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I bent down and kissed her forehead. “Morning, printsessa.”

Before she could swat my hand away, I stole one of her strawberries.

“Hey,” she protested. “Yuriy made this fruit bowl specially for me.”

“Twenty-four years old and still don’t know how to share?”

Yuriy turned from the sink, towel slung over his shoulder. “Stealing from your pregnant daughter, Stas? I always knew you were cold, but not that cold.”

Was it too much for him to avoid me?

I met his eyes. Barely. But I’d be damned if I made it easy for him to spot how nervous he made me after what had happened between us. He clicked his tongue at me, shaking his head, and the flash of the jewelry in his tongue reminded me of last night when I’d spent hours questioning my whole life.

Who knew a piece of metal could cause so much pleasure?

“She’s got a whole bowl. I took one.”

“You gotta know not to mess with a pregnant woman’s food.” Yuriy dried his hands on a towel. “That’s suicide.”

Yelena snorted. “He’s right. You’re lucky I can’t get up fast anymore.”

“Don’t worry, Yelena. I’ll get him for you. Just say the word.” Of course the bastard would love for an opportunity to get his hands on me—err, to kill me.

“I’ll take my chances,” I said, voice coming out lower than I meant.

Yuriy’s gaze caught mine. “Will you now? You always this reckless before breakfast?”

“Only when I’m provoked by my daughter siding with my enemy.”

“But it’s so much fun to provoke you. It’s a nice change to see you all hot and bothered instead of frigid.” He cocked his head toward Yelena. “Your old man always this cold?”

“Papa’s the warmest, kindest man I know.”

Normally, I would be pleased to hear these words from my daughter. They meant I did a good enough job as her father. However, those qualities weren’t words I wanted an Orlov to associate with me.

“Then it’s just me,” he purred. “How sweet of you to reserve this very special treatment for me.”

“You’re as special as a cold sore, Orlov.”

He burst out laughing, the sound scraping against my nerves like a blade. The bastard couldn’t take anything seriously. Not even an insult.

“Careful, Stas,” he said softly, voice smooth as smoke. “Keep talking to me like that, and I might bite back.”

I held his stare. “You planning to bite me, Orlov?”

His grin turned slow, deliberate. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve wanted to sink my teeth into something dangerous and lick the deadly juices. What’s more dangerous than a Zhukovsky?”

The air between us ignited, electric and suffocating, the kitchen suddenly too small to contain whatever this was between us. Licking. Was he referring to last night? He bit his bottom lip, and heat surged through me.

He was.

“Wait a minute.” Yelena’s voice snapped me out of my trance. “Why does this sound like foreplay and not about fruit anymore?”

Yuriy blinked, that devil’s smile not fading. “Guess I’ve got a thing for forbidden fruit.”

Fuck. Why didn’t he deny it?

For a split second, something uneasy clawed at my chest. Panic, or something close. My stomach knotted at the thought of Yelena finding out what we’d done last night.