Chapter 16 #2
I stopped at the bottom step, and he looked at my bag, then at my face.
“Good girl,” he said.
My body betrayed me with a small flicker of warmth.
My pride responded with violence.
“Do not praise me.”
His mouth moved almost imperceptibly. “Noted.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“A little.”
I narrowed my eyes and then he stepped just close enough that I had to tilt my head back slightly to hold his gaze. He smelled faintly of expensive soap, cold air, and pure masculinity.
“You look tired,” he said.
“You look kidnappy.”
That earned me a real flicker of amusement.
“I am trying very hard not to be.”
“Comforting.”
“Get in the car.”
“No.”
His expression did not change. Most men reacted when I said no.
They argued, pushed, laughed, got irritated, tried to turn it into flirtation, or tried to make me responsible for smoothing over their discomfort.
Ivan simply received the refusal like a piece of data and waited, and I hated that it made me want to give him the real answer.
“No,” I repeated, quieter. “Not until you tell me what custody means.”
“It means you stay where I can keep you alive.”
“That’s a definition written by a dictator with a thesaurus.”
“It means you come with me willingly, or I make the situation safer with less cooperation from you than I would prefer.”
“Less cooperation,” I repeated. “That is also very kidnappy.”
“That is why I said I am trying very hard.”
My pulse beat too fast. He took one more step, slow enough that I could move away, but I didn’t.
His hand lifted. I saw it coming. He did not grab me. He did not surprise me. He gave me a second to reject the contact, and the most infuriating thing in the entire world was that I did not.
His fingers settled beneath my chin, he lifted my face a fraction, and the whole street seemed to tilt around the touch. The contact was electric and my breath caught before I could stop it. His eyes dropped once to my mouth and the world went very, very still.
Oh.
Oh, this was bad.
He wanted me.
Ivan Morozov looked at me like wanting had already become part of the room and the only question left was which one of us would admit it first.
I felt it everywhere.
My skin. My throat. The space between my thighs where my body remembered the shower earlier this morning with humiliating enthusiasm.
His thumb brushed gently along my jaw.
I should have stepped back. Instead, I said, “You don’t get to touch me just because you decided I’m under your protection.”
“No,” he said.
The agreement should have made me feel steadier, but it didn’t.
“You let me,” he added.
My face went hot.
“I tolerated it.”
“You did.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Frequently.”
His gaze held mine, calm and pale and far too knowing. I lifted my chin against his hand. Evidently, my self-preservation had clocked out for the morning.
“You mentioned consequences.”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean?”
His expression went still. The air between us tightened hard enough that I could feel it under my ribs.
“I meant,” he said slowly, “that if you put yourself in danger to prove a point, I will stop you.”
“By taking me into custody.”
“If necessary.”
“And if I don’t behave in custody?”
His thumb paused beneath my chin.
There.
There was the wire.
I had touched it on purpose this time and I knew it.
He knew it too.
The knowledge moved between us like flame.
His voice dropped lower. “Then when the immediate danger is past, I will put you over my knee and spank you until you understand that your life is no longer something you get to risk just because grief asks nicely.”
My mouth went dry and my knees did not weaken.
They absolutely did not.
But a defiant heat rolled through me so fast I almost hated him for being there to see it.
Almost.
His eyes narrowed just a bit.
“You are very close to making this worse for yourself,” he murmured.
I swallowed.
“That sounded like a threat.”
“No.” His thumb brushed my jaw once more, and I had to lock my spine to keep from leaning into the touch. “That was a warning.”
“And if I test it?”
His gaze dipped to my mouth again and for one suspended second, I thought he might kiss me.
Worse, I thought I might let him.
His hand remained under my chin, steady, warm, maddeningly careful.
His body was close enough that I could feel the heat of him through the cold morning air, close enough that I could smell him, close enough that if I shifted forward by one inch, the line between warning and something else would vanish completely.
He did not move.
Neither did I.
“If you test it,” he said softly, “then I will catch you and you will find out how much a real spanking will sting on your bare ass.”
My breath came in too shallow.
I hated him.
I wanted him.
I stepped back, and this time he let me. His hand fell away immediately, no attempt to hold, no tightening, no claim made through force. That almost made it worse.
I adjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder and looked at the car, then at him. I tried not to envision myself bare over his knee and failed entirely.
“I’m coming because Orlov is a problem,” I said. “Not because you told me to.”
“Of course.”
“And because you have information I need.”
“Yes.”
“And because if you are the man in my Watcher file, I want you close enough to see if you make a mistake.”
For a second, the street between us went quiet in the middle of all its noise. Then he opened the rear door of the car, where the tinted glass and the angle of the door created a pocket of privacy from the sidewalk. A controlled space. A perimeter. A choice that was also not entirely a choice.
I looked at it, then at him.
“I’m going to test you,” I said.
“I’m aware of that.”
“I’m going to ask questions you don’t want to answer.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to be difficult.”
This time he smiled, small and dark and devastating.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
My stomach dropped.
“That wasn’t meant to be encouraging.”
“It was anyway.”
I stepped toward the car, then stopped close enough that we were nearly touching again.
“Don’t call me ‘good girl’ again unless you want trouble,” I said.
His gaze moved over my face with reverent attention. Then he leaned close enough that his breath brushed my ear.
“Get in the car, Kit,” he said quietly. “Be a good girl while men are trying to kill you, and after that, you can give me all the trouble you want.”
My whole body lit up. I turned my head just enough that our mouths were almost aligned.
Ivan went perfectly still.
So did I. Neither of us crossed the last inch, which was almost worse than a kiss. It was hotter. Meaner. We had crossed it once already, which I had tried not to think about ever since. Pretending we wouldn’t do it again was the only lie we were both still agreeing to tell.
I held his gaze for one more breath, then slid into the back seat with my bag clutched against my side and every nerve in my body wide awake.
Ivan closed the door.
Outside the glass, he stood for one second with his hand still on the frame, looking down at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
He didn’t, not exactly. I was thinking that if he was the watcher, I was going to destroy him. I was thinking that if he wasn’t, I might still destroy him just on principle. I was thinking about his hand under my chin. His voice in my ear.
And his promise of consequences.
I sat back against the leather seat and felt the first real smile of the morning touch my mouth.
Fine.
Let him try.