Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
They know all sorts of things about me, including the fact that I lied to them by omission.
Thinking fast, I give a visible swallow and look down at my plate. “My mom…” I let my voice break, like it wants to. “She died a month ago.” Allowing the tears to flood my eyes, I look up, meeting Nikolai’s gaze. “That’s another reason I decided to go on the road trip. I needed some time to process things.”
His eyes glint a darker shade of gold. “My deepest condolences for your loss.”
“Thank you.” I wipe away the moisture on my cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. It’s not something I felt comfortable casually bringing up in an interview.” Especially since my mom was killed and the men who did it are after me. I really hope Nikolai doesn’t know about that.
Then again, he wouldn’t have hired me if he did. It’s not the sort of thing you want around your family.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Alina says, a genuine expression of sympathy on her face. “That must’ve been difficult for you, losing your only parent. Do you have any other family? Grandparents, aunts, cousins?”
“No. My mom was adopted from an orphanage in Cambodia by an American missionary couple. They were killed in a car accident when she was ten, and none of their family wanted her, so she grew up in foster care.”
“So you’re all alone now,” Nikolai murmurs, and I nod, the squeezing ache in my chest returning.
Growing up, I’d never minded the lack of extended family. Mom had given me all the love and support I could’ve wished for. But now that she’s gone, now that it’s no longer the two of us against the world, I’m painfully aware that I don’t have anyone to rely on.
The friends I’d made in school and college are busy with their own, infinitely less fucked-up lives.
Realizing I’m drifting dangerously close to self-pity, I pull my gaze away from Nikolai’s probing stare and turn my attention to the child at my side. He’s finished his potatoes and is now industriously working on his lamb chop, his little face the very picture of concentration as he struggles to cut a bite-sized piece of meat using a fork and knife that someone left by his plate. Not a dull bread knife, either, I realize with a jolt.
An actual sharp steak knife.
“Here, darling, let me,” I say, grabbing it from him before he can slice off his fingers. “This is—”
“Something he needs to learn how to handle,” Nikolai says, reaching across the table to take the knife from me. His fingers brush over mine as he clasps the handle, and I feel it like an electric shock, the warmth of his skin igniting an answering furnace inside me. My insides tighten, my breath quickening, and it’s all I can do not to yank back my hand as if scalded.
At least he’s not married, an insidious little voice whispers in my head, and I shush it with vengeance.
Married or not, he’s still my employer and thus strictly off-limits.
Biting my lip, I watch him hand the knife back to the child, who resumes his dangerous task.
“You’re not worried he’ll cut himself?” I can’t keep the judgment out of my voice as I stare at the little fingers wrapped around a potentially lethal weapon. Slava is handling the knife with a reasonable degree of skill and dexterity, but he’s still too young to be dealing with something so sharp.
“If he does, he’ll know better next time,” Nikolai says. “Life doesn’t come with a safety lock.”
“But he’s only four.”
“Four and eight months,” Alina says as the boy succeeds in cutting a piece of lamb chop and, looking pleased with himself, forks it into his mouth. “His birthday’s in November.”
I’m tempted to keep arguing with them, but it’s my first day and I’ve already pushed the envelope more than is wise. So I keep my mouth shut and focus on my food to avoid looking at the child wielding a knife next to me… or his callous, yet dangerously attractive father.
Unfortunately, said father keeps looking at me. Each time I lift my gaze from my plate, I find his mesmerizing eyes on me and my heartbeat jumps, my hand tingling at the recollection of what it felt like to have his fingers brush against mine.
This is bad.
So bad.
Why is he looking at me like that?
He can’t be attracted to me as well… can he?
10
Nikolai
If there was any doubt in my mind that I’m going to enjoy unraveling the mystery that is Chloe, it’s gone by the time Pavel brings out dessert. Everything about her fascinates me, from the mixture of truth and lies falling so easily from her lips to the way she delicately and politely devours enough food to feed two NFL linebackers. And underneath my fascination is a primal attraction more powerful than anything I’ve experienced. I’ve never wanted a woman this much, and with so little provocation. She’s not flirting, not doing anything to get my attention, yet from the moment I took my seat across from her, I’ve been hard, the sight of her plush lips closing around a fork turning me on more than the most erotic strip show in Moscow.