clinging to his shirt. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with promise.
"Go to work," he says. "But remember what you're missing."
I stumble out of the car on unsteady legs, my entire body humming with want. He drives away without looking back, leaving me standing in the parking lot trying to remember how to breathe normally.
The morning passes in a blur of routine tasks. I muck stalls, fill water buckets, help exercise three of the younger horses. The physical work usually clears my head, but today, I can't stop thinking about Misha and the way he whispered my name in the darkness.
I'm grooming Storm's End when footsteps approach behind me. I know who it is before I turn around—the click of expensive heels on concrete is unmistakable.
"Good morning, Vera." Sonya Radich looks as polished as always, her blonde hair pulled back in a perfect chignon, her red lipstick bright against her pale skin.
"Sonya." I continue brushing the horse's coat, hoping she doesn't notice my hands shaking.
"You look tired today. Late night?"
The casual tone doesn't fool me. Sonya notices everything, files it away for later use. "I went to bed at a normal time."
"Hmm." She moves closer, her perfume heavy and cloying. "I have some deliveries for you today. Three envelopes, different windows. The usual arrangement."
She pulls the envelopes from her designer purse, each one thick and sealed. I take them reluctantly, noting the weight. She's given me cash instead of account numbers, which is odd, but I've stopped trying to question her.
"These are heavy," I observe.
"Big race day coming up. My friends are feeling optimistic." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "You remember the rules, yes? Straight to the windows I specify, no deviations, no questions."
"Of course."
"Good girl." She starts to walk away, then pauses. "Oh, and Vera? I hope you're not getting distracted by… personal matters. It would be unfortunate if your reliability suffered."
My blood turns cold. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you're a smart girl who understands that loyalty is rewarded, but betrayal…" She shrugs delicately. "Well. You have a brother to think about, don't you?"
She won't come out and threaten me directly, but the point is made. I grip the envelopes tighter, feeling the paper crinkle under my fingers.
"I understand."
"Excellent. Same time tomorrow for the results."
She walks away, her heels clicking against the concrete. I watch her stop near the jockey quarters, where she strikes up a conversation with Tommy Kozlov, one of the newer riders. Their heads bend together in quiet conversation, and something about their body language makes my stomach twist.
Back in Storm's End's stall, I lean against the wall and try to steady my breathing.
Sonya knows. Maybe not the details, but she suspects I'm becoming involved in something that could interfere with her plans.
The mention of Elvin wasn't casual. It was a reminder that she holds my brother's life in her hands.
But Misha offered to help. He said he could handle the situation, make it so I didn't have to run errands for dangerous people anymore. The memory of his voice, confident and sure, gives me hope. Especially the part where he said he knows someone who could help with the expensive medical bills. I don’t know what he meant, but after last night, I know he meant it.
The problem is, I don't know what world Misha really lives in.
He owns horses, lives in a beautiful house, drives an expensive car.
But there were moments last night when I glimpsed something harder underneath the charm.
The way he talked about survival, about protecting people who matter to him.
The darkness in his eyes when he touched me.
What if getting involved with him puts him in danger? What if Sonya decides he's a threat to her operation?
I think about the way he made me feel last night—safe, desired, important. For the first time in years, someone wanted to take care of me instead of the other way around. But is it selfish to risk his safety for my own happiness?
The envelopes feel heavy in my pocket as I finish grooming Storm's End. Three more errands for Sonya, three more steps deeper into whatever game she's playing. But maybe, if I'm careful, I can find a way out.
Maybe Misha really can help.
I just have to decide whether I'm brave enough to let him try.