Chapter 17
LEO
Sergei had been inside my home during my absence, and he hadn’t bothered to hide it. If anything, it felt deliberate, like he wanted me to know.
In my rush to leave, I’d abandoned everything mid-thought—laundry sitting damp in the washing machine, the bed stripped bare, and the fridge a science experiment waiting to happen. Quite frankly, I’d walked out of my own life like it was a movie I could pause, then return to later.
I expected to find everything the same way I’d left it, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The fridge was clean. Not just cleared out, but organized.
Expired food gone, containers wiped down, shelves aligned the way I did it.
Ready-to-eat meals on the middle shelf, raw ingredients separated below, proteins sealed and kept away from everything else.
Dairy grouped to the left, juice to the right, labels facing forward.
Other people might have overlooked it, but as I stared at the shelves, a low tremble set off in my stomach. If Sergei had observed me to the point that he knew exactly where everything in my fridge was to go, what else had he noticed about me?
Even the garbage I’d forgotten in my haste had been taken out, the bins replaced with fresh liners.
I entered the laundry room and paused. The washer sat open and empty, the dryer door slightly ajar. I stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of the machine. He’d taken care of the laundry.
A strange, unsettling feeling crept under my skin. How could I hide anything from a man like that? One who didn’t miss anything?
I turned slowly and walked up the stairs, pulling my suitcase along with me. I held my breath until I was in my bedroom and found it empty. I’d been half afraid I would enter Sergei’s presence. That he had taken up residence in my home in my absence.
Once I confirmed I was indeed alone, I realized he’d made the bed. The same sheets we’d slept on that night stretched tight across the mattress.
My stomach tightened. He hadn’t just been here to check if I’d returned.
He’d stayed. Long enough to clean. I swallowed hard as my skin prickled all over.
I couldn’t afford to underestimate this man, and I was already failing at that.
Why was he ingraining himself into my life like this?
He claimed to like me, but I hadn’t done anything to attract this man’s attention.
I exhaled slowly and dragged a hand through my hair. I needed to reset. To ground myself for when I would see him again, because then the game would begin, and I didn’t intend to lose.
I left my suitcase in the middle of the room and went straight through the bathroom door and got into the shower.
The water hit my skin in a steady stream, hot enough to sting, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes as I let it wash over me.
For a moment, I allowed myself to pretend none of the memories had really taken place by keeping my back to the bench and ignoring everything.
But I couldn’t do it. My mind drifted back to him. To the way he’d felt. The way he’d looked at me. The way he’d moaned and unraveled under me. His reaction to my touch had been so open. He hadn’t tried to hide how turned on he had been—had made no attempt to conceal his desire for me.
“Fuck.”
I was hard from thinking about it. I squirted conditioner into my palm, braced my legs apart, and placed one hand on the wall to keep me steady. With my head bowed, I tried to push Sergei from my mind and concentrate on Brad, but his features kept glitching until Sergei’s face took over.
God, those muscles.
Those green eyes.
Those lips.
That tight ass around my dick.
I clenched my jaw and threw my head back. My hand slicked back and forth over my dick, moving rapidly as my breath hitched. A low grunt escaped my lips, and my release shot forward, staining the wall. Staining my marriage vows.
No. Till death do us part. That was the promise we’d made. But I still couldn’t stop the guilt from gnawing in my gut.
I quickly washed up and turned off the water sharply.
Water dripped onto the floor as I impatiently snagged a towel and wrapped it around my waist without drying off.
I had two days before I had to report back to the hospital, which meant going through my emails and checking for any updates so I could hit the ground running once I was back.
I stepped out of the bathroom, fingering my wet hair, and drew to a halt. My suitcase was no longer where I’d left it. The window was open, the curtains stirring from the wind. Sergei stood there, back half turned to me, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around him.
I wasn’t prepared at all to see him so soon. My last night in Florida, I’d rehearsed a dozen things I would say to him. Maybe I would apologize for running out on him. Maybe I would play hard to get for a while. Maybe I would kiss him and pick up right where we left off.
I did none of that.
Silence fell between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
My breath caught in my chest as my gaze swept over him. He seemed to have come straight here from the gym, dressed in a tank top that showed off his bare arms and the breadth of his back and a pair of black joggers that molded nicely to his backside.
Had he been doing squats? That would explain a lot.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
Despite my release in the shower, a sharp, familiar awareness lit up every nerve ending.
And dammit, but nothing had changed. I still wanted to pull the waistband of his joggers down and slip my fingers between his cheeks.
Was he still soft and pliant back there?
Had he fucked anyone else while I was away?
Where the hell did that thought come from?
Disappointment settled in my gut, thick and unwelcome. I wanted to shun the attraction, but I reluctantly accepted that it could only work in my favor to convince Sergei I was really interested in him.
I straightened slightly, forcing my shoulders back, forcing control where the instinct to retreat wanted to take over.
“Smoking’s bad for your health,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. Since I was having trouble addressing him as a man, doing so as a doctor was my next best bet to sound normal.
He took another drag, the ember at the tip flaring. “I know. I quit last year after being an addict for twenty years. Was quite proud of myself.”
