Chapter 26
LEO
Sergei and I had breakfast in silence. He sat on the counter, long legs stretched out in front of him.
The absence of chairs didn’t bother him in the slightest. I took the island instead, perched on the edge with one ankle balanced on the knee of my other leg.
The setup should have felt ridiculous, but it didn’t.
Being with him felt easier than it had any right to.
We didn’t speak much as we ate, both of us too focused on the food I’d gone out to get. The strawberry pancakes were still slightly warm, the flaky layers breaking apart under our fingers, leaving smears of butter behind. There were other things too—coffee, fruit, and sausages.
Sergei practically inhaled the food. I would have thought it was a way to hide his embarrassment from his earlier meltdown in my arms, but I’d seen him eat before and he swallowed food like there wouldn’t be enough of it if the food sat around for too long.
“Tell me about your childhood,” I said, though I shouldn’t have.
If I humanized him, it would be harder to be objective.
To do what needed to be done. Ridding the world of Maxim Morozov was doing his future victims a favor, and I couldn’t allow the growing affection for Sergei to come between that. “Unless you don’t want to.”
He stopped eating to raise his head, his brow furrowed. He hadn’t expected the question. Hell, I hadn’t anticipated asking him about his childhood.
“I’m not sure what’s to tell.” He looked beyond my shoulder as though searching for a distant memory.
“I was six when my mom died. I grew up with a drunk dad who made sure I didn’t forget that my mother was the whore who wrecked his marriage, and I was the bastard son who should have never been born. ”
It wasn’t the information that made my stomach hurt, but the emotionless delivery, like it was something he’d already come to terms with, but who could really forget such a miserable existence? I had to put down the sausage I’d been eating.
“That sounds like a tough childhood. But here you are, doing well.”
His laugh was humorless. “Am I? I have millions, yet I lived in a cramped apartment just to stay close to my boss. Because that’s all I cared about. Until now.”
The way he said “until now” left no doubt that what he really meant was “until you.”
“Millions, you say?” I managed to croak out. It was better to lighten the mood than to respond to the challenge in his eyes by hinting that he cared about me. Of course I knew he did. I was banking on that to make him careless enough to share information about his work with Maxim.
He’s going to hate me for this.
“You need money?” Sergei asked, frowning. “You can have all of mine, though I’m surprised Bradley didn’t have insurance. He made good money working for Morozov.”
“He did. I-I just haven’t reached out to our lawyer or anything. Yet.”
“My offer still stands if you need money.”
I threw the half-eaten pancake at him. He caught it midair easily with a grin and tossed it in his mouth. “Why, Doc, I didn’t know you had a violent side to you. I like it.”
“I am not violent, but I can be vindictive.” I gave him a sweet smile to soften my words. “And how can you offer your money like that? What if, to spite you, I asked for a million?”
“You can ask for it all, and I’d give it to you. You’d just have to promise me that you would never leave me.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly in love with you.”
The confession, said so matter-of-factly, landed between us like a missile destroying everything in its wake. For a second, I didn’t breathe. My chest tightened, lungs stalling like they’d forgotten how to work. I’d suspected it, but I never expected him to come out and say it.
My pulse kicked hard, my heart pounding against my ribs. Heat rushed up my neck, into my face, my ears ringing faintly as everything inside me scrambled for footing.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not like this. Not so soon. Not when I—
My throat worked, but no words came out. Nothing I could say felt right. My scheme was one thing, but telling him I loved him back to deceive him felt like a betrayal I wouldn’t be able to come back from. I didn’t love him. I desired him. So damn much. But desire wasn’t love.
Panic crept in sharp and fast, whispering all the things I’d been trying not to think about. Brad. The past. The plan. The line I was already standing too close to.
Say something.
I just stared at him, my silence stretching too long. Sergei watched me for a beat, awareness flickering in his eyes before he moved.
He pushed off the counter with an easy drop, his feet hitting the floor with a soft thud before he crossed the space between us in a few long strides. Close. Too close. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him before he even touched me.
“Hey,” he said, quieter now, his voice losing that earlier edge of teasing. He uncrossed my leg from my knee and stepped between them. His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw before settling there. “Don’t act like it’s a secret.”
