Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
CHEYENNE
I’ve had it. I can’t take it anymore.
You’re leaving? Finally?
I have to or else I’m going to lose my mind.
You found another nanny? And a nurse?
Nanny—yes. Nurse—no.
Any leads on that?
One.
Timeline for leaving?
If I make it a week, it will be a miracle.
Where will you go?
As far from here as possible.
Come see me?
Like there was a chance I wasn’t coming there first!
With a smile and a quick thanks, I took the bag of takeout from my favorite little sandwich shop. It wasn’t far from my apartment, and I had stumbled across it on my fourth day in the city. The chef was a New Jersey transplant who made his own bread and imported ingredients from Italy.
I didn’t visit often, but when I did, I went all out, ordering a pizza and a giant sandwich and at least one salad.
I liked to stop by on a Friday evening after work because it meant I would have leftovers for the weekend.
That was a good thing because I typically popped into the office on Saturday for a few hours and cooking or stopping for food was not high on my list of priorities after dragging myself home.
SQC didn’t officially endorse the so-called 9/9/6 work culture, but it was expected from most of the employees.
I’d been very clear when negotiating my contract that I was not going to keep such a brutal schedule, even with extra compensation.
I couldn’t maintain that lifestyle without burnout.
Even so, I still found myself voluntarily coming into the office because, frankly, I was lonely in my fancy penthouse apartment.
On the walk back to my building, I drank in the bustling city vibe. Shanghai was still so new to me, so exciting and rich with experiences. I’d only explored a small part of it with friends I’d made at work and in the local ex-pat community. There was so much more I wanted to see and discover.
I glanced at my watch as I drew near my building. My stepdad had sent me a weird message earlier about expecting a late-night delivery. I’d specifically asked if it was dinner, and he’d assured me it was definitely not food. Other than that, he wouldn’t give me any hints.
Hoping it was something like a plant or maybe even a small pet like a fish, I smiled at the doorman who let me inside. I made it a few steps into the lobby, scanning my surroundings like every single woman did, and suddenly stopped.
Was that...?
But what was he doing here?
Luka Beciraj, in jeans and a gray tee and an Army green bomber jacket, standing in the lobby of my building in Shanghai.
There was a black hard-shell carry-on by his feet.
He looked so nervous as he stood there, watching me, waiting.
His fingers flexed at his sides. Did he think I’d refuse to see him after he came all this way to see me?
I walked toward him, and he started walking toward me. We met in the middle of the lobby. This close, I could see how good he looked. His skin was warm and full of color again. His eyes were bright and full of life. He was alive and here, so close I could reach out and touch him.
“Brett gave me your address.”
“I guess that makes you the special delivery,” I teased, enjoying my stepdad’s little joke. “Do I even want to know how you two got close enough to plot like this?”
“It wasn’t really a plot, and he wasn’t in Tirana to see me, not really.”
“Drita?” I guessed.
Luka smiled slyly. “Apparently, she’s going to visit him in Dallas next month.”
“No!”
Luka laughed. “Yes.”
“Well,” I said, amused at the turn of events, “I guess something good came from that awful night.”
“More than one thing,” he said, carefully taking the heavy bag and box of pizza from my hands. “I’m done playing boss. I gave it all to Zec. Cut ties. Done.”
My jaw dropped. “You walked?”
Luka nodded.
“Away from your birthright?”
“It was a curse,” Luka insisted. “It did nothing but cause me pain and grief. I won’t do that to my kids. I want a different life for them.”
“Your metaphorical kids?” I asked, making sure I hadn’t missed some other secret in his past.
“Metaphorical until you tell me otherwise,” Luka smoothly replied. “Because I’m not having a family with anyone else.”
I gulped. “Luka.”
“Can we talk upstairs? In private?” His eyes practically begged me. He needn’t have pleaded. There was nothing I wanted more than to spend time with him.
“Of course,” I said, gesturing to the elevator bank. “Come up with me.”
He grabbed his luggage with his free hand and balanced the takeout on the other.
I offered to take one or the other, but he refused.
Inside the elevator, we were pressed into a corner by seven of my fellow residents.
There wasn’t a chance for us to talk, but Luka purposely pressed against my side.
My heart fluttered wildly as the action spurred memories of his body pressed even closer to mine.
