Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
His expression is so typically difficult to read, in that just-Damien way.
“The Gabriel stuff?” he says finally.
I nod, thinking of the way Gabriel looked in the hallway, the rage in every one of his features.
“It still could be,” he goes on. “It all depends on how the next few days and weeks play out.”
“And all that time, I’ll stay here.”
Damien smirks. “With the best kitchen you’ve ever used.”
I bolt to my feet, something confusing rushing through me.
For a second, I think I’m going to yell at him.
It was the way he was looking at me, with that indulgent glint in his eye. It made me want to sink lovingly into the moment.
But at the same time, I know it’s one-sided. I know I’m misreading everything.
So, he’s just patronizing me.
“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m your…your pet or something.”
I purposefully stayed turned away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.
“I thought you liked the kitchen,” he says.
“I do. It’s not that. It’s….”
It’s when you look at me like that I want to melt.
But I know it would be a mistake. There’s no heat coming from him.
It’s all inside me, trying to burst out.
“What?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I sigh, deflating. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that, Liliana,” he snaps, walking up behind me.
He’s getting closer.
Now I can feel his heat, but it’s only physical, his presence, not infused with the same undying need that pulses within me. It gets so freaking hot.
I’m burning up, and he doesn’t even care or even notice.
“Do what?”
“Apologize when you don’t need to. It won’t be long until some cruel asshole decides to play on it if you start doing that. Use it to manipulate you.”
I spin on him.
Doesn’t he know he’s the one who’s manipulating me?
But I can’t say that, not when he’s not doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault I’ve got all these feelings.
“So what?” I say. “Never apologize?”
“Only say sorry when you’ve done something wrong.”
I laugh sarcastically. At least, I mean it to sound that way, but even I can hear the genuine affection in it.
Even when I’m trying to be short with him, I can’t help but let it shine.
“Thanks, boss,” I say.
He smirks. “I’m not your boss, Liliana.”
“Well… you’re sure as heck acting like one.”
“Heck,” he mutters, turning away, a grin on his lips.
I can’t believe how quickly the moment can change with him. It’s the shift in mood prompted by the barest shift in his facial expression. It’s as though we’re feeling everything, all the time, every emotion so close to the surface it can rise up at the smallest nudge.
“What’s wrong with heck?” I say, unable to stop myself from smiling.
“It’s just not a word I hear often.”
“Dad didn’t like cursing,” I say softly. “It was funny…he could drink himself into a coma, but he didn’t like anybody to swear, not in his apartment.”
Damien turns back to me, watching me in that close way of his. “You’ve got confused feelings about your father.”
“Yeah.” My mind flits with all the stress he caused, the arguments, but then the joy, the love. “I guess you could say that.”
“I understand that.”
“You do?”
He frowns as if he’s gone too far. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
I almost tell him the thing I’ve been thinking about all day, but this is too important.
“Why are you changing the subject?”
“Liliana, I’ve been open with you. More than any Bratva man would in my situation.”
I know he’s right.
It might not feel like it…It so doesn’t feel like it….
But we’re strangers.
“I want to know more,” I say, surprising even myself. “And you….”
Stop, stop.
“I think you want to tell me.”
He takes a step back, like a reflex, his hands raised. I think he’s going to lurch forward and grab my shoulders for a moment. It’s the way he holds himself there like that, his powerful hands half-curled as if ready to touch me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You’re not wrong, Liliana. I did – do – want to tell you. But it’s not something I speak about.”
“So you change the subject,” I mutter, no idea where all this forwardness is coming from.
It’s like, at some point, he stopped being Mr. Dovlatov and became my Damien. But I’ve got no reason to think that, feel it right down in my belly, and believe it with every pulsing piece of me.
He nods. “And a man has to eat.”
“Let’s make a deal.”
He’s got that indulgent smirk on his face now. The same urge from before hits me, the one that tells me he’s offering me something fake. He doesn’t feel the same as me, not even close.
But surely that means I can enjoy the fantasy, this moment, just a little longer.
“A deal?” he says. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’ll feed you some dinner if you keep going with what you were saying. About parents? About confused feelings? I wanted to hear it.”