18. Chapter Eighteen #3
“You don’t. You’re so good with him. So patient. I…” He huffs a slow breath. “It’s hard.”
“Take it one minute at a time. If it becomes too much, redirection always works for me. And if everything fails, just shout ‘Jessica.’”
“What?” His soft chuckle trails over my skin, sending butterflies to my stomach.
“It was a viral trend… Never mind,” I titter.
He raises an eyebrow. “Why are you on the floor?”
“The rug called my name,” I muse, raking my hands through it. “Whoever made this is a genius. I never want to leave. I could spend my life here. That’s it, change my mailing address and set up a delivery service because I’m never moving.”
Sergei walks over to the small, wheeled wet bar and pours two glasses of gin before joining me on the rug, handing me a drink.
“Anton will be sorry to hear he lost to a rug.” He grins.
“I knew it!” I smack his shoulder. “You listened to the conversation through the baby monitor, didn’t you? Hasn’t your mother told you it’s impolite to eavesdrop?”
He pulls the monitor from his sweatpants. “Knowledge is power, no matter how it’s acquired.” After watching the screen for a few moments, he slips it back into his pocket.
Would he say the same thing if he knew about my work with Daniel? Afraid I already know the answer, I take a sip of my drink. Its pine scent blends perfectly with the earthy aroma of rain hanging in the air.
“I was going to say no to him,” I admit.
He leans against the couch, his expression suddenly serious. “Is that so?”
Wait. Does he… care? A warm flutter spreads through my chest. Could this be the reason why he’s upset? Is he… jealous? No. That would be silly. I glance over my shoulder at his hand draped over the couch’s cushion. I consider leaning against it but hesitate.
“Yes. And it shouldn’t matter to you,” I reply.
He shakes his head. “You two dating would complicate things.”
“I’m not interested in him like that.”
“Why is that?” he asks, a flicker of curiosity and something more in his eyes.
I pause, unsure if I’m reading too much into it. “Because I already have a man in my life,” I say.
Surprise flashes across his face, and his tone turns noticeably colder as he asks, “And who might that be?”
“Well…” I rise slowly. “He has brown hair, golden-brown eyes, and he loves it when I cuddle him to sleep.” I walk toward the stereo, glancing back at Sergei.
“And he’s obsessed with dinosaurs. Sure, I have to help wipe his butt sometimes, but it’s a cute one.
” My smile widens as I watch relief wash over him.
“He also needs me to feed him at times, and he has a clear fascination with my breasts.” I laugh, recalling how Misha often slips his hand down the front of my shirt, as if it’s a safety pouch he needs. “That kid always has his hand down my shirt.”
Sergei’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Misha has been doing that to all women since he was a baby.”
“Clearly a boob man,” I joke.
“Like father, like son,” he mumbles.
I snap my attention to him, sensing that he didn’t mean for those words to slip out, or for me to hear them.
“This is neat,” I change the subject, pointing at the stereo system as I gently trace my fingers along it. “I haven’t seen one of those in forever.”
“I’m not a fan of the digital ones or those that record your every word.” His voice sounds closer, but I’m afraid to turn around to check.
“Why? Do you have something to hide?” I blurt out.
I sense him moving nearer, his presence palpable against me. “So many things,” he murmurs, sending shivers down my spine.
I turn swiftly to meet his gaze and find his already locked onto my mouth.
Biting my bottom lip, I force myself to stop wondering if one of those things could be his involvement in his wife’s death.
For a reason I don’t want to admit, I’m determined not to pull away.
I swallow hard and ask, “Why does it matter to you if I go out with Anton?”
He lifts his hands to my elbows, stroking my forearms, leaving my breath caught in my lungs. “I think Pavel would be angry with me if I hurt his brother.”
Using his index finger, he lifts my chin. I recognize the thoughts swirling in his mind mirrored in my own. Dangerous.
I point to the glass patio door. “You have a pool?” I ask, quickly changing the subject again.
“Yes, though I can’t remember the last time it was used.” He takes a slight step back, prompting me to move forward to maintain the distance between us.
As the effects of the alcohol begin to set in, a mischievous grin spreads across my face. “Well, that’s simply unfortunate and completely unacceptable.”
I discard my sweater, letting it fall to the floor. Sergei’s eyes widen in surprise for a moment, but they swiftly darken as he settles his gaze on my black bra.
“It’s raining outside,” he says.
“Just a sprinkle now,” I reply.
“And it’s cold.”
“I thought Ukrainians enjoyed the cold.”
“Not me.”
“Is that why they kicked you out?” I tease, slipping off my shoes and sliding open the patio door. The rain has eased, leaving a crispness in the air.
“You’re going to get sick,” Sergei warns.
“Old wives’ tales,” I dismiss with a wave as I step outside. “You can’t get sick from being wet in the cold. Come on!” With a playful smirk, I start to peel off my jeans. “Live a little!”
Even though I’m turned away, I can sense Sergei struggling to resist, especially as I discard another layer. “Suit yourself.” I shrug, raising an eyebrow before turning and diving gracefully into the pool.
I brace for the expected chill, but the water surprises me with its warmth. When I come up for air, Sergei is no longer at the pool’s edge. For a moment, I worry he might have gone inside and left me, but then I spot a large figure swimming toward me.
“Miss Sinclair—” he gasps, wiping the water from his face.
“Seriously? I’m in my underwear, and you still use my last name?” I shake my head as pool water trickles down my face and shoulders.
“Aurora.” He rolls the r’s in a way that makes me find new appreciation for my name. It sounds delicious coming from him, and I want to lean in and capture the sound with my lips.
“Sergei.” I beam at him, savoring my small victory.
He grins, and I’m taken aback by the effect it has on me. It’s a rare sight, one I’m lucky to witness, especially because it’s directed at me, because of me, for me.
“You have a charming smile,” I say, feeling his arms near my waist, hovering as we move in the water.
He dips beneath the surface for a moment, emerging with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Is this how you’ve won over my son?” he asks.
Deciding to be bold, I place my hands on his shoulders. “Yep, with my mischievous behavior and a ton of compliments.”