Chapter 6 #2
The front door banged open. Her head snapped up at the sound, her eyes meeting Aleksei’s inquisitive gaze. She dropped her hand from the book she’d been about to pluck from the shelf. She hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but for some reason, she felt like she’d been caught snooping.
“Did you find the beer?” he asked as he hung up his coat and returned Jaka’s leash to its hook.
“I figured I’d wait for you.”
He smiled broadly, transforming the hard angles of his face into something softer and warmer. He lifted his hand, his middle and pointer fingers raised.
“Give me two minutes to get Jaka in her crate.”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
Anticipation was making her jittery, and her scalp was starting to sweat.
She should sit. If she sat, she might feel more relaxed.
She’d definitely look more relaxed than she did fidgeting with the stuff on his shelves.
She eased onto the leather couch and thrust her nails under the edges of her wig for a quick scratch.
If she scratched now, hopefully her head wouldn’t itch for a while.
The sound of footsteps, the refrigerator door, and the pop of cans opening heralded Aleksei’s arrival.
He strode into the room, two tall silver-and-brown cans in hands, his long lean legs eating up the space between them.
He was so striking, she almost forgot to breathe.
His face was sharp angles and ocean-storm eyes.
His movements hinted at the hard muscles she felt each time their bodies touched.
Her thighs tingled. Her core clenched. This was the time to say something coy and flirty. Something funny and suggestive.
Instead, she blurted out the thought dancing on the edges of her mind. “You don’t actually live here, do you?”
He paused, gray eyes wide, beer partially raised. Then he smiled widely and pushed the icy can into her hand. “I do live here. Just not often.”
His answer was so quick. Had she imagined the hesitation?
“I changed jobs a couple of years ago and work in DC now. I have an apartment down there and rent this place out on VRBO. I’m off for a couple of weeks and decided to spend the time in Philly since I haven’t been back in a while.”
She took a sip of the crisp, citrusy, slightly bitter liquid and then set it on a pewter coaster with stars and the year 1776 circling the edges. “I’m going to use the restroom. It’s just back there, right?”
He lifted his beer toward the hall at the far end of the kitchen. “Up those two stairs. It’s the first door on the right.”
As soon as she got inside the bathroom, she collapsed against the door, snippets of her various conversations with Aleksei whirling in her mind.
She’d been sure he lived in Philly, but had he ever actually said that?
Why hadn’t he told her he lived in DC? He’d said he was a consultant, but she didn’t know where he worked or what he consulted on. Did she really know anything about him?
Her heart was beating too fast. Her breathing was erratic.
And she was being ridiculous.
She kicked her flats off, the tile cold on her bare feet. She envisioned roots extending from her toes and heels down through the floors, through the concrete foundation, and into the earth. Calm flowed through her. Her heart rate and breathing settled. Logic returned.
She was being paranoid.
They’d had two dates. He’d directed a lot of the conversation toward her, which was polite and showed he was interested in her.
He was smart, witty, and handsome. No. Not just handsome.
His face could launch ships...but her ship wasn’t going to even get out of the harbor if she didn’t stop freaking out over nonsense.
Her illnesses had kept her isolated so frequently that her meter for normal social interaction was skewed.
She was panicking over nothing. If she wanted to know more about Aleksei, she needed to get her ass back out there and ask.
And if she wanted him to be honest about himself, she was going to have to be honest about herself, too.
* * *
Aleksei pulled some junk mail from the basket next to the fireplace, crumpled it, then used a poker to push it under the logs, ramping up the flames.
He added kindling and paper until he was satisfied with the burn.
As he rose from his crouched position, Rosemary returned to the living room.
He’d dimmed the lights, and the white strands that punctuated her blonde hair flashed in the firelight.
She grabbed her beer and settled on the couch, angling her back to the armrest and curling her legs up under her.
She pulled the green knit throw his mom had given him off the back of the couch and smoothed it over her lap.
As he watched Rosemary’s pale hands, with their short, unadorned nails, arrange the blanket, the image of her sister’s long, red nails flashed through his mind.
He preferred Rosemary’s simple, subtle sexuality.
Maybe it was the outdoorsman in him. Long nails weren’t practical when fishing and camping.
She took a healthy swig of her IPA, closed her eyes, and released a satisfied “mmm.” The beer left her full pink lips wet and shiny.
There was nothing simple or subtle about her lips.
Her mouth was the stuff teenage boys dreamed about.
Obviously, grown men did too since he’d been thinking about that mouth on him since the first time he laid eyes on her.