Page 106 of Cruel Demands

It’s not the careful laugh she uses at public events. It’s the unguarded one, bright and sudden, her shoulders curling forward as though the sound catches her by surprise. I want to hear that laugh again.

The realization comes without warning and settles inside me with the weight of a threat. I have wanted women before. Their bodies. Their attention. Their silence. This is different.

I want to know what makes Taylor laugh when she’s tired. I want to collect every stupid argument that brings that brightness into her face. I want to remove every reason she has to sound strained when she speaks to her mother. I want to fill the kitchen with every terrible American food she remembers and insult each one until she laughs at me again.

These are not safe desires.

Taylor is still smiling when she looks back at me, and for a moment neither of us says anything. Her eyes drop to my mouth and then lift again. I know that look. I have seen it before, but there is hesitation beneath it now that was not there before.

Four days ago, I frightened her.

The thought should be enough to stop me. Instead, I lift one hand and brush my thumb over the corner of her mouth, wiping away a streak of orange seasoning. She goes very still. “You missed some,” I say.

“I was saving it for later.”

I should move my hand. I don’t. Her face is warm beneath my fingers. Taylor looks at me for another second, then leans forward and kisses me. It’s brief and soft, nothing like the kisses we have shared before. There is no demand in it. No argument. No locked door. No struggle for control. Just her mouth against mine for a few quiet seconds before she begins to pull away.

I catch the back of her neck and kiss her again, still gently. When we separate, she stays close enough that I can feel her breath against my mouth.

“You taste like Fritos,” she whispers and laughs again. She points at the vending machine. “I won’t tell anyone that you like them if you buy us another bag.”

“Because I don’t,” I say, standing.

“Obviously. You’re buying it for me.”

“Exactly.” I tap my card against the reader and look down at Taylor, watching her slide her heels completely off her feet to get comfortable.

Because despite everything, that’s what she can still be when she’s with me.

Comfortable. Whether she should be or not.

24

TAYLOR

Five days later, it’s one of those rare days when everyone leaves the office at the same time, at the appropriate time. Mikhail is usually at least late, but it’s Friday, and I guess even he has plans. I try not to let the jealousy crawl up my throat imagining what he could be doing that he’s in a hurry to get out of the office at five thirty sharp.

Maybe he has a date. I’m the one who told him I didn’t want a relationship. I’m the one who made it clear I’m here only to work. I have no right to be jealous.

And besides, I haven’t forgotten about Orlov. Or Lyubertsy. Or the page Mikhail took from me. Or the photographs of his mother spread across his desk while Arkady talked about men following her. But I’ve decided to keep the peace. And my job. They are one and the same. Petyr was right about at least one thing. I only have to become inconvenient.

I’m about to get in the car with Viktoriya and Dima when I notice Mikhail do something he’s never done before in all the days I’ve watched him leave work. Or rather, it’s something Pavel does.

He turns right instead of left.

My heart starts to pound in my chest as I get a reckless idea. I whirl around and blurt, “Actually, I just remembered, I have to go to the shops. I’ll catch a taxi.”

“Are you sure?” Viktoriya calls after me, but I’m already moving down the sidewalk, trying not to look like I’m running after the governor of Moscow Oblast.

“I’m sure, thank you! Have a good weekend!” I yell, already lifting a hand at the first taxi I see.

The driver pulls over, and I climb into the back seat so quickly that I nearly shut my coat in the door. “Follow that black car.”

He looks at me in the mirror.

I hear how that sounded.

“Not like in a movie,” I add. “Just…stay behind it.”