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Luka’s face has gone contemplative, cold, and stern. His eyes move over his room. The deep tones of charcoal, gray, navy blue, and warm wood shades create a warm masculine palette. But the warmth radiating off him has been ripped away. Dread coils in my belly, and I get up to move away.
“I’m sorry, Luka; you were asleep, and I barged in here and I—I.” I can’t even finish my thoughts. Luka’s gaze narrows on me, and I blush. “I’m going to go back to my room. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t leave,” he says. His tone has me disoriented, and I panic. He stands, his towering presence moving forward with every step that I back up.
“Stay,” he continues.
“I can’t.” My whisper comes out like a question.
His face falls into a frown, and he loosens his grip on me. I speed toward the door, tripping over the plush rug, hands shooting out to catch myself on his oak dresser.
Pausing, I glance back at him and sigh. His face is pained, and he gets up to head to the bathroom. The door shuts with a hard thud, and I turn on my heels and go back to my room.
* * *
5 a.m. comes all too soon;the memory of Luka’s kiss burning a hole straight to my heart.
Even more than that his admission. He sees me as the person who saved him, and while that warms my chest, I also can’t help the self-doubt creeping in. Is he only helping me because he thinks he owes me? Is the job, penthouse, and helpallbecause he feels obligated?
I snort at the idea of Luka feeling obligated about anything.
Grabbing some clothes for work, I head to the shower, letting the water soothe the tension. After getting myself ready, I muster up the courage to finally exit my room and make my way to the kitchen. I glance down past the other rooms and see that Luka’s room is shut. He is probably already at work.
Clanking in the kitchen motivates me to continue on, and Ilena is unloading the dishwasher, gliding from cabinet to cabinet, putting items away. She spots me and delivers a wide smile. One that I savor, knowing this woman with her past, doesn’t offer them to anyone.
“Good morning, Ms. Castile.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “It’s Kate; we’ve been over this.”
She chuckles and continues her ministrations while I raid the fridge. And we had been over this often. It’s a habit for her to address Luka by his last name, as she did with his father. But I told her it meant more to me to have her use my first name. She gets it about 50 percent of the time.
“Sleep well?” she asks.
Her question snaps my head up, and I find her smiling at me. I narrow my eyes at her, but heat has already flooded my cheeks, and I look anywhere but at her.
No. I did not. I tossed and turned all night long, thinking about the man down the hall.
“Uh. Yeah. I—I did. You?” I grab a small container full of a snack lunch and a bottle of water before closing the fridge and gathering my bag.
“Da,” she says, and I smile. Luka provides her housing in this building. I’ve never been down to her apartment, but Nik told me she lives alone and is fond of it that way. Thank goodness she wasn’t here last night.
“Well, I’m off. Have a good day.” I bounce toward the elevator and grab my coat from the closet. I’m looking forward to the chilly air cooling me down and work distracting me with other tasks for the day. I pick up Thing One and Thing Two from the building’s lobby, and they follow me as I stride down the sidewalk to the office. My phone rings halfway there, and I glance at the New York number.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Ms. Castile?” The sweet, high-pitched feminine voice says.
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Lindsey Wood. I received your inquiry into the apartment on Turn Street, and I wanted to see when was a good time for you to come tour it? It is currently unoccupied, therefore we have some flexibility with time.” She sounds nice, but the idea of moving forward with apartment hunting delivers an ache to my chest.
“Yes, I’d like to take a look. I work during the day but could probably meet during lunch or get out a bit earlier,” I answer.
I think about how I’m going to ditch the guards in order to present myself as someone semi-normal to this lady.
“How about this afternoon? Is 3 p.m. okay?” she asks. I think about it, and I’m sure it would be fine. I can mention to Natallia I need to do something and a leave early.
“Yes, that works. I’ll meet you there. Thank you so much!”
