Page 48 of Beguiled

My brother had been the first in three generations to go to college. Then he’d taken his degree in criminal justice and joined the police department. He was all about good versus evil, expounding the merits of doing the right thing and never crossing the gray line in business or in pleasure. How many stories about horrific criminals and their repulsive deeds had I heard in my life?

If he learned anything about the company I worked for, he’d demand I quit. To hell with him. I was my own keeper, determined to make my own way in this world. My parents were pinnacles of righteousness, performing good deeds including giving the shirts off their backs. Honorable except they were poor as church mice. That meant I’d forged my future from fire and brimstone.

Perhaps guilt was settling in where terror should be.

Wouldn’t my boss be pissed if he learned I knew more about the law than most assistants? Nope. I would continue correctingmyself. I wasn’t Mr. Chertov’s assistant. I was a vital part of his lucrative realm. Now I was dreaming.

Maybe I’d feel better when I counted the money earned. Blood money. My God, that’s what it was.

I yanked the towel from the rack, still spouting off a barrage of angry words. Then I grabbed my ponytail holder, yanking my hair high over my head and fastening it. The girl staring back at me appeared completely different.

And no longer the one flirting with four hundred bad men. I moved into the hallway, listening for any sounds. There was nothing but peace and quiet. Maybe he’d left.

Nope.

I was wrong.

He hadn’t budged an inch. Well, that wasn’t true. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves past his elbows this time. Seeing his strong forearms was a catalyst to a mind-blowing wave of desire that I shouldn’t feel and definitely didn’t need.

The outline of the weapon he’d shoved under his waistband provided a cold shiver. I’d never seen him carrying a gun inside the office. Of course the security for that building was tight, but I’d never sensed there were soldiers like the ones I’d experienced walking around my building, instructed to keep us safe.

As shocking as seeing him in my apartment was how Beatrice had taken to him. She couldn’t stand men, including the maintenance workers. She’d hiss and claw them until they left.

But she was enjoying being in his arms, being stroked by strong hands. I could hear her purring all the way from where I stood. He couldn’t be all bad if she adored him.

“Beatrice likes you.”

He didn’t stop what he was doing, merely glancing over his shoulder. As soon as he noticed me in the robe, his nostrils flared. “She’s not a bad cat.”

“She’s my baby. We all need something to love.”

His chuckle was almost sad, as if he didn’t have anyone. I knew nothing about his relationship with his family other than overhearing several disagreements with Dimitri.

I lingered in the shadows staring at him, forced to admit I was grateful he was watching out over me. How crazy was that? After a little while, I backed into the shadows of the kitchen, leaning against the counter and rubbing my arms. This wasn’t anything like the evening I’d expected.

With the light on over the stove highlighting the open bottle of wine, I wrinkled my nose and groaned. He was trying to keep me safe. The least I could do was offer him a drink. Not that I had much. Red wine would need to do.

I pulled out two glasses, mismatching ones to boot and poured them both almost full. As I headed into the living room, I sensed the moment he knew I was approaching by his back stiffening.

At least we were making progress. He hadn’t ripped out his gun and pointed it at me.

I could see my approach in the moonlight banking off the window. So could he, his chin tilting the closer I came.

When he let Beatrice go, she wound around his legs and he didn’t seem to mind.

“I thought you might want something to drink. I’m sorry but I don’t have scotch.”

He didn’t make a sound while accepting. Our fingers touched. Just briefly. Just for a few seconds. Just enough my heart skipped a couple of beats.

“That’s very kind of you.”

His formality surprised me. “Don’t be so surprised. I’m from Iowa. But you already knew that. Didn’t you?” I laughed when I made the statement. “Wow. Now I’m thinking there are much nicer people back home.”

“You’d be right. But this is Disneyworld in comparison to Moscow.”

“Where you grew up.”

He stared into the wine before answering. “Yes.” When he took a sip, I watched him, expecting he’d be displeased.