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“Allow me to offer assistance where I am able. You will also need a ride home. My brother can handle the meeting.” His eyes are running over me, heating me so thoroughly I barely feel the twenty-four-degree weather.
It was his brother. He’s here with me when he should be with Carlo—Carlo who takes offense at the smallest slight. I’m drawn forward to him as if he were physically pulling me.
The moment I enter the clinic, I hear, “Celia, what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to work for another three hours— Oh, hello.” Darla is flushed as her eyes run over Milos. “Can I help you?”
I love Darla, but she’s such a slut. And I mean it in the nicest way possible. It’s how she refers to herself. She’s man crazy, forever flirting with every male who comes into the clinic.
“I am here for Celia and the kitten she saved from my vehicle.” He nods at me, stepping behind me. His hand is low on my back, urging me forward.
How the hell do I feel his touch when I’m wearing a shirt, a sweater, and a coat? I hold up the kitten. “Kitten, his fur is singed. He’s a little one too. Maybe four or five weeks. And he’s so quiet.”
She waves me back, her eyes on Milos. “Go on back, girly. Hank and Sue are in surgery with Elvis the Frenchie. They should be out in a half hour or so, but Belinda is free.”
“You work here?” The words rumble out of him.
I’m not sure why he makes it sound like I was keeping a secret from him. I nod. “Since I was sixteen. Every day after school I’m here. It’s very loosely an internship for me to get experience.”
I go into the first empty exam room, wondering where Belinda is. Unzipping my coat, I put the kitten into the bowl scale. Ah, he’s only a little over three ounces. Now that I get a good look at him he’s skinny, too skinny.
The heat is getting to me, I begin taking my coat off. Milos is behind me, his large hands on my shoulders, taking it from me. I can’t contain my shiver at his hands on me. Even though I’m blushing and hate it, my eyes are drawn up to his.
“You are still in school? How old are you?” More smoke, way too much gravel, the words come from his chest. It’s one of the differences that is always most striking between Italian men and American: American men’s voices come from their throat. Italian men—the ones in the mafia I encountered who grew up in old Italian families—their words come from their chest, deeper, fuller.
I had no idea Russian men were the same. I’ve never met a Russian before, at least not that I remember. Definitely not a man like Milos.
“Nineteen.” It’s a whisper. There is no visible response, yet there is a shift in the air. He’s withdrawing from me. I don’t dare tell him I just turned nineteen two months ago, a week before Christmas.
The kitten meows, reminding me why we’re here. It’s ridiculous. He isn’t—wasn’t interested in me. I’m too fat and now apparently too young. Men who are rich, powerful, and gorgeous like Milos Levin have a flock of women who are sexy rolling out of bed. Women are accessories to them, the same as the Patek Phillippe watch around his wrist I know for a fact costs more than two hundred thousand dollars.
Now I know why Carlo had claimed it was stupid to spend so much on a watch when it was so plain, there weren’t even diamonds on it. Men who spent that much on a watch weren’t interested in someone who is short and fat and constantly battling to stay a size eighteen. I’m not pretty enough to be an accessory.
Carlo was ordering my mother to put me on a diet every other month since I was nine years old. He was constantly moaning it was bad enough I was a girl—couldn’t I at least be pretty? No one other than my sister or nonna ever called me pretty. Once a boy called me okay, telling me he liked my long brown hair and gray eyes. How I was lucky my clear skin and complexion didn’t really need makeup. He admitted he was gay and was hoping I would be his pretend girlfriend. But no offense, he found someone skinnier than me. So Carlo was right…
Slamming down the thought of Carlo and his insults, I focus on the kitten. “Okay, let’s get a look at you, sweetie. Oh good, the burn isn’t as bad as it could be. You are so lucky. Ah, oops, you’re a girl.”
I run my hands gently over the kitten, watching her for any reaction of pain to my touch. A sigh of relief leaves me when she doesn’t meow in pain. Studying her, she’s pure black, not a spot of color on her.
I snag a stethoscope to listen to her lungs. Considering how small she is and how cold it is, she sounds good. Her eyes are slightly goopy with a slight crusting around one. Hm, she could have a virus.
“She is healthy?”
I’m surprised he seems to genuinely care. “Yes, I think so. She might have a virus with her eyes being this way. However, with her lungs sounding so good I’m hopeful it’s just the cold. I’ll need to watch her—or someone will.”
“You cannot keep her?” That eyebrow is up again.
Shaking my head, I sigh. I open the mini-fridge to get a prepared bottle of kitten formula out. Offering it to the kitten, I’m relieved when she begins sucking with gusto. The hungrier the better. “I wish. My little sister is allergic. I could keep her for a few weeks until she’s healthy and doesn’t need to eat every three to four hours, but I’ll have to find her a home. It’s a part of the reason I work here and volunteer at the cat rescue—to get my cat fix.”
“You will nurse her until she is old enough for me to take her home.” It’s not a question.
“You want her?” I can’t believe it.
A half-smile tugs at the scar on his cheek. The scar should even out his looks. He’s far too gorgeous for it to be fair. Except it doesn’t diminish his beauty in the slightest. “She crawled into my vehicle. It is meant to be. Russians, we are a superstitious lot. You cannot avoid what is meant to be. I have dogs for security, they are not pets. Just last week my brother suggested it was time I adopt a cat to keep me warm at night. For the cat to come into my life so soon after the suggestion means she is meant to be mine.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you would need a cat to keep you warm at night. There must be a dozen women willing to keep you warm.” Oh god, I blush as I realize what I said.
A grin that cannot be described as anything other than wicked flashes, then is gone far too quickly. “The women I allow into my bed are not allowed to sleep through the night or stay when it’s over.”
I’m saved from making an idiot of myself by Belinda. “Hi, Darla said you needed me? Hi, I’m, um, hi. Belinda.” She offers her hand to Milos. “How can I be of assistance?”
