From the way his shoulders tense, Dmitri knows that’s a promise, not just a threat. But if Andrei Tsepov and his Sokolinaya Bratva are trying to provoke the Kucherov Demon, they’re going to regret ever being born.
8
EVA
Ilean back in my chair and blink. My vision is hazy after hours at the screen. Fear is a great motivator, and I have no idea how much work I’m supposed to finish by day’s end.
Outside, it’s dark except for a glow from the neighboring mansion. I can’t see the ocean now, though I can faintly hear the waves through one open window.
My stomach growls loudly, and I weigh my desire for food against the chance of running into Evgeny. I haven’t heard a single noise outside my room since breakfast this morning, the last time I ate.
At the thought, my mouth waters. I haven’t had anything that good in years, and I secretly hope to find leftovers in the fridge. I open my door, listen for any sound in the house, and hear none. I head down the hall toward the kitchen and stop short when I see Evgeny there.
He’s sitting alone at the kitchen island, papers and a small book spread out before him, next to a single plate and a bottle of beer. For the first time, I’ve caught him in an unguarded moment.
He thinks no one is around to see he’s taken off his ever-present suit coat and draped it over the back of another stool. His head is bent, his gaze on the book in front of him. His plate is still half full, and he inhales the words instead of the food.
His tie is off, draped over the coat. He’s opened his collar and rolled the sleeves of his fog-gray button-down. One hand is threaded through his hair, making it slightly wild. His head is tipped into his palm, his weight braced on his elbow.
I swallow, my pulse picking up at the sight. Not from fear. It joins the butterflies swirling in my stomach, flitting this way and that as my heart follows their skipping path.
Something about Evgeny in this unguarded moment tightens my throat and chest, heat prickling across my skin. He looks more like the gentleman I met at the club, the one I felt an instant attraction to, even a connection, though I’ve never believed in love at first sight.
He looks almost… vulnerable.
My gaze drops to his bare forearms, well muscled and corded with strength. Tattoos follow the lines from his wrist to his elbow, though I’m too far away to tell what they are.
The prickles dancing over my skin gather into a wash of heat at my core, then become a stirring pulse. A warning pulse. A pulse I can’t believe I’m feeling. And yet I am. The same pulse I felt the night we met, when I almost agreed to go home with him.
Would Evgeny have brought me here? A hotel? Somewhere else? Would I have seen that hair, sex-mussed? Followed the line of those tattoos with my lips so I could reveal the rest?
I’m staring, nearly drooling, at a man I now know is one of the most dangerous in the city. Not to mention the richest. I was sure that thought would cool the heat, but it only seems to inflame it further.
I turn to creep back the way I came. Evgeny will hate that I’ve disturbed him, and I’m not up for that kind of explosion right now. I can come out later to sneak food into my room.
“Eva?”
Shit.
I spin on my heel, swallowing my fear. “Sorry. I just came to get some dinner. I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll come back later.”
Cringing at the words tumbling out of my mouth at the same time I edge backward, I almost miss his words. “Come. Eat.”
I must have misheard him. “Sorry?”
“Eat.”
Evgeny pushes upright, and I can see more color at the top of his chest in the gap of his unbuttoned shirt.
“Okay.”
I walk to the fridge, feeling his eyes on me, and rummage through the odds and ends Alona left. My stomach gives a loud grumble as I start collecting food like I haven’t eaten in days, setting dishes on the counter before I search the cabinets for a plate.
“In the second cupboard to the right of the range.” Evgeny’s voice rumbles behind me. “Silverware is in the left drawer next to the microwave.”
While the food heats, I do my best to ignore him and the thoughts about him that ran through my head only minutes ago. I place the plates of leftovers exactly where they were, nice and neat, hoping to avoid Alona’s wrath tomorrow.
Dmitri strides into the kitchen just as I take my food out of the microwave and sit opposite Evgeny. The big man greets me with a friendly hello, then leans in and pulls something from his pocket. He places it in his boss’s outstretched hand, and Evgeny gives it to me.
