Chapter 13 - Nikolai
I don’t remember the last time I laughed like that.
Not the controlled, polite kind when I need to disarm someone, and not the short, dry amusement I give my brothers during meetings or the occasional smirk after someone says something stupid.
It’s a real laugh, and the kind that feels like something has loosened inside me because of it.
It catches me off guard almost as much as it catches her.
Dani is staring at me from across the kitchen island, one brow slightly raised, cookie still held between her fingers like she isn’t entirely sure what she just unleashed, or if she even recognizes the man in front of her anymore.
And Christ, she looks different tonight.
She’s obviously still grieving, and still exhausted beneath the surface, but alive in a way she hasn’t been since I dragged her out of that hospital. There’s a new kind of light in her eyes now that I never thought I’d get to see.
There’s flour dusted faintly across the sleeve of her shirt, there’s a smear near her wrist, and her hair is slightly messy from whatever she was doing before I walked in.
Even more so, she looks domestic in a soft way that I’ve never let myself have before, and the realization feels more like a punch to the chest.
“You done?” she asks dryly once my laughter finally fades, pretending to be unamused, but I catch the glimmer in her eyes anyway.
“You called me a hardened Bratva man like I’m eighty years old.”
“I didn’t say old.”
A small smile tugs at her mouth before she can stop it, and that little shift in her expression makes something in me tighten unexpectedly.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this. None of this should feel good after everything…
after the lies, the fear, and the fact that she’s in this house because of me.
Yet, she’s standing here in the kitchen with warm light spilling across the counters and the smell of vanilla in the air, and it feels more peaceful than anything I’ve experienced in months. Maybe even years.
My gaze drops briefly to the cookie still in her hand. “Are you going to give me that or keep waving it around like a weapon?”
“That depends,” she says lightly. “Can you be trusted with it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“At least you’re honest.”
I snort quietly and step closer, taking the cookie from her fingers before she can even think about taking it back.
Her eyes track the movement automatically, and the air shifts slightly like she’s holding her breath.
Taking a bite, mostly to give myself something else to focus on, I let the flavors register. It’s good…really good. Maybe I should’ve expected that.
“Well?” she asks after a second, clearly trying to look unaffected, but I can tell this means more to her than she wants to let on.
I chew slowly on purpose, not giving her an answer, and her eyes narrow instantly.
“You’re annoying,” she mutters.
“And you’re impatient.” I let the silence stretch another second before nodding once in approval. “It’s good.”
She exhales dramatically. “Thank God.”
Apparently, my approval means more to her than she cares to admit, and something about that warms even the deepest parts of me.
Glancing down at the counter briefly, then back at her, I notice a dusting of white on her cheek. “You missed something.”
Her brows knit together. “What?”
Without answering, I reach forward and brush my thumb lightly across her skin, barely moving along the apple of her cheek. A faint streak of flour transfers over to me.
She freezes, and so do I.
Without warning, the playful atmosphere morphs into something quieter, forcing us both to focus on the touch and how I did it without thinking.
Her breath catches softly, and I realize two things at once. One, I shouldn’t have touched her. Two, I don’t want to stop for anything.
“You had flour on your face,” I murmur in an attempt to save face, but my voice sounds rougher than it was a second ago.
“Oh,” she says as her eyes stay fixed on mine while she looks me over.
That’s all she says, but there’s heat rising into her cheeks now as soft pink spreads across her skin, and suddenly I’m intensely aware of how close we’re standing.
We’re far too close, yet not close enough, and I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.
I should step back, but instead, I hear myself say, “Still missed some.”
Her brows lift slightly, and she murmurs like she’s testing me, “Where?”
Moving before I think too hard about it, my fingers close lightly around her wrist, and I tug her a half-step closer. It’s just enough that the warmth of her body brushes mine.
She inhales sharply.
My thumb slowly brushes along the edge of her jaw this time. “There.”
There’s no flour there, and we both know it, yet she doesn’t call me out on it.
Her pulse flutters beneath my fingertips, fast and frantic, and mine isn’t much better.
The kitchen suddenly feels too small and warm, and I can smell vanilla on her skin beneath the faint scent of soap. Admittedly, it’s doing very bad things to my self-control.
I should let go…But I don’t.
