Chapter 17

Even the towel we placed on the table, looking like it was taken from a picnic, made my heart sway a little in my chest.

I heard some laughter outside and found myself caught up in it, smiling too, not even knowing why. It was still a bit chilly, and I was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and socks, but compared to Russia, the temperature was perfect.

"I know I’ve thanked you a few times already," I started, catching Ilya’s attention as he looked at me. "But this... I really had no idea how much I missed a real home."

"Hummm..."

I ended up laughing at his response, already used to his grumbling. They were becoming comfortable for me too.

"It doesn’t matter how long we stay here. Two days, a week, a month. I know it won’t be permanent, but thank you for making me remember what a home feels like."

I reached out and took his hand, touching it gently.

I thought he’d pull away or refuse, but he intertwined his fingers with mine. It was as if he was also looking for some comfort.

Ilya kept a strong exterior, trying to be the type who doesn’t give in and who doesn’t lose the tough guy persona, but I sensed he was also tired. More than that, that he’d given more of himself than he ever could.

He’d sold his soul the moment he decided to save me and steal me away from his own boss.

He kept looking at our hands, using his thumb to caress mine, and I felt my heart race. It was time to make a move, or we’d never get past this point.

I shifted on the couch, moving closer and sitting on his lap. I ran one hand to his face, touching the part of his cheek that had no stubble.

Ilya’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his hands away from me.

"What are you doing, moi rys?" Those whispers were driving me crazy. His heavy breathing, too.

The nickname then...

"Aren’t you going to tell me why you call me that?"

"No. What I want to know now is what you’re doing."

"I just sat on your lap. The rest, I think, is up to you."

He tilted his head slowly to the side, and his eyes fixed on my lips. I shuddered at the thought of being kissed. A chill ran through me along with all the thoughts about what it would be like.

I felt his fingers move up to my neck, wrapping around it entirely – his hand was so absurdly big, it could break me in half. One of his fingers traced my lips, outlining them while he stayed silent.

"Ty prekrasna," he whispered again, in a rough tone, and I tilted my head back slightly, feeling the pressure of his fingertips, especially at the curve of my shoulder. "You’re beautiful."

I wouldn’t be able to say which language sounded more beautiful, Russian or Spanish.

I couldn’t say how I liked his hand holding me, whether on my neck or the nape, like when he later held a strand of my hair and pulled it back, opening even more space.

God, I was going to burn up.

He brought his face closer to mine but still didn’t kiss me. He just leaned in a bit more and breathed in, smelling the soap and shampoo I had used hours ago.

He let out that soft growl that was becoming characteristic and gripped my hair more firmly.

What was he waiting for, my God? I was going to melt on his legs, on those thick thighs that I could feel were irritatingly well-shaped just by how my bottom fit against them.

"Moi rys..." he repeated, with a different tone. Of frustration.

As if he couldn’t fight it anymore.

I swore I was really going to be kissed, but the doorbell rang, pulling us out of the trance.

I immediately jumped, remembering how alert I had been during the time we spent in that cabin, trapped, far from the rest of the world.

"Don’t be afraid. We’re safe," he had said that a few times already, but he probably made a point to repeat it so there’d be no doubt.

I got off his lap, and there was a moment between us. Both of us in silence, looking at each other. Ilya’s eyes full of promises...

But neither of us had the courage to say anything.

He stood up, opened the door, and I saw that the visitor was Hunter. He waved at me, but Ilya left so they could talk on the porch, probably about everything that had happened to get us here.

Sighing, defeated and full of desires, I turned off the TV with the remote, grabbed the pillow I’d placed on the couch, and took it with me to the room that would be mine, huffing about Hunter’s bad timing.

I entered but didn’t close the door, just threw myself on the bed, hugging the same pillow that was downstairs, thinking this would be my first night alone after a few days of sleeping with company.

I fell asleep because I was so tired, but at some point in the middle of the night, I woke up feeling the mattress sink beneath me when a heavy body settled on it too.

I slowly turned in bed and saw Ilya lying on his back, his hand on his abdomen, still as a post.

"What’s wrong?"

"Hummm," he grumbled, but added, "I couldn’t sleep."

Smiling, I snuggled into the pillow, maintaining the safe distance he’d established.

But it wasn’t any surprise to wake up in the morning with both of us tangled up, seeking the comfort we’d gotten used to offering and desiring.