After sixteen floors, the final resident stepped off the lift, leaving us alone. I waited until the doors closed to finally confess, “I wanted to message you back, but I was afraid.”
“Afraid? Of me?” He seemed hurt.
“No, not of you exactly.” I tried to find the right words to explain it all. “I was afraid that if I opened that door I wouldn’t be able to close it again.”
“Why would you want to close the door in my face?”
“Until a few minutes ago, I thought you were going to be the boss of the Beciraj family until the day you died. That’s not the life I want, Luka.”
“And now that I’m not?”
The elevator door dinged, saving me from having to answer. I avoided his penetrating gaze and stepped onto my floor. He trailed me to the door, standing outrageously close. He was trying to get a rise out of me—and it was working.
“Kitchen is that way.” I unbuttoned and removed my coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. I gestured down the hall and locked the door behind us. “Have you eaten?”
“I had something on the flight. I’m still on plain foods for the most part.” He left his carry-on near the kitchen entrance.
“Sorry. If I'd known you were coming, I would have grabbed something other than pizza and a sandwich crammed with pickled vegetables and soaked in a vinaigrette.” I slipped by him as he placed the takeout on the counter and opened the refrigerator door. “I’ve got eggs and bread. I’ve got some oatmeal cups in the cabinet.
Oh, and some cereal that I got at this cute novelty shop a few blocks over that sells American brands. ”
“Elona.” Gently, he interrupted my nervous blathering. “I’ll be fine.”
I closed the refrigerator door and slowly turned to face him. My kitchen wasn’t very big, and Luka seemed to take up an inordinate amount of space. Our gazes clashed and held. We both were breathing anxiously. We were both waiting, wondering who would make the first move.
Luka took a cautious step toward me, and I flew at him.
Our mouths met in a frantic, messy kiss.
He groaned with desperate relief, sliding one hand down my back to grip my ass while the other tangled in my hair.
He tilted my head back and slowed down, kissing me in that sensuous, wicked way from our night together.
“Luka,” I breathed against his lips. “I missed you so much.”
“I thought I was going to go crazy if I didn’t hear your voice again,” he growled in between kisses. “I tried to let you go, but I can’t.”
“I don’t want you to let me go.” I grasped his shoulders. Like him, I was overcome with lust and need. I clasped the back of his neck and dragged his mouth back down to mine, attacking him with passionate kisses.
He groaned again and started walking backward. I followed, clinging to him for balance while our tongues mated wildly. We bumped into the sturdy table that had come with the furnished apartment. He slid both hands to the backs of my thighs while bending his knees, obviously intending to lift me.
“Stop,” I ordered, breaking away from the kiss. “You’re still recovering from abdominal surgery!”
“I’m fine.” He squeezed the backs of my thighs. “I can carry you.”
“I’m sure you can,” I humored him with a playful roll of my eyes and tugged my skirt up over my hips. I hopped up onto the table and spread my legs, welcoming him closer.
“That works, too.” He crashed his mouth into mine again and started pulling at my dress, trying to work out if it had a zipper or buttons.
“Up,” I said in between kisses. “It’s a knit that stretches.
” I lifted my arms, and he yanked the dress off of me.
The second it was out of the way, his mouth was on me again, his kisses frantic and messy.
Overcome with the same urgency, I shoved his jacket off his shoulders and then reached for the bottom of his tee.
I pulled it up and up and let him remove it completely.
My gaze moved over the newly exposed scars on his torso. Puckered and pink, they were still so new and fresh. I ghosted my fingertips over one of them and caught the hitch in his breath. I quickly glanced up at him, but he shook his head. “Didn’t hurt. Sensitive.”
I made sure not to touch the other scar as I let my hands move over the defined muscles in his chest and along his shoulders. He felt a little softer than I remembered, probably from all the bedrest and recuperation. It drove home how close he had come to dying, and my eyes stung with tears.
“Hey, I’m fine,” Luka said, seeing the tears dripping onto my cheeks. “I made it.”
“I should have checked up on you.” Guilt-ridden, I couldn’t meet his gaze. “I got updates from Drita and your sister when she reached out, but I couldn’t make myself call you.”
“Why?” His voice deepened with hurt. “Why wouldn’t you reply to my messages?”
“I don’t know.” I wiped the tears from my face. “Like I said, if I opened that door, I was making myself vulnerable. I was making a choice that might lead me down a path that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”