by Tobi Doyle
Vanya thumped my other shoulder. “Can we box now, or do you want to paint nails, too?”
Dima’s leg swept whip-fast under Vanya’s knee.
Vanya’s ass smacked the mat.
“We box.” Dima offered his hand, and helped Vanya stand.
Vanya walked to the bench, and sat down to remove his shoes.
“You walk like my grandmother.” Dima sat beside Vanya.
I sat beside Dima, and opened my gym bag.
“You dance like your grandmother.” Vanya caught the boxing gloves I’d tossed.
“Vanya’s grandmother is always on her knees with me.” Dima toed his shoes off and grabbed his gloves.
“Do you make her take her dentures out?” I asked.
Dima made a slurping noise.
Vanya grunted. “Enough.”
Dima wrapped the glove’s Velcro across his wrist. “Bring Adrianna by the club, Alyosha.”
“Not going to happen.” I unfastened my watch and set the countdown timer to five minutes, for three rounds each, unless we tapped out.
We wouldn’t tap out.
“I bet a hundred bucks she’d rather disappear than marry you.” Vanya bounced from foot to foot, a sly grin goading me to punch it off.
“That’s not going to happen, either.” Possessiveness made my heart heavy in my chest.
Dima’s lips pursed and his shoulders lifted in a small shrug, as if my objection bored him. “Tell her I’ll pay her $10,000 if she marries you next week.”
“No. Stop. I’ll handle this.” I pulled the gloves on, ignoring the knowing smirk on Dima’s face.
Dima stood and circled Vanya, his focus on the moment, his movements graceful reflexes to Vanya’s attacks.
After Dima’s beat his demons into submission, I limped to my door and dropped the gym bag in the hall closet. My bathroom was twenty steps of torture away. I stripped, leaving my clothes on the floor, set the water, and waited for the steam to fill the shower. The hot spray prickled my skin, heated the bruised areas, and soothed the muscles underneath.
Later, alone in my office, I ordered chocolates for Adrianna with a simple note asking her to dinner. And then I waited for her answer and an awkward uncomfortable sensation settled deep in my gut.
Fuck. I was now a thirteen-year-old girl waiting for a text.
Chapter Ten
I leaned against the washer, the vibrations from the final spin rinse massaging my lower back and texted Elena: The car wouldn’t start this morning. I have a date tonight and he’ll drive me home.
She answered: I’ll have Eric look at the car. WHO RU DATING?
I grinned at her shouty-caps. Would u believe Mrs. Galvez’s bro?
She sent a gif of a baby licking a lemon, his faced screwed up tight.
I answered: JK. His name is Alyosha. I met him at work. He’s nice.
She replied: I’m waiting up.
I returned to my station and dropped my phone into my purse. My mirror image had that frizzy hair full-day-of-work vibe going on—definitely not date-ready. I styled loose waves, and freshened my makeup, applied my favorite lipstick, Raging Red. My jersey hid the bastard’s fingerprints, and the bruises had faded to a jaundice yellow. I felt more like myself not having to spackle my pores.
“You look good, Adri,” Kendra said, spraying her favorite touchable hair spray on my curls, the citrus perfume floated all around me.
The door chimed, Kendra's eyes widened and she mouthed, “Holy hell.”
I faced Alyosha at the door. There stood my savior, and I trusted him, despite the dangerous aura, the tattoos, and the deadly power he possessed. I shouldn’t be attracted, but I was. Desperately so.
Gone was his business suit, and any pretense of civility. Jeans, basic Levis, hugged a butt deserving its own temple for adoration. Black, button fly, a little ragged at the hems, and damn, they looked five-thousand-washes soft. Likewise, his shirt wasn’t silk, wasn’t too small, wasn’t faded. A simple charcoal Henley, pushed up on his forearms revealed his art. The stretched out cuffs a dead giveaway this was one of his favorite shirts. He dressed comfort over couture, rough at the edges, and pure power packed inside one-hundred percent cotton.
Kendra fanned herself. Haley’s cheeks glowed bright pink, and she picked up the pencil cup she’d knocked over; stuffing random items in it. Michelle swept, missing the floor, and gawked.
“I think my ovaries just exploded,” I whispered to Kendra.
She faced me and whispered, “Take me with you. Jeremy will understand.”
I snorted. “No, he won’t.” I grabbed my purse, and faced Thor.
He gave me an appreciative smile.
I locked my knees to avoid pooling on the floor.
He approached, pure male appreciation on his face.
Heat shot through my body and burned my cheeks.
