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“I was tired! I barely remembered to pack boxer briefs!”
Her eyes flared wide, then her gaze drifted down my length.
Double fuck.
I leaned into her, my hand lifting to tuck a stray lock of hair away from her cheek and—
She jerked away.
Triplefucking fuck.
I cleared my throat. “Brought something for you.”
Her brows lifted when she saw the bag in my hand, immediately snatching it from my grip and tearing it open. “Fuck, nothing tastes as good as American candy.”
I sniffed to hide my discomfort when she moaned around the treat. “We can agree to disagree on that.”
“Hey, I like that you hate the candy I love,” she countered before chomping on a couple candy hearts. “That means I don’t have to share.”
“You make a good argument,” I concurred, shifting my hands behind my back as I looked at her and tried not to make it creepy.
Maybe I was asking for too much. It had already been impossible to keep my eyes off her throughout dinner, especially once Kuznetsov had left partway through the entrée course.
Now, it was even more of a task because she was naked apart from a towel—I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, did I?
Deciding that it was safer to escape while she was still in G.I. Jane mode, I muttered. “Anyway, you probably need to get some rest. I just thought you’d appreciate the candy.”
As I stepped back and away, she caught my eye. Brow puckered, she said, “You were mad at me.”
“When? Earlier?”
“No, when you came for me, and you still brought me candy?”
“I’m a glutton for punishment,” I derided, turning on my heel before we could get into this. “You get some rest. We’ll reconvene tomorrow and figure out our next steps.”
“Are you mad at me for stabbing Kuznetsov?”
I paused. “I would be if they hadn’t put me in that nice suite and had me in a dungeon underneath this building. But…” I tried to get my thoughts together. Jet lag wasn’t helping me any. Nor was the scent of her. Flowers. G.I. Star wasn’t supposed to smell of flowers.Concentrate, Conor.“I think I knew he’d let you get away with it so I wasn’t worried.”
“What made you think that?”
“How he looked at you.”
She stopped chewing the candy. “How did he look at me?”
“Like you were his granddaughter.”
“He was manipulating you—”
“Yes, he was. You were right to push him like that at dinner. He did twist my arm to get me to help you to talk to him, but that doesn’t take away from the truth—he wants you in his life. This other granddaughter too.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t have room in my life for family.”
“I think you know that’s a lie,” I said carefully, trying not to show how much her words hurt. “Katina’s family. What are the Sinners if not family too?”
Brow furrowing, she retreated a couple steps, backpedaling until she could plunk down on a comfortable couch.
As modern in style as this place was, as luxurious, comfort was the keyword. That meant everything was squashy—from the couches to the chairs to the beds. Amid the modern, Scandinavian styles, there were antique pieces that were more befitting the tastes of a man Kuznetsov’s age.
