Chapter 6
Chapter Six
What the hell had she been thinking? She hadn’t thought.
Her body had just reacted. One second, she was falling into the sexy heat of Aleksei’s dusk-colored eyes, reveling in the fact that in a crowded, noisy bar, the intensity of his gaze made her feel like they were the only two people in the room.
Warm, calloused fingers stroked her neck, and her thighs had weakened in anticipation.
Then those tantalizing fingers slid up into her wig, and fear had overwhelmed her.
Fear that his fingers would recognize the slightly raised border at the edge of the wig.
Fear that he’d grip too tightly, and her wig would shift.
Fear that the unspeakable would happen—that he’d accidentally pull the wig right off her head.
Her stomach lurched at the thought, but she wasn’t sure which would have been more catastrophic: the fact that a bar full of people would have seen her ghost-white scalp or that she would have been left standing bare in front of Aleksei.
He had convinced her to flee the theater instead of sitting there watching a terrible play that would have made her miserable.
He’d laughed with her, held the umbrella while they walked in the rain, took her to a place that was special to him, bought her a beer, and was getting ready to kiss her.
And what had she done? She’d lashed out like a caged animal.
He’d been sweet, funny, and charming, and she’d kneed him in the goddamn balls.
No wonder he had nothing to say to her.
They stopped in front of the fifth house in the block-long row of attached, red brick homes.
A few concrete steps led up to an arched doorway framing a Columbia-blue door.
They’d walked the fifteen or so blocks in silence.
Right after they left the bar, she tried to apologize for the third time, but Aleksei had interrupted her, saying he needed a few minutes. The few minutes had turned into twenty.
Tense silence added to the weight of the misty air.
She liked Aleksei. She barely knew him, but she felt drawn to him.
Was it like a bee to honey? Or like a moth to a flame?
She’d never know if they didn’t get past tonight.
She’d spent way too much time caged by illness.
She was stronger than fear. Strong enough to live a life instead of just surviving it.
Strong enough to admit to him why she’d reacted the way she did.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
She met his gaze, expecting anger, but his eyes held something else. Sorrow? Regret? Embarrassment? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, which confused her. Her cancer had made her an expert at reading masked emotions.
It had started with her family. They always put on a cheerful face and seemed joyfully agreeable to whatever she wanted. It took a while for her to realize they were acting—acting because they thought she was dying.
With time, she’d learned to see past the feigned cheer.
To notice tense shoulders, a smile that was a touch too wide, a laugh that was a few seconds too long, and the vast range of emotions that could be conveyed with only the eyes.
After that, she’d been able to read the doctors and nurses, giving her a few precious seconds to compose herself before a seemingly expressionless face gave devastating news.
Aleksei’s gray eyes deepened, and his pupils grew.
Shame. He was feeling shame.
Just like she was.
But that made no sense. She was the one who’d acted like a cornered cat. All he had done was try to kiss her.
“Let me go first.” His voice was deep and slightly rough, again with that hint of an Eastern European accent. If they made it to a third date, she was going to ask him about his heritage.
A car swooshed by, splashing water on their feet, but neither of them glanced toward the street.
Their eyes were locked. He held the umbrella over their heads, but it was too small to cover them both fully, causing raindrops to pelt her back.
He lifted his free hand as if to touch her arm and then changed his mind and slid his palm across his close-cropped, blond hair.
“I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you without your permission.
I’m sorry.” His lips quirked. “Of course, I would have preferred a good old-fashioned slap in the face, but since you didn’t want me to kiss you, you had every right to react how you wanted.
” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Even if I’m still feeling the effects.”
Confusion washed over her. He hadn’t seemed sorry. He’d seemed royally pissed.
“But you were so angry. You told me you didn’t want to talk to me.”
He barked out a wry laugh. “No. I told you I couldn’t talk to you. I could barely stand or breathe, let alone talk. And yes, I was angry. But not at you. Just angry in general because I was in pain.”
“You mean the kind of mad you feel when you stub your toe on the dresser on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night?”