Twenty years? I frowned. He couldn’t be older than thirty-five, which meant he’d started smoking from an early age. Most teenagers at that age experimented, but if he was addicted then…
“Started back up recently.”
My heart picked up, thudding harder than it should have. He still hadn’t looked at me yet. Not once.
“Two weeks ago, to be exact.” He slowly turned and waited as if expecting me to say something. “Don’t you want to know why?” he asked.
I swallowed around my scratchy throat. Two weeks ago, we had sex. Two weeks ago, I took a plane to get as far away from him as possible after he’d told me he liked me.
Sergei took another drag, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring it.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he pressed the lit end of the cigarette against his thigh.
The fabric hissed. A small, dark hole formed instantly, and I knew it had gone through and reached skin, but he didn’t react. He didn’t even flinch.
When the cigarette was out, he flicked it out the window. Then he walked toward me slowly, each step measured. He stopped right in front of me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
“Go ahead,” he said, his voice low. “Ask me why, Leo.”
The way he said my name in his thick Russian accent made my stomach flutter. I stepped back instinctively, shaking my head. “I’m not playing this game with you.”
I turned, intent on putting space between us, but his hand shot out, gripping the corner of my towel and yanking me back against him with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
“Now you’re sick of the games?” he snarled, his voice sharp and cracking. “What would you call disappearing for two weeks? Because it seems like you were hiding and you wanted me to seek.”
I twisted in his hold, refusing to shrink back. What right did he have to be angry with me? I hadn’t promised him anything, and with our colorful history, he would be a fool to think otherwise.
“Oh, did I make it too hard for you?” I shot back. “Must have killed you when you weren’t able to find me, to spy on me.”
“I was fucking worried about you.”
The force of his words hit me like a slap, and I flinched. I’d always found Sergei’s presence to be oppressive since I equated it to him wanting to remind me who was in control.
“You think this is a game?” His hand fisted in his tank top, and before I could react, he ripped it over his head. “You think I do this for fun?”
My breath caught. His chest was covered in burns. Dozens of them. Small. Circular. Old ones. New ones. Some still angry and red, others darker, healing.
My stomach dropped.
“I made a fucking ton of effort to quit smoking,” he went on, his voice rough, uneven in a way I’d never heard from him before.
“But I didn’t know where the fuck you were.
Didn’t know if you were alive, if someone had you, if you—” He broke off, jaw tightening.
“If you’d taken your fucking life because you hated that you fucked me.
And you think I just get off on watching you without a reason? Because it’s fucking fun?”
I stared.
I couldn’t stop staring.
This man—this killer, this controlled, terrifying force—stood in front of me, stripped bare from the waist up and emotionally.
My brain couldn’t fathom why on earth he would have self-harmed this way because he couldn’t find me.
We had sex once, nothing more. It wasn’t as if I’d pledged my undying love to him.
How could he be so foolish as to take what we did seriously?
My body moved before my mind caught up. I bridged the distance between us and lifted my hand. My fingers hovered for a second before gently brushing over one of the burns. A ripple raced across the skin beneath my fingers.
“There are so many in such a short time…” I murmured, more to myself than him. The day we’d had sex, I’d seen him naked, and they weren’t there.
I swallowed, my voice softer now, and I raised my head. “Does it hurt?”
His eyes locked on to mine. “Not as much as you leaving me without a word.”
The words hit deeper than anything else he’d said. And that shook me. My fingers trembled. I dropped my hand and took a step back.
“I didn’t leave you,” I said, the denial coming fast. “I—I needed time. After what we did—”
He scoffed. “Sounds like leaving to me.”
“It’s not the same thing,” I snapped, my voice rising despite myself. “I slept with you a month after my husband died. A month. Put yourself in my position. How would you feel?”
When he didn’t answer, I pushed on anyway.
“I was devastated. My head was all over the place. I couldn’t think straight, and I needed space. I needed to get away and figure out what the hell I was doing because I can’t do that when you’re constantly inserting yourself into my life.”
The room fell silent again as we stared at each other. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as if he was swallowing words he really wanted to say. His face had an unnatural flush, and I knew he was holding back. He made a frustrated sound and took out a pack of cigarettes.
“Sergei, there’s no smoking allowed in here.”
He ignored me—of course he fucking did—and shook one out of the pack anyway. His hands seemed to be shaking, but I didn’t get fear from him. He seemed tense, like the effort to hold himself back was costing him.
He placed the cigarette between his lips and flicked his lighter. My hand shot out between the cigarette and the flame. His eyes widened as the flame came so dangerously close to my hand that I felt the heat against my skin for a millisecond before he yanked the lighter back.
“You—!” At a loss for words, he grabbed my hand gently and held it up to his eyes for inspection. “Are you out of your mind?”
With my free hand, I pried the cigarette from his lips. “Sergei, don’t smoke anymore. It’s bad for your health.”
He rubbed the skin of my hand as if trying to soothe me, although I hadn’t suffered at all. His touch was gentler than a killer’s was supposed to be.
“Then will you not disappear anymore?”
I frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I can only give up one addiction at a time, Leo, so it’s either you or the cigarettes, but not both.”