Chapter 25
EVA
“Coach—” I whispered, my eyes wide. “Alek—” And then, a word straight from my heart. “Sir.”
“Eva—” His voice cracked, and I couldn’t bear to watch him hurt alone.
I took a shuddering breath and then stood. “Move,” I whispered, and he pushed his chair out, intending to stand, but I dropped into his lap instead.
I threw my arms around his neck, my cheek brushing the side of his head as I held him close. My entire body shook. “That’s not what I meant to happen,” I whispered. “You shouldn’t have to—”
“Eva,” Alek rumbled as he pressed a hand to my back. “Enough.”
Hurt ratcheted through me, sharp and hot and unexpected, and I scrambled off his lap.
God, I’d been so fucking naive. I’d put on a pretty dress and red lipstick like some kind of amateur femme fatale, thinking I could manipulate a man, thinking I could seduce him into helping me.
His grip tightened, holding me in place.
“Let me hold you,” he rasped. He stroked his hand up and down my spine, soothing. “You dressed up for me tonight, came to ask for my help. Let me hold you, malyshka.”
“This is a terrible idea,” I whispered.
“Maybe.”
“I can’t trust you.”
“I know.” His arms tightened around me. “I shouldn’t want to hold you,” he murmured. “I don’t deserve to.”
“No,” I agreed. “You don’t.”
But he didn’t let go, and I didn’t pull away.
His arms were solid around me, his chest warm beneath my cheek, and my body—my traitorous fucking body—relaxed into him, as if the anger and hurt and shame could be erased by the simple act of being held.
I hated myself for it, hated that even now, even after everything, I still felt safe in the arms of this man who’d used me, abused me, and then walked away when I needed him most.
He rubbed a strand of my hair between his fingers, looking down at me with his forehead creased.
“If you want to help me take down Jed Carter, it’s going to cost you.”
The warmth in my chest evaporated instantly. Of course there was a price. There always was with these fucking men.
I shoved off his lap hard enough that he had to release me or risk hurting me. My chair scraped against the floor as I sat back down, putting the table between us like it could protect me.
“I was waiting for the catch.” I said, my voice sharp and brittle.
“Eva—”
“What’s your price, Alek? What will I owe you for your help?”
His jaw tightened. “For my help? Fucking nothing. For letting you put yourself in danger even though it’s going to kill me to let you do it? I want your fucking honesty. I want partnership. And, fuck me, I want your trust.”
I stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, my heart pounding out of my chest. “Honesty? That’s it?”
“And for you to let me protect you.”
I laughed, bitter and sharp. “What part of ‘Jed Carter threatened my life and my father’s’ did you not understand? I’m already in danger. I’ve been in danger. Where the fuck were you when I needed protecting?”
His jaw clenched. “Eva—”
“No. You don’t get to ask me for promises. You don’t get to demand I stay safe when you’re half the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.” My voice was rising, but I couldn’t stop it.
“You’re right.”
The simple agreement derailed my building rage. I stared at him.
“You’re right,” he repeated quietly. “I bear a great deal of the blame. But I need—” His voice roughened. “I need to know you’re as safe as you can be. Even if you hate me. Even if you never forgive me.”
The raw desperation in his voice made my anger falter.
Fuck.
Before I could answer, before I could figure out what the fuck I was supposed to say to that, Babushka returned with steaming bowls of soup.
“Borscht,” she announced, setting the bowls down with a knowing look that made me wonder exactly how much she’d overheard. “Traditional Russian dish. Good for the soul.”
The smell hit me—beetroot and beef and earth. My stomach growled, despite everything.
Alek picked up his spoon. “Eat, Eva.”
It wasn’t a command, not quite, but it was still spoken in that voice that made my body want to obey before my brain could catch up.
I shouldn’t let him order me around, shouldn’t slip back into obedience, into submission, like the last few weeks hadn’t happened.
My hand reached for the spoon anyway, my fingers closing around it before I could stop myself. I brought it to my lips. It was rich and savory and exactly what my exhausted body needed.
“Good girl.”
The words were so quiet, I almost missed them.
Heat flooded my face, shame and arousal tangling together until I couldn’t separate them. My body responded instantly, nipples hardening, thighs clenching together, that familiar ache building low in my belly.
No no no no no.
I set down the spoon carefully, my hand shaking. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His voice was still gentle, patient even, like he had all the time in the world to wait for me to stop fighting.
