Chapter 6 #2
"Then why are you here?" I challenged, angling my body toward the sound of him. "Why is what I do any of your business?"
Silence. I could hear his breathing now, slow and controlled. Could feel the heat of him in the cool night air and knew he was standing way too close.
"You should be more careful," he said finally. "Walking into dark alleys and confronting strangers."
"I wouldn't have to if you'd just stop following me."
He didn't respond immediately. When he did, his voice had gone rough around the edges. "You could get hurt doing things like this."
My voice was careful when I asked after a moment, "Are you going to hurt me?"
His answer was almost immediate. "Not tonight."
The blood rushed in my ears, making it hard to hear. "You still haven't told me why you've been following me." I didn't think he'd give me a straight answer, so I was slightly surprised when he did.
"You were in the alley beside the restaurant."
I frowned. Feigning confusion. "I take the alley to the bus stop almost every night."
"Not every night. That night."
Looked like it was my turn to decide whether or not to tell the truth. I paused for a moment, thinking through my decision, before deciding it was probably best to stop the charade before it went too far. Besides, I had the feeling he'd see right through me. "I didn't see anything," I whispered.
"No. You didn't. Not with your eyes."
The way he said it made my stomach flip.
"You were there?" I asked quietly.
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Yes."
The word hung between us, heavy and dangerous.
"Did you kill someone?"
"No."
Until this very moment, I really hadn't known for sure what had happened that night. I'd only suspected. But the tone of his voice told me way more than his one word answer. "Did you see who did?"
"Raven." He said my name like a warning. "Stop asking questions you don't want the answers to."
I didn't ask how he knew my name. He probably had a whole file on me. "Maybe I do want the answers."
"No," he said. "You don't. Because if you did, you would've called the police the moment you got home that night."
He was right. I hadn't called the police. Because I still valued my life. So I'd scrubbed the blood off my shoe and went back to work and played piano like nothing had ever happened. Not that it mattered. The Russians still knew I was there. Why else would they have this guy following me?
"I don't need to be watched," I said.
"I disagree."
"If the Russians wanted me dead, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you now."
"Maybe they just haven't made up their minds yet."
"I can take care of myself."
"In this one instance, I don't think you can."
"Then stop fucking following me and let me get myself killed in peace."
This time he laughed. The sound was low and intimate, and it did something to my pulse that I refused to examine too closely.
Without much thought, I stepped forward. Stopped. Then took another.
His breath caught. "What are you doing?" His voice had gone tight.
"I want to know what you look like."
"Raven—"
"You've been watching me for weeks. You know what I look like. You've probably memorized every detail." I took another step. "For all I know you've got my entire apartment rigged with cameras. I think it's only fair."
"That's not—"
"What?" I challenged. "Smart?" I was close now. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. I leaned my cane against my leg. "Didn't you notice, Milo? I stopped being smart the moment I confronted you in this alley."
Slowly, tentatively, I reached up, giving him plenty of time to move away if he wasn't comfortable with what I was about to do.
And when he didn't, I found the side of his throat with the fingers of one hand to guide my other.
His neck was lean and strong, and his pulse beat steadily beneath my touch.
He didn't move away.
My fingers found the edge of his jaw first, rough stubble scratching my fingertips as I traced the line of it. There was strong bone structure beneath.
I let my fingers wander over his face, mapping his jaw, the sharp angle of his cheekbone, and the slight hollow of his cheeks.
His breathing had gone shallow.
I moved higher, finding the bridge of his nose. Straight. No breaks, which was surprising if he's involved with the Bratva. My fingers drifted to his brow, following the curve of bone, then back down to his lips.
They were softer than I expected and slightly parted. Full, but not so much they were too feminine. As I explored, the tip of his tongue came out to wet them, lightly brushing the tips of my fingers.
Heat curled low in my stomach. Traitorous and inappropriate.
I was touching a man who'd possibly been present at a murder. A man who'd definitely stalked me. A man who could snap my neck before I even knew he'd moved.
And yet my body didn't care.
His pulse jumped beneath my fingertips where they rested against his throat. Fast and unsteady. I wondered what color his hair was. His eyes. His skin. His ragged breathing was loud in the stillness…
Suddenly his hand closed firmly around my wrist. Just hard enough to stop my exploration.
I expected him to push me away, but he didn't. Instead, he held me there, my fingers still pressed against his lips, his pulse hammering against my other palm.
For a long moment, neither of us moved as we stood, frozen in time.
His breath against my face was clean and warm, and I felt the tension in his body, coiled tight like a spring about to snap.
Felt the battle happening inside of him.
And for a brief moment, I had the crazy thought that he was going to kiss me.
Then he released me and stepped back. I shivered as cold air rushed in where his warmth had been.
"Stay out of dark alleys, Raven." His voice was rougher now, the casual mask he wore cracking around the edges. "Seriously. You're going to get yourself killed."
I heard him turn. Heard his footsteps retreat toward the mouth of the alley.
"Milo?"
He stopped.
"Same time tomorrow?"
Silence. Then a quick, soft exhale that might've been another laugh or a sound of disbelief.
"Go home, little bird."
The footsteps resumed. Then faded as he left me standing there.
I stood there in that alley for a long time after he left, my heart pounding and my fingertips buzzing where I'd touched him.
Little bird.
I smiled. I liked the nickname. I'd never had one before.
I made it home on autopilot, finding it hard to concentrate on where I was going with the memory of Milo's pulse jumping under my fingers. Once or twice I thought I heard him following me, but I couldn't be sure. And I didn't stop again.
The apartment felt too quiet when I closed the door behind me. Too empty. I stood there, listening to the silence, until the logical side of my brain finally kicked in.
What the hell are you doing?
I'd just confronted a dangerous man who'd admitted to being present at a murder. Who clearly worked for—or with—the same people who'd taken my father's restaurant and turned it into a front for their criminal empire.
I should've been more worried for my safety. Instead, I leaned against my door and replayed the entire encounter in my mind like some lovesick teenager with a crush.
The sound of his voice. The things he'd said. The way he'd let me touch his face. He could've stopped me. Should've stopped me.
But he hadn't.
He'd stood perfectly still and let me map his features with my fingers while his breathing fractured and his pulse raced against my palm.
And then he'd grabbed my wrist—not to hurt me, but to hold me there. Like he couldn't quite let go even though he knew he should.
Little bird.
The nickname echoed in my mind. There was a sound of ownership in it. Possession.
I should've hated it.
But I didn't.
Still in a bit of a daze, I pushed off the door and moved through my apartment, my body knowing the space down to the millimeter as I made my way to the bathroom.
I ran the shower hot enough to fog the mirror I couldn't see and stood under the spray until my skin no longer felt the burn. Picking up the soap, I started to wash myself.
What would've happened if I'd pushed? If I'd stepped closer instead of letting him retreat?
The thought sent heat curling low in my stomach that had nothing to do with the running in rivulets over my sensitive nipples.
I shut off the water and dried myself roughly, shoving down my body's response to a man I knew nothing about.
A man who made me feel more alive than I had since before the accident.
Climbing into bed, I laid still, staring into the darkness that never left me, my mind refusing to quiet.
You're going to get yourself killed.
I sighed heavily.
Probably.
Yet I wanted more.
I wanted to know who Milo really was. Why he'd been in the alley that night. Why he was still following me even though he knew I hadn't called the police or said anything to anyone.
I wanted to know what would've happened if he hadn't stepped back.
But most of all, I just wanted to see him again.