I swallowed, my gaze still locked on his. I wanted to look away but couldn’t.
“You have to know I’m crazy about you,” he said, his thumb moving absently against my skin, grounding, reassuring.
“Leo… the things you get away with?” A faint, almost amused breath left him, though his eyes stayed serious.
“That’s because it’s you. I’d let you get away with murder simply because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. ”
“Don’t say that,” I finally managed to whisper. “You don’t know me.”
“I do know the parts of you that matter.” He held my gaze, unwavering, giving me no place to hide. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way about me right now. I know where you’re coming from. I know what you’ve been through—what we’ve put you through.”
“Then why do you still keep pushing this?” I gestured wildly between us. “Aren’t you afraid that one night when we go to bed together, I’ll be the reason you don’t wake up in the morning?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“And?”
“And I’ve decided it’s not in your nature to be cruel. You’re a good man, Leo. Maybe that’s why I’m fixated on you. You’re everything that’s the opposite of what I am.”
His hand slid slightly, cupping my face more fully now.
“All I’m asking,” he added quietly, “is for you to give us time for you to see you can love me back. I’m not a good man, Leo, but for you, I’ll be the best man ever.”
Not knowing how to respond to him, I leaned forward and kissed him. As long as our lips were busy, he wouldn’t expect me to continue our conversation. It was the one way I knew would work to disarm Sergei.
If only I weren’t as affected.
He was such a damn good kisser.
His mouth moved against mine as if he had all the time in the world.
How could such a violent man be so gentle and sweet?
He carried violence in his blood, but all I got from him was warmth.
Just the slow press of lips, the quiet inhale we shared between breaths.
It was sweet. Disarming, and my chest tightened for entirely different reasons than guilt.
And then it shifted, his grip on my face firming. His mouth pressed harder, parted, his tongue sliding against mine with desperate urgency. The kiss deepened, turned hungry, rougher, like he was losing whatever thin thread of control he’d been holding on to.
God.
I felt myself sinking. I gripped his shirt, dragging him closer. I wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted to push him back, pin him down, feel him open beneath me again like he had last night. Inside his body, there was no dead husband. No will waiting to be read. No grudge that existed between us.
But I needed answers.
I broke the kiss, pulling back to catch my breath. “We’re getting distracted,” I said, voice rougher than I intended. “I want you to tell me what happened last night. Who was that man you brought to my house?”
Sergei barely seemed to hear me. He leaned in again, chasing my mouth like he couldn’t help himself, like stopping wasn’t an option. I turned my head, catching his jaw instead, pressing a hand to his chest to hold him back.
“Sergei, focus.”
He exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across his face. “Just—” he muttered, voice strained. “Just give me a minute. I can’t turn this off as fast as you can.”
His tone was sulky with a hint of accusation levied at me. He dropped his face into the crook of my neck, breathing hard against my skin. One arm slid behind me and under my shirt, stroking my naked back. I closed my eyes and took comfort in his hold.
Until I felt his arm moving back and forth. My eyes shot open. I’d thought he was grounding himself, but his breathing sounded more labored. His lips found my neck, kissing and sucking on the skin as his hands moved even faster.
The rhythm. The tension in his body. The low, broken sound that slipped out of him.
Oh.
“Sergei—” I pulled back slightly, but his grip tightened.
“Tell me I’m good,” he said, voice rough, almost wrecked. “Just—tell me. I love when you say that to me in bed.”
I swallowed, heat pooling under my skin, and leaned closer instead of pulling away. “You’re a good boy for me,” I said huskily into his ear. “The absolute best, baby.”
He shuddered against me, a broken groan spilling into my neck as his body went rigid, then slowly, slowly slackened. His grip loosened, breath coming in uneven pulls, as if he’d just run a marathon instead of standing in my arms.
For a moment, neither of us moved, then he huffed out a quiet, almost embarrassed breath and dragged a hand down his face.
“Fuck,” he muttered, nuzzling my neck, the area sensitive from where he’d all but been chewing on my flesh. “My hand doesn’t feel as good anymore. I prefer when you’re inside me, Leo.”
Me too.
