Page 68 of Anton

The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, stunned.

How does he know where I am? Has he been here before?

Then I remember coming home that day and finding the dishes washed and put away in the cabinet.

Oh my God.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ANTON

The entire drive over, I tell myself this is a mistake. A momentary lapse caused by turning her camera feed back on after spending the past week refusing to look.

I’d just finished a job and was sitting in my SUV outside a warehouse when I opened the feed for what was supposed to be one quick glance. Then I saw her stretched across the bed touching herself, and that was the end of whatever control I thought I still had.

At first, I didn’t know who she was thinking about, and jealousy drove straight through my chest.

Jealousy is pathetic. Dangerous. Men like me can’t afford it.

Then she said my name. After that, every reason why I’ve spent seven days keeping my distance stopped mattering. The need in her voice destroyed every one of them.

My grip tightens around the steering wheel as I turn onto her street, already furious with myself for giving in this easily. But I have to see her. Touch her. Breathe her in until the restlessness crawling under my skin calms the hell down.

Fuck. I’ve become as bad as my brothers, losing my shit over a woman. If they ever find out, I’ll never hear the end of it. I can already picture the fun Aleksei alone would have with this.

Good thing none of them will ever know.

I park across from her house and kill the engine, staring at the dark windows before getting out. I should get back in the car and remember exactly who the hell I am. Instead, I head up the steps and knock once.

The door opens almost immediately, and there she is. Those wide, innocent eyes find mine before my attention drops to the pink lips I haven’t stopped thinking about for a fucking week. Then I take in the tiny yoga shorts and tight tank top she’s wearing, and every thought in my head goes straight to the gutter.

She looks made for my hands. Like she’s been waiting for them. Waiting for me.

Chyort. Damn it.

“Hey…” She bites the edge of her bottom lip, and I have to swallow back a groan.

V kogo ona menya prevratila? Who has she turned me into?

“Hey.” I stand there not knowing what to say, what to do, or where the hell to put my hands when all I want is to touch her.

“Wanna come in?”

I want a lot of things. None of them good.

“Okay.”

She steps aside, and I walk in, telling myself to keep my hands off. Under no circumstances am I touching her. Or worse, fucking her. That’s off the table. Permanently.

Nu blyat. Things were much easier when I was a virgin.

She clears her throat and walks ahead of me, glancing back once as she leads me toward the living room, where two simple cream leather sofas sit across from each other with a glass coffee table between them.

Before she can sit, she turns around with a sharp little huff, appearing almost angry with herself. “This is such a bad idea. I don’t even know why I let you come here. I shouldn’t trust you. Hell, it sounds like you’ve already been here, which should absolutely terrify me.”

“But it doesn’t.” I step closer, the backs of my fingers stroking along the underside of her jaw.

Finally.