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Then a moan works free of my throat. “Is that Nutella?”
“And strawberries.” He nods. “It’s my little sister’s favorite filling.”
“Smart girl.” I take another bite and swallow down a groan. “Yakov… these are amazing.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but the patio door opens at the same moment.
A woman with an arm full of folded sheets walks into the kitchen and then stutters to a stop. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kulikov. I didn’t know you two were?—”
“You’re fine,” Yakov says. “Come in, Hope.”
Hope smiles nervously and tips her head to me. “Good morning, ma’am.”
My mouth is full of food; otherwise, I’d say something back. I lift my hand in a wave instead.
“How’s your mother doing?” Yakov asks.
For a second, I think he’s talking to me. Then Hope answers. “Much better. Thanks for checking in,” she says. “Her lungs are healing up really well. The doctor says she is basically out of the woods now.”
Yakov nods. “Good. But let me know if you need to step away again. You know your position here is safe.”
Hope smiles at him with such earnest admiration that I can’t help but stare.
Yakov was right: I really don’t have anything to worry about where the staff is concerned. They don’t just work for Yakov; they worship him.
I mentally add a few more items to the long list of admirable qualities he has racked up over the last twelve hours: capable in the kitchen, kind to his employees, and absolutely unmatched at giving me multiple orgasms. The last one owing to the sad reality that it has never happened before last night.
“That was really sweet of you,” I whisper.
Yakov frowns. “What?”
I gesture towards the hallway where Hope just disappeared with the sheets. “I’ve never had a boss who cared about what was going on in my life outside of work. I think it’s nice.”
“If you think basic human decency is ‘nice’…” he mutters.
“It’s obvious family is important to you,” I continue, blundering ahead despite the warning signs and yellow flashing lights. “I know you have a brother and a sister. And you mentioned your mom. But you haven’t said anything about your dad. Is he around or?—”
“Eat more,” Yakov says suddenly.
“Oh, um… No, I’ll be okay with this one,” I lie. I’m already almost done with my first blini and I’d like an all-you-can-eat buffet of them, but I’m starting to pick up his not-so-subtle hints.
He shrugs, then drops the buttered skillet into the sink and runs cool water over it. Steam rises in front of him so I can’t read his expression.
I don’t even know what I’m hoping to read. Maybe a big sign on his forehead that says, “Last night was amazing. Let’s do it again.” I could tell him to text me, but since my phone is probably at the bottom of a moldy restaurant dumpster, I’ll most likely be getting a new number here in the next day or two.
Yakov starts cleaning the skillet. After adding “washes his own dishes” to the list of my boxes he continues to tick, I stand up and grab my purse.
“Well, Yakov, this was… fun.” That word feels small and insignificant after last night, but it’s all I’ve got. “Thanks for dinner and breakfast and everything in between.’’
Nice! That’s it. Very smooth. Nice and casual. The sex wasn’t world-shifting or anything—just filler. No big deal.
He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t respond. Just keeps scrubbing the pan, his muscular forearms flexing from the effort.
“My cat probably thinks I’ve been murdered.” I laugh even though I feel like crying. I can’t cry. Don’t cry! I make a beeline for the back door. A clean getaway is the best option. “Thanks again for everything. Maybe I’ll see you around or?—”
I make it to the end of the island at the same time Yakov does. He’s been on the opposite side of the counter from me all morning, but now, all six feet, lots of inches of him are standing firmly between me and the exit.
“You won’t be going anywhere, solnyshka.”
