Chapter 2
EVA
Ilimp into the office, and Mr. Giant, as I’ve taken to calling him in my head, definitely not to his face, lifts me onto the desk as though I weigh nothing. The movement is effortless and takes my breath away, my heart fluttering in a way I’m not sure it’s ever fluttered before.
I draw a deep breath to shake it off and slow my heart, then glance around the office.
Mr. Giant doesn’t turn on the lights. The only illumination is the blue glow of the computer and the row of security screens bolted to the wall. I can’t hear the music anymore, just a far-off bass rumble, but the screens show the crowd packed in again, dancing like the fight never happened.
Mr. Giant returns with an impressive train case full of first-aid supplies. It isn’t just a kit. It’s almost a full first-aid station.
“Are you a doctor?”
An amused quirk lifts one side of his full mouth as he pulls out a cotton pad pre-soaked in antiseptic and tears the package open. “No. Which is why I’m going to tell you to see a doctor. This might need stitches, and I’m not qualified.”
I wince at the sting of the antiseptic on the cut, but Mr. Beast’s touch is still oddly gentle for such large hands that knocked two guys out not ten minutes ago.
“It’s stopped bleeding,” he says, looking at my brow as he dabs. “A bruise is already forming, and it will be nasty.”
“Great.” That’s what I need. To explain away a bruise and gash to my father. Never mind the blood on my dress.
Will he even care?
Mr. Giant works in silence, and I use the moment to examine him at this distance.
Unfortunately, the room is even darker than the dance floor, and he somehow keeps at least one side of his face in shadow, like he knows his angles.
But I can still see his strong jaw, the waves of his hair, and the green of his eyes, which seem to glow in the dim light.
“Do you need a doctor’s note to explain your bruise?”
There it is again, that rumble that could be amusement or a lion’s warning purr.
I exhale. “No. I’m just annoyed. Frustrated.”
“Was that your boyfriend whose honor you were defending out there?”
Mr. Giant tosses the bloody pad into the wastebasket and reaches for an antiseptic healing cream. He dabs it on as if a stranger’s blood doesn’t faze him.
“No.” My lungs fill before all the air gushes out as a long, loud sigh. “It’s my idiot little brother. I was here to try to drag him out before he got into trouble. Turns out I was too late.”
“I assume this isn’t the first time he’s gotten into trouble?”
“You got that right.” The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them, and I clamp my lips shut.
What the hell am I doing, spilling my family’s story to a complete stranger?
My father would kill me if he knew. We keep to ourselves, keep our heads down, and mind our own business.
It was the one rule Dad enforced with unwavering conviction.
Maybe it’s the hit I took to my head.
“What exactly did my head hit?”
“The corner where one wall meets another, if I had to guess.”
Mr. Beast screws the cap back onto the cream and returns it to its exact spot before taking out a couple of bandages.
“Thanks for defending my brother and me. Those were some impressive fighting skills.”
He rips the paper off one of the bandages, balls the wrappers and the backing, then tosses the bundle into the trash.
“Do you always come to the aid of maidens in trouble? Or are you trying out for a bouncer job?”
Finally, a ghost of a smile touches Mr. Giant’s mouth, and the second bandage joins the first on my forehead.
“Those idiots have been in here before, stirring up trouble. My friend will be happy I found a reason to kick them out for good.”
I wince, and it has nothing to do with the pain in my head. “Is my brother one of those idiots?”
“I haven’t seen him in here before.” Mr. Giant drops the final ball of trash into the wastebasket, then moves to the other side of the room where a sink rests beside a well-stocked, backlit liquor cabinet. “But when you see your brother, please tell him he’s not welcome here anymore.”
“Oh, I will.” He’ll get that and a lot more from me.
Mr. Giant crosses the room, wiping his hands on a plush towel, and I freeze when his eyes lock on mine. Every inch of me feels that gaze, and I suddenly know what a gazelle feels like, pinned by a stalking lion.
Shivers of warning run up my spine, but shivers of a different kind race under my skin and drown them out.
My heart skips, skitters, then resumes with a rapid patter that makes it hard to draw a breath.
Or maybe it’s his green eyes, the way they make the butterflies in my stomach whirl up a storm, then drop lower until the feeling sinks between my legs.
“Let me see.”
The purr and rumble of his voice are intoxicating, and I don’t protest as he places his hands on either side of my face and looks deep into my eyes.
My breath is shallow, every nerve in my body aware of every inch of this man as he leans closer, his cologne swirling around me until I feel I could get high off the scent alone.
Abruptly, he pulls away and turns back to the liquor cabinet, and I wonder if someone cranked the thermostat in here to a potentially dangerous level.
“You don’t seem to have a concussion. Your eyes are fine.”