Her lips part slightly as she looks up at me, and Christ, that’s worse.
Every instinct I have starts pulling in opposite directions at once. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t even entertain the thought of finding her this attractive, but she’s looking at me like she feels it too. And maybe that’s what finally breaks something in me.
I’ve spent days keeping my distance while wanting to drag her closer every single time she looked at me.
I’ve spent days listening to her cry behind closed doors and feeling fucking helpless about it.
Spent days fighting the urge to touch her, comfort her, and do anything that might ease some of her pain.
Now she’s standing here warm and alive beneath my hands, teasing me in my kitchen like we’re something normal instead of whatever this mess is.
It’s too much, and I can’t get enough.
“Nikolai,” she says softly.
My name. The sound of something so simple coming from her mouth nearly undoes me.
Sliding my hand from her wrist to her waist before I can stop myself, I pull her fully against me, catching as her breath hitches harder this time.
The tension snaps taut between us instantly, and every inch of her body goes still for one lingering second. I realize this is the moment where she decides to either push me away, tell me to get the hell off her, or remind me this is a terrible idea.
Instead, her fingers curl lightly into the front of my shirt, and my control doesn’t stand a chance.
I swallow harder than I mean to. “You should stop looking at me like that.”
Her lashes flutter slightly while she looks up at me, her voice soft. “Like what?”
“Like you’re curious.”
A faint, nervous smile touches her mouth, and it almost startles me. “Maybe I am.”
Staring at her for a second too long, I try very hard to hold onto whatever restraint I have left despite feeling like I’m standing on the precipice of something far bigger than I know what to do with.
Still, it’s not enough.
The next thing I know, I’m leaning in and kissing her.
There’s no smooth lead-up or careful consideration. One moment, I’m staring at her mouth, and the next, my hand is at the back of her neck with my lips on hers.
Christ.
She makes the softest sound against my mouth, caught between surprised and breathless, and for one terrible half-second, I think I read it all wrong.
Then she kisses me back, and that’s it. Any remaining control I have evaporates completely.
Not even trying to pretend I’m composed in this, I pull her closer automatically, and my other hand tightens at her waist as her fingers clutch harder at my shirt. The kiss deepens fast, letting go of all the tension that’s been building between us.
She tastes like sugar and chocolate, and it’s so addictive that I can’t bear to stop. The kiss is half-starved from the start, like both of us have been fighting this harder than we realized.
I angle my head, kissing her deeper and slower this time, and she melts into me enough that a rough sound nearly leaves my throat, but I barely keep it in.
Fuck.
This is bad, but I can’t make myself care when she’s kissing me like this, and when her body fits against mine so perfectly it feels intentional.
Her hand slides upward slightly, fingertips brushing the side of my neck, and the contact sends heat straight down my spine. I kiss her harder before I can stop myself, and need sinks into the moment too quickly.
My grip tightens instinctively at her waist, and she gasps softly against my mouth.
That sound nearly ruins me, and I break the kiss just enough to catch my breath and to force myself to think for one damn minute.
Her lips are still parted, breathing unevenly as it mingles with mine, and her eyes widen in a way that hits me harder than I can recover from. She looks as affected as I feel.
“Nikolai,” she whispers again.
God.
My thumb brushes lightly across her hip, grounding myself as much as I can.
I crossed a line, and I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not even a little. But reality starts creeping back in anyway, ugly and unavoidable.
She’s vulnerable, grieving, and trapped in my house. I don’t want Dani to assume I’d take advantage of her in any way.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I say roughly, so close still that we might as well be kissing again.
The words feel wrong the second they leave my mouth since they’re not true. I absolutely should not have done that, but I wanted to, and I did.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say immediately before she can misconstrue it.
“Then what did you mean?”
I look at her for a long moment as too many answers rise at once.
I can’t think clearly around her anymore; touching her felt better than it should have, and I’m already too attached to someone I was supposed to protect from a distance. All of them are true, but none of them feels right to say in this moment.
“You make things complicated.”
A soft exhale leaves her, but she still doesn’t pull away. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”
Somehow, despite the chaos waiting outside this kitchen and the disaster we’re probably walking straight into, none of it seems like enough to pull me away from her.
So I lean in and capture her lips again, far too weak to resist her.