Chapter 8 #2
Seconds later the bed frame creaks and the sound carries through the cracked door. A soft thud of bare feet on marble signals she is heading to the bathroom. The bathroom door opens and closes. Water runs a minute later.
I white-knuckle the edge of the kitchen counter. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep from crossing to my bedroom. What I would do once I stood at the door would be one of two things. Demand she leave before I ruin her.
Or ruin her.
I have no doubt I would go for option two.
She appears in the kitchen doorway fifteen minutes later wearing the clothes from the bag I brought.
She opted for skin-tight dark jeans that hug her curves in a way that confirms I got the sizing right.
She paired them with a sweater close to the color of her hair.
It slants over a creamy shoulder, teasing me.
Just a kiss, is all my brain says. But I know once I get my lips on her again, I won’t stop with a kiss.
With the sweater pulled sideways, I spy the curve of her delicate collarbone and the gold chain of her locket.
Her hair falls in a white sheet to her waist, clean and soft from the shower.
She looks like a woman who fought off armed intruders, got kidnapped by a stranger, slept for fourteen hours, and woke up ready to have opinions about everything.
Violet eyes sweep to find me the second she steps a foot outside the bedroom door. She looks at the single mug of coffee in my hand and what she told me yesterday comes to mind. I have a single item of everything in my home. I never needed a second mug before now.
“Good morning.”
Color blooms over the swell of her soft cheeks. Shy is not how I would describe Cora. Headstrong, blunt and full of life… yes. Direct. Also yes. But the second our gaze connects she drops her eyes to the floor.
“Malyshka.”
I wait for her to lift her attention off the floor.
“Are we okay?” I know she understands what I am asking.
“Da,” she answers and hearing my native language on her tongue sends a wave of arousal through me.
“Good. Now come here and let me get you something to eat.”
“Thank you, I'm starving.”
I pause beside the kitchen. “Didn’t you eat yesterday?” I can’t believe I didn’t check with her after Luca’s phone call yesterday.
“I ate an apple, but I can’t say that I was too hungry yesterday. Besides, it’s not my home and it’s not polite to go snooping through another person’s refrigerator. My mother would be mortified.”
I walk around the kitchen island, taking her smaller hands in mine. “My home is your home. There is nothing that is off limits. Except upstairs. For your own safety. Understood.” I’ve never said truer words in my life.
Tears wet her lashes. “No one has ever offered me their home like you have." She pauses and I reach for the single tear that escapes, flicking it away.
“Thank you, Rowan. I meant to say that earlier.” She slides her fingers through mine. Our palms meet and I swear to all the forces of this universe, a jolt of electricity passes through the connection. It’s almost as if she is feeding her light into me.
I consider her for a long moment unable to move. Her words make me want to be a better man and make me wish I was anyone but Rowan Volkov.
“I didn’t have anyone yesterday and you put your body between me and a lot of people wanting my blood on their hands. Freaky thing to think, but they wanted it out of my veins in the worst way possible.”
Her voice trembles with an emotion that nearly puts me on one knee. I would care for her, protect her, meet every need she has or die trying. But I'm a Volkov. And she's an innocent woman who doesn't belong in my underworld.
I’m in love.
The red on her cheeks deepens the longer I look at her.
I brush a few strands of hair playing at the side of her face away and grow still when my fingers brush over her cheek.
She’s so fucking tender and sweet. One more taste wouldn’t hurt.
I can stop myself at a taste. Right? I don’t have to ruin her or poison her light with my darkness.
“Is there coffee?" her question jerks me out of imagining her spread over my kitchen counter. Another minute and I’d have her spread wide for me over my kitchen counter.
I shake my head to dispel the fog of desire clouding my judgement.
"Da," I state matter-of-fact, not trusting myself to say anything else.
I wash my mug before pouring her a fresh cup of coffee.
“Sugar, cream?”
She shakes her head and accepts the mug with both hands, our fingers brushing.
Fuck. Me. There are days I want to hang up my holsters and walk away from the life. Today is one of those days. She makes me want to do better.
“Thank you.”
It’s a simple exchange, but it feels like that one gesture was akin to giving her my life force.
I straighten and fold my arms across my chest to keep from dragging her off the stool on the other side of the island and fucking her. Right here. Right now.
Raw bliss crosses her beautiful face and the way her eyes roll closed and she licks her lips has my cock thickening.
She takes a sip from my mug. Her eyes close. The sound she makes is quiet, involuntary, and has no business coming from a woman holding a cup of coffee.
I pull out my phone and pretend to read whatever the fuck I can find to keep myself on this side of being human instead of the fucking animal in me wanting to claim her.
"This is good."
"It's coffee." I keep my eyes glued to my screen.
"It's very good coffee."
I lift a heavy shoulder. "It's Russian."
"Russians make good coffee? Maybe I need to find a man who can make me coffee like this every morning." She leans forward on her elbows and lifts the mug to her lips. Eyeing me the whole time, she blows over the rim before taking another sip. And then she has the audacity to wink at me.
Little fucking she devil.