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It was a mistake. A mistake to talk to Kira with anything approaching transparency. A mistake to spend time with her that wasn’t controlled. A mistake to do so when he was exhausted, when he’d spent the night trying to forget her, to forget the way she’d looked in the restaurant bathroom.
The way she’d tasted.
I don’t want anything to happen to you…
Had he been imagining the worry in her eyes? Was she playing him again?
He didn’t know, and the fact that he was still putting on his shoes, still preparing to talk to her — to really talk to her — for the first time since she’d returned, said everything he needed to know about his state of mind.
It felt strange to be in the casual clothes he’d worn for years as a brigadier and when he’d been assigned to Yakov Vitsin’s security team. Since his bid for leadership of the bratva, he’d been focused on remaking its image. He’d hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of casual clothes unless he wasn’t working — and it seemed he was always working in some capacity or another.
HIs old clothes were a reminder of where he’d come from, of who he was.
A fighter. A killer. A leader.
The Lion.
She was waiting in the living room, worrying her lower lip and staring through the big windows at the city. She turned when she heard the door to his bedroom close, and his heart clutched in his chest.
What was it about this woman — this one woman — that undid him? That made him forget all the promises he’d made to himself, all the times he’d promised to never trust her?
She was wearing a coordinating jogger in black. It should have been too harsh for her delicate features, but it only made her hair seem more gold, only highlighted her creamy skin and pronounced cheekbones.
She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and left her face bare. It made her look impossibly young, made him want to protect her even when his gut told him that when it came to Kira, he was the one who probably needed protecting.
Why did she have to be so damn beautiful?
“Let’s go,” he said, hoping his expression didn’t betray his emotions.
“Where?”
“I need some fresh air,” he said. “And some coffee.”
She gave a little nod and headed for the foyer. They pulled on their coats and took the elevator to the lobby in silence.
Outside, the city was bustling. Professionals in suits made their way across the sidewalks alongside tourists starting their day in the City of a Hundred Spires. The sun created a haze over the city that made Lion feel like they were out of time.
Chicago seemed very far away.
They found a coffee shop in one of the city’s old buildings, and Lyon marveled at the soaring ceilings, tall windows, and Art Nouveau architecture. Several chandeliers dripped crystal from above while below, customers stood in line as bored as if they were standing in a Starbucks.
When he glanced at Kira, her head was tipped back, her gaze taking in the beauty of the old building. She looked at him like she’d felt his eyes on her face, and a tentative smile of delight turned up the corners of her mouth.
He felt himself return her smile in spite of himself. He’d missed watching her go from fiery anger to cool impassivity to childish excitement, like a thunderous summer storm drenching the land in rain before the clouds cracked to reveal the sun.
They got two coffees and stepped back onto the street. They walked aimlessly for awhile, neither of them speaking, both taking in the store windows, the trolleys that wound their way through the wide roads, the street vendors, carts piled high with fruits, vegetables, bread, spices, and sizzling meat.
The fresh air and caffeine slowly cleared his sleep-deprived brain, and by the time they reached the river, Lyon felt almost human. They started across one of the many bridges crossing the Vlatava and stopped about halfway across as if by agreement.
They rested their arms on the bridge and looked down at the water.
When Kira finally spoke, he almost didn’t hear her. The wind had kicked up, snatching her words and tossing them to the wind. “Where were you last night?”
He thought of the previous night: putting Kira in the car with Rurik, watching as its lights merged into the crowd, more drinks than he could count at a seedy bar, a failed attempt at fucking a prostitute, failed not because he couldn’t get it up, but because he was hard as a rock and something in his psyche rejected the woman trying to get him off.
She was pretty enough, but the heart wants what the heart wants. And apparently his cock felt the same way.
And it wanted Kira.
