AllFreeNovel
Share Us
All these thoughts are raging in my head and my cheeks are burning when Uncle Kristian appears. He stands in the doorway wearing a suit jacket over a V-neck T-shirt that clings to his muscular body. Black looks good on him. It sets off his pale blue eyes and silver-blond hair, and it accentuates the long, muscular lines of his body.
A smile spreads across his handsome face. “Morning, princess.”
Did he always sayprincessin that velvety purr? I can’t remember. Years ago, I used to be his dandelion. If I was especially silly or grumpy or sad, I was his dandelion puff. From the year I turned fifteen he started greeting me with his head on one side, an unreadable smile on his lips as he murmured, “Hello, princess.”
It made me feel special and grown up to hear him say that. I wasn’t a floaty, feathery dandelion seed, I was special. His princess, and he was my prince.
Now he’s giving me an intense look; hungry and possessive of me in ways that an uncle definitely shouldn’t be.
He raises an eyebrow slowly. “Do I get a hello in return?”
My gaze lingers on details about him that I’ve never noticed before. How that mouth of his is tilted at the corner as if he’s having wicked thoughts. How his jaw catches the light. The way a few strands of hair falling in his eyes have me itching to brush them back.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and rests his shoulder against the doorframe, and the swaggery way his body moves is so Uncle Kristian. I’ve seen him move like that a thousand times before. I witnessed him make that exact movement last night in the warehouse, and I didn’t recognize him.
“Do I not even get a hug anymore, Zenya?” he murmurs, pushing away from the doorframe and sauntering around the counter to stand by my chair. He runs his forefinger along the underside of my ponytail and lets the heavy strands slip through his fingers. “Or a kiss?”
I’m Zenya Belyaev, and men do not fluster me. I’ve suffered my share of harassment, dirty jokes, and wandering hands. Not once have I crumpled before a man, and I’m not about to start now.
“Bad uncles don’t get anything,” I tell him, gazing at him from beneath my lashes. I nearly slap a hand over my mouth as I realize how suggestive that sounded, but instead I dig my nails into my palms and make myself hold his gaze.
Commit to it.
Uncle Kristian wants me flustered in front of him, so I don’t give it to him.
His lips twitch as he gazes down at me. “In my experience, bad uncles get whatever they want. I’ll make my own coffee, shall I?”
He turns away to the machine, and I can breathe again.
I tap a few numbers into a spreadsheet, pretending I’m not hyperaware of his body with his broad back to me just a few feet away. This man is as familiar to me as my own father, so why am I obsessing over him like he’s a shiny new toy that I’m not allowed to play with? He moves to the fridge, and I can see his strong profile. He has the same proud, straight nose and pale blue eyes that I do. Grandma and Grandpa either chose a baby to adopt that resembled them on purpose, or it’s purely a coincidence that Dad and Uncle Kristian look like blood brothers.
There are differences, though. Before he got sick, Dad was always soft around the middle and cheerful, whereas Uncle Kristian is lean, dangerous, and sharp like a sword. During the year or two before he left, I would be out with friends whose eyes widened at the sight of someone approaching me over my shoulder. “Wow, your dad is crazy hot.”
I would answer without even bothering to turn around, “That’s not my dad. That’s my uncle.”
People would stop and stare at Uncle Kristian, men and women alike. Mostly women. Laughing, I would always point out those who were particularly dumbstruck by my uncle.
“That woman is gawking at you so hard that she nearly walked into traffic.”
Uncle Kristian would smile down at me, only paying attention to me, and reply, “Is she, princess?” Like he didn’t give a damn about other people. He only cared about who I was looking at.
While I’m taking surreptitious glances at him, he finishes making coffee and places a fresh latte by my elbow. I know without asking that it will be made with an extra shot and half a teaspoon of sugar stirred in, just the way I like it.
My uncle draws out a chair and sits down beside me, holding his own coffee.
“These are pretty,” he murmurs, taking my hand. I’m not sure what he means until he runs his thumb over my nails, which are painted dark red and filed into tapered points. His eyes run over me. “You’re different since I last saw you. A little taller. Cheeks finer. Hair longer. You’re even prettier, Zenya. I didn’t think that was possible.”
My hand looks so small in his large one, and because I’m admiring the way we look together, I tug my fingers from his grip. “You’re different, too.”
“Me? I haven’t changed at all.”
But he has. Uncle Kristian use to possess the power to make me feel safe just by being close to me. I sensed how dangerous he was, but I was never afraid of him because he was only a threat to other people.
Now? I’m terrified of him.
Last night. I want to beg him,Please tell me it was a terrible mistake so I can forget about it and be happy to see you.I want to wrap my arms around the strong, beautiful man that I love and soak him up like sunshine.
Uncle Kristian picks up his coffee, but he moves too quickly and some of the foam slops over the edge. “Damn it.” He frowns and licks the foam from the rim of his cup, and I catch sight of his tongue. Time slows down as I watch it move across the ceramic in a firm, deliberate swipe.
