“It’s a normal human question.”
“I’m not a normal human.”
“I’m painfully aware.”
He gives me another small laugh. “Rock. Old Russian punk. Some metal. Whatever annoys command.”
“Of course. What about Western music?”
“Mm.” He shrugs. “I like that one band you play sometimes.”
I blink. “What band?”
He shrugs again, staying meaningfully vague. “The one with all the feelings.”
“Oasis?” I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s been paying attention. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling thrown for a minute.
“Next question.”
“Favourite food?”
“Anything I didn’t have to cook.” Then, after a second, he adds, “Or the lemon cakes my mother used to make. Before.” Before. He doesn’t explain the word. He doesn’t need to, but I don’t push. “You?” he asks suddenly.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. What do you eat besides protein bars and self-loathing?”
I snort. “Real food when I’m not deployed. Shepherd’s pie.”
“Of course,” Ari sighs. “You are painfully British. Ask another.”
“Why me?” I ask, hesitating for a minute.
He stiffens, but keeps his eyes on the road.“You’re interesting.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
“Ari...”
“No more questions, Caiden.” Ari gives me that shut-down tone. His walls slam up even while the rest of him stays warm. I nod once, letting it go for now.
We drive in the quiet hum of the engine and the endless dark. The tension between us isn’t easing; it’s tightening, stretching, and simmering low in my belly. I’m trying so hard not to climb into his seat that it should probably qualify as a military exercise.
And then lights appear through the trees. It’s a cabin, a real one. Small, secluded, with snow piled halfway up the sides. Ari pulls up beside it and kills the engine.
He turns to me slowly, and a wicked, knowing smirk appears on his face. “We’re here,” he says. No shit. I grip the door handle just to stop myself from grabbing him instead. Ari leans back in his seat, dragging his eyes over me. “Come inside, detka,” he murmurs. “Before I change my mind and take you in the car.”
I get out of the jeep before I do something like kiss him breathless across the gearshift. He gets out too, handing me my bag, then slinging his bag over his shoulder. The cabin door waits ahead, the weekend waits with it, and every nerve in me already knows I’m not coming out of this unchanged.
The cabin is small, with warm light spilling from its windows, and smoke curling out of the chimney. It looks like something out of a storybook. A storybook I have absolutely no business being in. This is really happening, a weekend alone with him.
I swallow hard and sling my bag over my shoulder because it gives my hands something to do besides reach for him. I can feel every second of him moving around behind me, that heat, presence, and quiet confidence that’s wrapped itself around every nerve ending I have. When he finally moves past me toward the cabin steps, I catch the faintest brush of his shoulder against mine.
By the time he unlocks the door, my heart is punching wildly at my ribs like a man trying to escape a burning building. The door swings open, warm air spills out, then Ari steps aside and gestures for me to go inside. “After you.” I step past him into the cabin, it’s wood-panelled, cozy, softly lit by a lamp in the corner, and a stone fireplace that crackles in one wall. There’s a kitchenette, two chairs, one small table, a sofa, and a bed.
Behind me, the door shuts, and the soft click of the lock sounds final — like the sealing of something I can’t undo. I turnslowly, afraid of what my face is going to show if I move too fast. Ari is leaning back against the door, arms folded, watching me with that half-lidded predatory grey stare. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous. I tear my eyes away before I do something unhinged, putting my bag on the chair to distract myself, but it doesn’t help my nerves.
