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“We keep this between us,” I say tightly.
Leo stands and straightens his tie, his eyes flicking towards Bianca. “Then don’t tell her.”
“I don’t want Andrei to know either. He thinks I’m overreacting about working with Días as it is.”
Leo pauses with his hand on the doorknob, turning towards me. “Are you sure? Georgia will be there. If anything happened to her, Andrei would rearrange your face.”
Rolling a pen through my fingers, I cock an eyebrow. “There’s no risk to them… you said so yourself.”
“Crazy motherfucker” is the last thing he mumbles before exiting my office.
He’s right about that. I am feeling crazy.
Pouring myself a whisky, I get up and perch on the coffee table beside the couch where Bianca is sleeping. We should get out of here, but I don’t want to wake her. More than that, I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen next. Judging by tonight, she doesn’t hate me as much as she once did.
And fuck, I like it when she doesn’t hate me. That kiss was everything I thought it would be and more. Way more.
It was deep and hot and wet. Eager and hungry. Jesus, feeling her body against mine… soft, pliable, so fuckable… it took every ounce of willpower not to throw her in the back seat and rail her silly.
But I didn’t.
Call it a crisis of conscience or just plain stupidity on my part, but whatever grain of trust has sprouted between us needs time to grow, and fucking her, especially the way I like to fuck, would only complicate our fragile bond.
Watching her sleep now, something foreign squeezes in my chest. I’m protective of her. That’s all it is, I’m sure. She wears my ring after all.
Whatever is about to go down with Días has the potential to be messy, and I don’t want her caught in the cross fire. I sweep a hand through my hair as reality hits. The best way to protect her is to keep her at arm’s length until I’ve worked out what the hell is going on. And that means putting a stop to whatever we started tonight.
Downing the rest of the amber liquid, I settle into my office chair and turn my attention back to the VIP room’s monitor. Jorge is still deep into the game, a new half-naked woman gyrating on his lap.
All I can do now is play the game and wait for Días to fuck up. And when he does, I’m gonna take him down so hard he won’t know what hit him.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
BIANCA
“Your dog is a menace.”
I look up from my book to find Mikhail in front of me on the terrace, his face as sour as if he’d been sucking on a lemon.
“Oh, no,” I sigh audibly. Putting my book down on the chaise, I lift my sunglasses up off my face. “What did she do this time?”
“She got into Daniil’s office.” Mikhail hits me with a warning look. “Made a real mess. He won’t be happy.”
“Of course,” I say acting contrite. “I’ll deal with this. It shouldn’t be Nadia’s problem.” Nadia has neither the time nor patience for my “mutt,” as she not very affectionately calls Eris. Who can blame her? It’s not the first time Eris has gone somewhere she shouldn’t and flipped on her mini-weapon-of-mass-destruction button. In truth, it’s not Eris’s fault. It’s entirely mine.
“Nadia is out running errands. You have fifteen minutes before she returns and tattles on you.” He lights a cigarette and heads to the edge of the balcony to watch the world and smoke. I smile at his back. He might try to deny it, but Mikhail—a hardened bratva with a sense of humor as dry as toast—has a soft spot for Eris.
“That dog,” I mutter as I wander into the apartment and track down Eris in Daniil’s office, still rummaging through his garbage.
“Oh, Eris,” I exclaim, loud enough for Mikhail to hear. But when I enter the room and drop down beside her, I whisper in her ear, “Good girl. You really nailed it this time.” She wags her tail and buries her head into my lap. I must admit, this dog might be naughty as hell, but she really is worming her way into my heart.
Giving her one final pet, I start the laborious cleanup process. She really did trash the place but cleaning up gives me an excuse to be in his office for longer than a few moments. Daniil rarely works from home, but after weeks of being here, it’s the only room I haven’t been able to search in earnest. I was able to go through his bedroom earlier this week after Eris went on a real spree, apparently garbage cans are her enemy. But honestly, his bedroom is like a mausoleum. Or maybe a hotel. The point being it’s barely lived in, contains few personal effects, and there’s nothing of use to the FBI unless they want to know what kind of shaving cream or deodorant the guy wears.
And let’s be honest, while the feds don’t care what he smells like, I admit to taking a healthy sniff of his delicious aftershave—musky, citrusy, masculine. And all Daniil. His scent makes me lightheaded; like a hit of drugs, it blasts straight through my veins.
I force myself to pull it together, internally chiding my libido for going around craving his scent. Here I am swooning over his aftershave when he’s decided I’m not even worth the effort. He’s gone back to being ice-cold after our date. Working all the time. Barely seeing or speaking to me, other than in passing. Stupid me, I thought we’d shared something that night, something unexpected. The worst part is at some point during that dinner I stopped focusing on what I need to learn about the Kozlovs and just focused on getting to know Daniil as a person. And I like what I saw there. Behind the stern bratva mask, there is someone real. Warm. Compassionate. Sexy as sin.
And that kiss…
