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Authors: Ann Mayburn
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She fiddled with her glass, tension radiating from her.
The need to put her at ease had him softening his gaze for her in a way he’d never done with a woman before. “What part of America are you from?”
She looked up at him, and some of the shadows in her gaze dissipated as she studied his face then graced him with a wry smile that made the edges of his lips turn up in response. “The boring part. In the States, they call where I live ‘flyover country’.”
“What is flyover country?”
She looked at him then back at the glass in her hands. “It’s a place that’s so dull all people do is fly over it, never landing. Like I said, boring.”
Laughing, he took another sip from his tequila. “What is boring to you is exotic to me.”
“Where are you from?”
He almost told her the truth, that his home was in Moscow, Russia, but instead, he said, “Minsk, in Belarus.”
“Belarus, huh?” Leaning against the edge of her kitchen counter, she smiled at him. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know much about your country. By ‘much’ I mean anything.”
“Is boring,” he replied with a teasing smile. “You tell me about your boring place, and I will tell you about mine.”
She smiled at him, and his chest tightened. “Deal.”
Motioning to him, she led them into her spacious living room done in shades of purple and gray. A thick, furry white rug lay beneath the small coffee table, and a few plants hung from hooks in front of the windows. She took a seat on the sofa and seemed a little surprised when he sat in the chair near her instead of next to her in an effort to make her comfortable. He obviously made her nervous, and he wanted to reassure her he meant her no harm.
They chatted about their homes and families, although Alex gave her an edited version of his. Telling her that his father was a ruthless monster who ruled one of the most powerful Bratvas in Russia with an iron fist and that he was one of the world’s best assassins probably wouldn’t be smart or the best way to get her to relax around him. Instead, he went with one of several background stories he had for his various aliases. But he didn’t lie that much. He told her how his mother had passed away years ago, leaving out the part about them being assassinated, and how he had a younger half-brother he was very close with. He’d also once had a stepmother, a kind, sweet woman who had doted on Alex like her own, also assassinated. He said that she’d passed of an illness along with his much loved younger half-sister.
The cruel reminder of the reality of his life crashed down on him, and he felt like an asshole for even thinking of involving her in his world, yet he couldn’t force himself to move. Her presence was like a balm to him, a soothing caress that seemed to wash clean some of the darkness clinging to him. The feeling left behind was so unusual that he couldn’t really give it a name. He knew only that there was a warmth in his body, a relaxation that had the tension draining from his body.
Every time she smiled at him, that warmth grew more intense. It was a feeling that he could easily become addicted to, but he didn’t like the loss of control over his normally carefully guarded emotions. He didn’t know if it was her youth or her innocence, or both, but he found he genuinely liked her. She had a quick sense of humor and was bright. A pleasure to talk with. Damn, being here was making him think things about her he knew better than to even consider. Time to leave before he gave in to the forbidden temptation.
She was the kind of woman a man would be happy waking up next to for the rest of his life.
Alarmed by the direction of his thoughts, he set the glass down with a sigh. “I must go.”
She stared at him, frowning slightly, her lower lip sticking out in a pout that he wanted to kiss so badly his cock ached. “Okay…”
Without another word, he went to her door, but her hand caught his shoulder. Right
The need to put her at ease had him softening his gaze for her in a way he’d never done with a woman before. “What part of America are you from?”
She looked up at him, and some of the shadows in her gaze dissipated as she studied his face then graced him with a wry smile that made the edges of his lips turn up in response. “The boring part. In the States, they call where I live ‘flyover country’.”
“What is flyover country?”
She looked at him then back at the glass in her hands. “It’s a place that’s so dull all people do is fly over it, never landing. Like I said, boring.”
Laughing, he took another sip from his tequila. “What is boring to you is exotic to me.”
“Where are you from?”
He almost told her the truth, that his home was in Moscow, Russia, but instead, he said, “Minsk, in Belarus.”
“Belarus, huh?” Leaning against the edge of her kitchen counter, she smiled at him. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know much about your country. By ‘much’ I mean anything.”
“Is boring,” he replied with a teasing smile. “You tell me about your boring place, and I will tell you about mine.”
She smiled at him, and his chest tightened. “Deal.”
Motioning to him, she led them into her spacious living room done in shades of purple and gray. A thick, furry white rug lay beneath the small coffee table, and a few plants hung from hooks in front of the windows. She took a seat on the sofa and seemed a little surprised when he sat in the chair near her instead of next to her in an effort to make her comfortable. He obviously made her nervous, and he wanted to reassure her he meant her no harm.
They chatted about their homes and families, although Alex gave her an edited version of his. Telling her that his father was a ruthless monster who ruled one of the most powerful Bratvas in Russia with an iron fist and that he was one of the world’s best assassins probably wouldn’t be smart or the best way to get her to relax around him. Instead, he went with one of several background stories he had for his various aliases. But he didn’t lie that much. He told her how his mother had passed away years ago, leaving out the part about them being assassinated, and how he had a younger half-brother he was very close with. He’d also once had a stepmother, a kind, sweet woman who had doted on Alex like her own, also assassinated. He said that she’d passed of an illness along with his much loved younger half-sister.
The cruel reminder of the reality of his life crashed down on him, and he felt like an asshole for even thinking of involving her in his world, yet he couldn’t force himself to move. Her presence was like a balm to him, a soothing caress that seemed to wash clean some of the darkness clinging to him. The feeling left behind was so unusual that he couldn’t really give it a name. He knew only that there was a warmth in his body, a relaxation that had the tension draining from his body.
Every time she smiled at him, that warmth grew more intense. It was a feeling that he could easily become addicted to, but he didn’t like the loss of control over his normally carefully guarded emotions. He didn’t know if it was her youth or her innocence, or both, but he found he genuinely liked her. She had a quick sense of humor and was bright. A pleasure to talk with. Damn, being here was making him think things about her he knew better than to even consider. Time to leave before he gave in to the forbidden temptation.
She was the kind of woman a man would be happy waking up next to for the rest of his life.
Alarmed by the direction of his thoughts, he set the glass down with a sigh. “I must go.”
She stared at him, frowning slightly, her lower lip sticking out in a pout that he wanted to kiss so badly his cock ached. “Okay…”
Without another word, he went to her door, but her hand caught his shoulder. Right
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