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“Shoot.”
“Why do you do it? Is it just to please the women, or do you get a kick from it, too?” His face tightens minutely, and I hastily add, “If the question is too personal, you don’t have to answer.”
He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t know. I suppose… it makes me feel closer to Yan.”
My heart clenches. Behind the honesty, there’s an unspoken need for acceptance, approval. Both are basic human needs, the pillars of a healthy self-esteem. We get those fundamental pillars from our parents. If our parents fail to meet those needs, we search for them elsewhere. Ilya is looking for them in his twin. In sex.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Yan isn’t very good with emotions,” Ilya continues gruffly. “My brother, he… well, he usually only gives affection during sex. I don’t mean that he touches me—he doesn’t—but he’s less shielded. Freer, if that makes sense.”
I stare at him, the ache in my chest intensifying. I can feel the pain behind his words, the longing that he can’t quite hide. Like Yan, he’s never had a normal family, and whereas Yan has been able to manage his emotions by largely denying them, Ilya has latched on to his brother as the one constant in his life, channeling at him all the love that should’ve belonged to their parents.
A love that Yan can’t reciprocate outside of sex.
My stomach feels strangely tight at the thought, so I force it away, push it deep down where it can’t hurt me. Turning in my seat, I fold my arms around Ilya’s big frame. I’m not good with emotions either, but I can give him this, try to make him feel better at least for this one short moment.
His big frame is tense at first, but then he relaxes, the air escaping his lungs in a sigh as he lays his head on my shoulder. Awkwardly, I pat his back, then pull away, releasing him.
“You’re a nice guy, Ilya,” I say softly when his green eyes meet mine. “I like you. I really do.”
“But not like that?”
“No, not like that.”
He sighs and rubs the tattoo above his right ear. “If that changes, let me know.”
I punch him playfully. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“Hey.” He gives me a mock-frown. “I appreciate your honesty, but you could hold back just a little. Rejection stings.”
Despite his words, his tone is light, so I grin at him. “You’re a big man. You can handle it.”
He grins back. “Maybe, but I don’t get why Yan is so selfish when it comes to you. He’s never behaved like this with a woman.”
My smile fades. Discussing Yan makes me edgy, as does thinking about the reasons for his possessive behavior.
Like Ilya just said, Yan doesn’t give affection easily, so whatever’s between us can’t be more than just hot sex.
Thankfully, Ilya seems oblivious to my change in mood. “Are you sure I can’t fix you breakfast?” he asks, still grinning. “It’s no trouble, I promise.”
I think fast. This is an opportunity I can’t waste. I may not get another chance. Pasting on a smile, I say, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather go out for breakfast. I’m developing cabin fever.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been acting so under the weather?” He stands and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. “There’s a place nearby that makes mean pastries.”
Laying a hand on his arm, I say quietly, “Alone.”
He stills with a bewildered look.
“I need some time on my own. It’s hard to process everything that’s happened.”
He frowns. “Look, I know you have a lot on your plate, but—”
“Where am I going to go with a tracker embedded in my neck?”
The manipulation works. Guilt splashes over his features, stark and remorseful. I feel bad for deceiving him, but what choice do I have?
Slowly, he lowers the jacket. “Yan won’t like it.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
Guilt transforms into doubt. “I don’t know.”
“Please, Ilya.” I get to my feet and grip his hand, staring at him with all the begging I can muster. “I’m not going to run.” At least, not for long.
After a moment’s hesitation, his shoulders sag. “Fine, but you come back here. Don’t make me call Yan in the middle of his meeting.”
“I’ll come back.” It’s a given, a part of my life I no longer have control over. Awkwardly, I add, “I’ll need some money.”
“Oh. Of course.” He reaches for the wallet in his back pocket and takes out a few bills, enough for ten generous breakfasts. “Here you go.”
Rising on tiptoes, I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
His smile is uncertain.
Before he can change his mind, I pull on a sweater and rush outside. I force myself to walk normally in case he’s looking through the window.
The minute I round the corner, I run.
