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She laughs lightly. “It’s alright, sis. I figured it was all in my head, anyway. I just wanted to check with you and make sure you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve been a little stressed lately.”
“Have I?”
“Definitely. That vein in your temple has been popping like crazy. Has something been going on with work?”
I huff. Where do I even begin? Naturally, I can’t tell Tabitha a thing because it would be a huge breach of confidentiality, but I know it must be bad if my behavior’s been off and I haven’t noticed. “It’s the same old, same old,” I lie. “Nothing to worry about. I think I just need a day off.”
Tabitha grins. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair, then. Maybe treat yourself to a bubble bath or something? You’ve got all those bubble bars and soaps under the sink you never use.”
I hum. “Actually, that’s a pretty good idea.”
She wheels herself toward the front door. “Want me to bring you anything?”
“I’m good. You have fun.”
“I will. Love you!”
“Love you, too. Remember to take your umbrella.”
Tabitha giggles. “Alright,Mom. I’ll see you later.”
When I hear the door click behind her, I return to the couch and pick up my laptop, quickly opening it to resume the surveillance program. Luka hasn’t moved an inch, still tinkering away. He’s pulled my old iBook apart, piece by piece, everything laid out in neat rows and columns. I have no idea what he’s doing. He could be trying to build a bomb for all I know, but something tells me that isn’t the case.
I don’t know why I can’t stop watching. Gomez and another agent named Radcliffe have been scheduled to monitor him today, and while I wouldn’t describe myself as a micro-manager, I’m not willing to step away from this case for even a second. What if something happens? What if Luka slips and gives us some concrete evidence to go after the Antonov Bratva?
The tiny voice in the back of my head tells me that will never happen. Luka’s too loyal to deliberately give us what we need. He hasn’t said enough to hold up in a court of law. And while Luka might not have any qualms about skirting the rules, I need to do everything by the book. That’s the difference between him and me: justice and anarchy.
I rub the back of my neck and sigh. My muscles ache. I’ve had a non-stop headache since our run-in with the still unidentified attackers. Maybe Tabitha has a point. A hot bath and a large glass of red wine might make me right as rain.
There is nothing better than the simple pleasure of drawing a bath. The rush of hot water, the room filling with warm steam. The relaxing scent of lavender bubbles and vanilla candles. I’ve got a bamboo bathtub tray that sits snugly along the edges of the porcelain tub so I can easily set my laptop in front of me as I slip into the water. It’s scalding—just the way I like it.
But as I sip my wine and let the heat soak into my muscles, I’m wracked with restlessness. My chest tightens with anxiety and my heart thuds furiously. I don’t know how to sit still anymore. There’s too much work to do, yet I’m here on my day off doing nothing.
The people who attacked us are still at large when they should really be behind bars with cuffs around their wrists as tight as they’ll go. I’m tempted to contact my friends at the NYPD to see if anyone’s been able to identify the shooters but decide against it. They would have reached out by now if they had, and I’m not going to win any favors with my constant rushing.
So, I watch Luka instead.
By the looks of it, he’s healing nicely. Stiff in his movements, but otherwise alright.
I take in the sprawling tattoos on his body. It’s like a maze, patterns weaving in and out all over his arms, his chest, and even the side of his neck.
He’s lean, built like a swimmer, but even at the unflattering high angle of the hidden cameras, I can make out the ripple of his hard muscles beneath taut skin.
A wet heat blooms between my legs. I unconsciously slip a hand beneath the surface of the water, tracing my fingertips over my folds. A soft moan escapes me as I tease my aching clit. Nibbling on my bottom lip, I allow myself the luxury of drawing a tight circle or two against my core, easing into the building pleasure coursing through my veins.
And then I stop, a cold realization slamming into me.
What the hell am I doing, watching him like this? I shouldnotbe this aroused. If Luka ever found out—
“Fuck,” I hear him grumble over the surveillance mics.
My eyes flick up to my laptop screen. He’s abandoned his tech work in favor of stroking something in his lap.
Fuck, wait—not something,himself.