“Don’t do that. Don’t—” I gestured helplessly between us. “This isn’t—”
“Isn’t it?” He leaned back in his chair, legs spreading under the table until his knee pressed against mine. “You obeyed me, baby girl. Without thinking. Without choosing. Your body knows what it wants even if your mind hasn’t caught up yet.”
“Fuck you.”
“Eventually.” His lips curved into a small smile. “But first, you’re going to finish your soup.”
I should throw it in his face. Should walk out. Should do literally anything except sit here letting him command me like he hadn’t betrayed me far worse than I’d ever betrayed him.
I finished the soup in silence. Alek watched me intently the entire time, like he wanted to catch every thought crossing my face, every flutter of shame and arousal and confusion I was desperately trying to hide.
When I set down the empty bowl, he smiled, small, satisfied, and absolutely infuriating.
“Better?” he asked.
I wanted to lie, wanted to tell him the soup was mediocre and his presence was intolerable and nothing about this was “better.” Too bad the tight anxiety in my chest had loosened just enough that I could breathe without it hurting.
“Yes,” I admitted quietly, hating myself a little more.
“Good.” He poured me a glass of water and slid it across the table. “Drink, malyshka.”
My hand wrapped around the glass, and I lifted it to my lips before I registered the command. I froze mid-sip, the water cold on my tongue.
“We haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Haven’t we?” Alek’s voice was low and dark. “Your body’s already made its choice, baby girl. The rest of you just needs to figure it out.”
Babushka appeared with more dishes—beef stroganoff, sausages over rice, more plates I didn’t recognize but that smelled exactly like comfort food.
My stomach growled audibly, despite the soup I’d just finished.
The older woman smiled at me then said something sharp in Russian to Alek. He answered softly, his tone wry.
Babushka’s expression softened. She patted my cheek gently before bustling away, but not before giving Alek a look that clearly said, Don’t fuck this up.
“What did she say?” I asked.
“That I should feed you properly.” He reached for my plate. “That I’m a fool.”
“She’s not wrong.”
His lips twitched. “No. She’s not.” He held out his hand for my plate, and after a moment’s hesitation, I gave it to him. He piled it with portions of everything, explaining each dish as he went.
“Beef stroganoff—you probably know this one. Mati—dumplings my aunt taught me to make when I was six. Shashlik—grilled meat.”
“Your aunt taught you?” I interrupted. “Back in Russia?”
He nodded, sliding the full plate back to me. “My parents were Kazakh, but I grew up in St. Petersburg, raised by my mother’s sister.”
I picked up my fork, watching him carefully, afraid if I interrupted, he’d stop talking.
“My parents didn’t survive the fall of the Soviet Union,” he said quietly. “I don’t remember them much—just impressions.”
I thought of my own mother, who’d walked away when I was six. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It was a long time ago.” His rough voice belied the hidden emotion. “Irina—my aunt, Dmitri’s mother—took me in. Her husband was part of a criminal organization. They raised me like I was theirs, until Dmitri and I immigrated to the States with the bratva.”
“You grew up in it,” I said slowly.
“Until hockey gave me a way out. Tell me why you dressed up for me.”
Color flooded my cheeks. “I thought you’d be more amenable to helping me if I…” I closed my eyes with shame, unable to make myself finish the sentence.
“Choose your next words carefully, baby girl.” He kept his voice soft, but we both heard the warning. “I won’t tolerate any more lies between us.”
The silence stretched.
“I need—” Fuck. “I need more, Alek. I can’t do this if—” If you don’t give me something I can hold on to.
“Be honest with yourself, Eva,” he rasped. “You never once imagined that seducing me would stop with a pretty dress and silk stockings. And you didn’t want it to.”
“Stop,” I whispered. Give me something, I pleaded silently. Anything. Please.
He set his utensils down and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his eyes.
“Fuck, Eva, I’m so fucking sorry. If I could go back—” He stopped and swallowed, then met my eyes.
“I wouldn’t take it back. A better man would say he’d never have done the things he did, but I can’t make myself regret a moment you spent on your knees in front of me. ”
My chin trembled, and my heart thumped hard. My hand flew to my chest, and Alek’s expression turned worried.
“I missed—” I’d started talking to cut off any questions about my heart, but I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“What did you miss?” He leaned toward me, his size crowding me.
My breath caught. “Sir—”
“What did you miss, Eva?”
I could lie, could say I didn’t miss anything, could put the walls back up and pretend the past weeks had erased every moment I’d spent on my knees beside his desk.
“I missed the quiet.”
The words came out barely above a whisper, but from the way his pupils dilated, I knew he’d heard them.
“The quiet,” he repeated slowly.