But I cleared my throat and reached for his hand, sticky with cum. He seemed to have caught most of it in his palm. Gazing into his eyes, I raised it to my mouth, then licked it. I moaned, swiping my tongue up the center of his palm to catch the tip of his middle finger into my mouth.
“Be good,” I murmured, delighting in the way his nostrils flared. “Don’t get distracted. Tell me exactly what happened last night.”
Sergei’s throat worked as he swallowed, eyes locked on my mouth as I dragged my tongue over his skin again, slower this time.
“You’re—” He broke off with a sharp exhale. His fingers twitched in mine like he wanted to take control back, but he didn’t. “It’s hard to think when you’re doing that.”
I hummed softly, lips still brushing his palm. “Answer the question, or I’ll stop.”
“Motorcycle,” he said finally, like he was forcing each word out. “Guy on a motorcycle.”
I sucked his finger deeper into my mouth.
His head tipped back slightly, a strained sound catching in his throat. “Fuck—Leo…”
“Focus,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to look at him, then licking a slow line across his knuckles. “What happened?”
His eyes snapped to mine. “I was leaving the club on my way to see you,” he said, voice rougher now. “He came out of nowhere.” His breathing hitched when I flattened my tongue against his palm again. “He took a shot at me.”
I lost my rhythm as fear coursed through me, then I reminded myself he was okay. He was literally standing in front of me without a scratch.
“He shot at you?” I asked, taking his index finger this time. Last night he’d intimated that someone had tried to kill him, but hearing the details made everything sound more real. Yet he talked about facing death so nonchalantly. Didn’t he have any fear?
He nodded once. “Yeah.” His hand flexed in mine. “But he missed.”
“So you’re the one who slit his throat?” I repeated softly, sucking harder, watching the way his control slipped a fraction more.
A low sound dragged out of him. “No. He did it after I caught him. He figured if he ended his life, I wouldn’t get the chance to torture information out of him.”
I pulled his hand from my mouth just enough to speak, my lips still brushing his skin. “That’s something you do? Torture people?”
“If I need to,” he said immediately, then sucked in a breath when I licked along the seam of his thumb.
“Do you know who sent him?”
Silence stretched, but not because he didn’t hear me. I tilted my head, meeting his gaze, then slowly, deliberately, took his thumb into my mouth.
His composure cracked. “Leo.”
“You’re not going to tell me.”
“It’s best for you not to know certain things.”
I pulled back, my fingers still wrapped around his wrist. I wanted to push, but if I showed too much interest, it might make him suspicious. “It’s okay if you don’t trust me.”
His lips parted, breath uneven, eyes still fixed on my mouth like he couldn’t look away.
“That’s not it, I promise. I don’t want you to be involved.”
I studied him for a second longer, then released his hand, letting it fall between us. “But you involved me when you woke me out of my bed to save him.”
“That was my mistake. I shouldn’t have. I’ll get someone else to handle it from here on.”
“No, you won’t.” I grabbed his elbow before he could walk away. “I don’t leave my patients hanging like that, Sergei. I saved his life last night, and I need to ensure he is okay.”
Sergei cocked his head to the side. “Why are you so eager to save the man who tried to kill me? Do you hate me that much?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Because the answer should have been easy. It should have been decisive. Of course, I didn’t hate him. I—
But the words wouldn’t form. They sat somewhere in my chest, tangled up with everything else I didn’t want to analyze about us. It was too complicated, and regardless of me hating or liking him, I couldn’t let my feelings cloud what I’d set out to do.
Sergei stilled, his arm going slack in my hand. He would have pulled it back if I weren’t still holding on to him. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and he looked at me like I’d betrayed him.
“Sergei—” I started, not knowing where I was going.
“I’ll take you,” he said, this time pulling his wrist from my grip. I didn’t try to stop him.
The loss of contact felt sharper than it should have.
“To check on him,” he went on, his tone back to being distant. “But Maxim will be there.”
He turned away, heading for the kitchen exit like the conversation had already ended.
“You might want to do a better job hiding how much you hate him than you do hiding your hate of me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said, the words finally breaking free, too late.
He didn’t stop. Neither did he turn. Maybe he hadn’t heard, and I didn’t repeat it because I should hate him. That was the natural reaction to someone who covered up your husband’s murder, and not this awful, tingly sweetness I experienced when I was around him.