“That’s…” My mouth is as dry as the desert, and I swallow before finishing my sentence. “…that’s good.”
“But, as I said, I’m not a doctor. And since I’m not a doctor, I’m going to offer you a drink.”
He crosses the room with two glasses in his hands, both filled with amber liquid, and offers one to me. The sharply sweet smell of whiskey drifts up as I take it.
My first sip of whiskey goes down way smoother than it should, a mellow burn following the liquid down my throat. “You seem to know a lot about medicine for not being a doctor.”
The man shrugs and leans back against the desk beside me, so close our sleeves almost touch. He doesn’t give me an answer. Instead, he takes his own sip.
Two more sips, and my nerves from the fight finally settle. My nerves about the man beside me? They’re still flickering like fireflies, and I dare to look up at him.
The side of his face is finally out of the shadows, and I can see the high cheekbones, the jaw that looks chiseled out of stone, and the mouth that touches the edge of the glass.
I shift, suddenly uncomfortable. When was the last time I was this hot and bothered over anyone, much less a total stranger whose name I don’t even know? I’m not sure I can even remember a time.
Something scrawls across the back of my mind, a small warning of danger. Or at least the idiocy of coming on to someone I just met. It’s the kind of stuff I warn my siblings about. But the way my body is pulsing, the way the feeling coalesces between my thighs, drowns out the potential danger.
Whether he notices it or not, Mr. Giant angles his head toward me. Half of his face is still in shadow, but his eyes catch mine again.
And this time, I know he’s not looking to check for a concussion.
I’m drawn toward the man like a magnet to metal, unable to resist, and I can smell the subtle hint of whiskey threading through his cologne.
The door opens suddenly, hitting the wall behind it and breaking the spell. “Ilia said those Sokolinaya shitheads started a fight tonight.”
If Mr. Giant is, well, a giant, the guy standing in the doorway is a bear. Or a linebacker. Between his height and the width and breadth of his shoulders, he blocks out half the light from the bright fluorescent hallway behind him.
He eyes Mr. Giant and me before asking, “Am I interrupting something?”
“Impeccable timing as always, Dmitri.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end at the warning in his tone. But the bear only grins.
“I can come back if you want me to,” he says.
Mr. Giant doesn’t answer. He sets both my glass and his on the desk, then stands and offers his hand to me again. I slip down, eyeing the man who must be the club owner, who does, in fact, seem to know Mr. Giant well. Very well, if their banter is any indication.
“Coming back?” Dmitri asks as we pass him going out the door.
Mr. Giant says something rude to him in Russian, and I bite back a giggle because he undoubtedly thinks I can’t understand him. Dmitri’s hearty laughter follows us down the long hallway.
Outside, my ears ring from the noise of the club. The two bouncers nod to Mr. Giant, their gazes flicking to me before lifting away again.
A soupy fog has settled in the time I’ve been in the club, forming halos around the streetlights and the headlights of the cars pulled up to the curb. But the shadows are deep tonight, the sounds of the city muted.
“Where is your car?” Mr. Giant asks.
“I took a cab here.”
Because our family car was, yet again, in the shop. But I wasn’t going to add that part.
Mr. Giant stops, and suddenly, we’re close again, so close I have to crane my neck to look at him. His eyes search my face in a way that sends a shiver through me and heats my blood, the green so bright in the darkness.
“Would you like me to take you home?”
A question that holds a multitude of other questions, questions I would love nothing more than to answer with an enthusiastic “Yes!” Damn safety and propriety. My heart gives a loud thump, more than ready for what Mr. Giant is promising.
“I can’t,” I reply reluctantly. “My siblings live with me.”
My dad, too, but I’m not going to share that information, either.
“Ah.”
I’m not sure, but I think I hear disappointment in his tone and see it flash in his eyes.
Again, he stares at me, watching me in a way that sends goosebumps up and down my arms, and I’m taken back to the moment our eyes met as he crouched down to check on me.
The echo of that moment still thrums around me, and I wish I had the time and freedom to understand what it means and to know why this man made the world drop away for a heartbeat that stretched endlessly.
The world returns as Mr. Giant lifts his arm to call a cab, and he keeps my hand in his as my ride for the evening pulls up to the curb.
He opens the door but stops me before I can slip inside.
His lips part as though he wishes to say something.
Instead, he leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek that I still feel as he guides me inside the cab.
His last act is to hand the driver a bill. I can’t tell which one, but the way the guy’s eyes widen says it’s big.
“Take her wherever she wants,” my mystery man rumbles.
And with a final look, he closes the door so the cab can pull away.
With some effort, I don’t look back. There’s no point. Maybe if things were different in my life, I could have at least had one night with a seemingly rich, sophisticated man whose voice alone has left a throbbing between my legs.
But as my life is now?
It’s a good thing I’ll never see him again.