He smirked. “Yeah. Like that. But about fifty times worse.”
“Ouch,” she said.
“Ouch,” he repeated.
She glanced toward the door. “Is this your place? Should we go in before we’re both completely soaked?”
Sage would have her head if she knew Rosemary was suggesting hanging out in the apartment of a man she barely knew.
But she was in DC with Ryker and his brother, and Rosemary was over playing things safely.
It was their second date. She had friends who swiped right and met up with total strangers.
She could damn well go into Aleksei’s apartment.
Besides, Sage was probably tracking her every step on Life360.
Sliding a strong lean arm around her waist, he pulled her against his side.
Despite the chilly rain, his body was warm and hard against her hip and thigh.
Heat curled through her abdomen, and she shivered.
It had been far too long since she’d been with a man, and this man was temptation incarnate.
Maybe he’d try to kiss her again once they were upstairs. This time, she’d be ready.
He pressed the umbrella into her hand, pulling her back to the present. “Let’s get inside. You’re shivering. Hold this while I unlock the door.”
He punched numbers into a keycode, guided her through the entryway, then took the umbrella and shook it dry, his long fingers quick and competent. He gripped her hand with chilly, wet fingers and led her up three flights of stairs to the doorway of the apartment.
“You’re not even winded,” he commented.
“Backpacking. I do a lot of backpacking and hiking,” Rosemary said. “Those stairs are nothing compared to the hills at Valley Forge.”
“I’m a big hiker too.”
Of course he was. Because why wouldn’t he be more perfect?
He used another keycode to unlock the apartment door. His movements were met with excited barking and scratching at the door. That was one of the wonderful things about dogs. They were always happy to see you.
He wrestled Jaka back from the door so she could shimmy in behind him. Jaka jumped at her legs.
“Down, girl. Down.” Aleksei’s voice was firm, but his hands were full of love as he stroked Jaka’s fur with one hand while holding her collar with the other.
She dropped down in front of Jaka, the wood floor hard under her knees. The dog lunged forward, gracing her with a wet, rough-tongued lick up her cheek. She wiped the drool from her face, laughing.
She rubbed Jaka’s soft fur as the dog quivered with excitement. “You’re a good girl. You just want to say hi, don’t you?”
Aleksei grabbed a blue leash from a set of hooks by the door. “I’m going to run her out quickly and then settle her in her crate. She and I went for a long jog today, so it’s bedtime for her anyway. Hang up your coat, grab a beer from the fridge, and have a seat. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
The front door shut with a hard thud, and she was left in eerie silence. It felt odd to be alone in someone else’s apartment.
She shrugged out of her jacket and hung it up, grateful to have the damp material away from her body.
The jacket wasn’t quite as waterproof as she’d thought.
She opened the refrigerator. It was sparkling clean with none of the chocolate syrup spills or grape stems she always seemed to be wiping up in hers.
Its limited contents consisted of beer, water bottles, a Brita, and eggs, with everything lined up neatly.
She’d wait for him to hand out the beers.
She shut the door and ran her hand along the round white kitchen table as she walked the few steps from the kitchen to the living area.
Oversized chocolate-brown leather chairs sat at soft angles at either side of a matching couch, forming a U around a rustic-looking wood and metal coffee table.
IKEA-esque side tables stood on either side of the couch, and a tan braided carpet covered the weathered, large-plank hardwood floor.
The opposite wall featured a fireplace, flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
A television was perched atop a steamer trunk, angled in the corner of the room.
Moss-green walls, earth-toned pillows, and Philadelphia themed artwork brought color and interest to the space.
The overall effect was cozy and welcoming.
The bookcases held a small globe, a decorative tile from the Moravian tileworks, a framed copy of the Declaration of Independence, a replica Liberty Bell, and a few other innocuous knick-knacks, most of which continued the Philly theme.
The books were a mix of tourist guides, local histories, and popular fiction—the kind they had in the B&B her mom took her to in Cape May the few times she’d been well enough to go to the beach.