Chapter 66 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
Tristan
If she’s not there already, Eva’s on her way.
I was still staring at Tristan’s message when another text came through.
Dmitri
Your little ptichka asked for a favor. Don’t fuck this up, Sasha.
The coffee grinder whirred to life in my kitchen.
Christ.
The familiar scent of coffee beans filled the air. Steam hissed through the machine, just like she used to make in my office, when she knelt beside my desk, when she—
My feet carried me to the kitchen before I could stop myself.
Eva stood at the counter, her fingers tracing the rim of the demitasse as she waited—the same subconscious gesture she’d made dozens of times before that never failed to make my cock hard.
She didn’t look up as she drew the perfect shot of espresso and added a dollop of foamed milk. “Your coffee is ready, Sir.”
A maelstrom of emotions spiraled in my chest—respect, pride, longing, and a thousand others I couldn’t name.
“Eva—”
“Eight o’clock.” She finally met my gaze, her eyes dark with promise. “Center ice.”
She moved past me, close enough that I could feel her heat, smell her orange and vanilla sweetness, but she didn’t touch me. And she certainly didn’t give me permission to touch her.
The front door clicked shut behind her.
On my counter, steam rose from a perfectly made macchiato.
Fuck.