He stopped mere inches from me, and offered his hand.
I stared at his large smooth palm, my body refused to cooperate, some kind of lust malfunction.
Michelle dropped all pretense of sweeping and stood with the broom in hand and jealousy in her eyes.
Kendra winked, and walked over to Haley.
Haley studied the desktop, which was a mess of pencils and post-it notes.
Thor saw nothing but me.
“You look beautiful.” His accent weighted the words so that they sat heavy in my chest.
I didn’t move, my brain to feet connections misfired.
His hand on my shoulder propelled me out of the salon.
“Thank you.” I was proud I didn’t say, “You, too.”
Outside, he opened the passenger door of his car. I brushed past him, and settled into the seat, pretending my face always burned bright red.
He jogged around the front of the car, and got in. He leaned toward me, pulled one of my curls toward him and released it, watching it spring back. His lips quirked, fascination lit in his eyes, and he tugged the curl again. This time he kissed the end.
A strangled sound erupted from my throat. The intimacy of his touch set a new wave of heat, and I squirmed in the seat.
“Thank you for the truffles.” My voice sounded hushed in the silence of his car.
“You’re welcome.” He stared at my dark strand of hair wound around his finger and hiding the Cyrillic letter tattoo.
A vision of him gripping my hair, kissing me senseless, kicked up my heart rate. I held my breath to prevent panting. I blinked, breaking the doe-in-headlights to his high-beams.
“So… hair fetish, much?” I squeaked out.
He pulled his hand back, eyes wide, and laughed, snapping the tension.
“Just your hair.” He started the car. “I have arranged for us to have dinner at Konstantin’s, but we can go anywhere. Or if you prefer a private dinner at my home.”
I crossed my arms over my stomach, in a lame attempt to squelch my uncontrolled pheromone production. “Private is good.”
He glanced at me. “Yes?”
“Look, your picture ends up in society pages. That’s a whole headache I don’t want. But I need to text your address to my sister.”
“Of course,” he said, although his face contorted into a question mark, eyebrows arched, mouth quirked. He rattled off his address.
I texted Elena to start the body search there tomorrow if I didn’t come home.
Elena responded. Have fun;)
“You live with your sister?” he asked.
“We moved back home to help my mom.”
“Are you always so trusting?” he asked.
“No. I’m usually cautious.” I smoothed my hands on my lap, and studied my fingers, “I felt you watching me that night, when he was in the salon. You know how when something isn’t right, the hair on the back of your neck prickles?” I looked up and he nodded once. “Well, I had that feeling, being alone with him, and having you across the street made me feel safer. Maybe it’s some kind of Darwinian female response—you slayed the dragon and proved what kind
of man you are.” I didn’t add his presence made me feel connected to him, and protected.
His lips firmed and he let out a puff of air. “I’ve had nightmares that I didn’t get to you in time.”
My heart squished, softening even more. When was the last time someone other than Elena worried about me?
“You can’t walk to your car alone again,” he said with a commanding tone, as if I’d argue over my own safety.
“That’s sound advice. Maybe I should get a pit bull, too?”
He scowled at me.
“I take my safety seriously. Trust me, I’m risk aversive.”
He sighed, his shoulders heaving, like I’d exhausted him. He dropped his hand from the steering wheel, and held mine, his thumb caressing my palm. “You are so sweet. You deserve a gentleman.” He glanced at me, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with lust. “Make no mistake, kotyonok, I am not that kind of man.”
His thumb sent a heat trail that skittered down my arm, into my chest, and my heart thudded. The warning failed to dissuade me. His implied threat to take what he wanted made the heat pool deep inside me. The dirty secret part of me hoped he wanted me.
“You won’t hurt me.” My voice sounded certain.
“Not intentionally, no.” His low voice growled, the sound of a subdued beast.
“And I already know you’re a good man.”
I’d surprised him. He inhaled a quick breath, his eyes widened and he asked, “How?”
I didn’t have an answer that made sense. I trusted him because he’d already saved my life. I trusted him because my gut told me to. I trusted him because I would be safe with him, even completely naked. “Because, other than the hair fetish, and that thing where you unexpectedly show up, you don’t set off my creep-meter,” I said.
“Your creep-meter?” His leveled me with what probably was his quelling glare.
I shrugged. “It’s highly accurate.”
And I wanted him. I wanted to paint every line of ink with my tongue, starting on his knuckles and exploring. I wanted to drown in his golden-brown eyes that reminded me of the tiger-eye stone. More brown at times, but right now, fevered and heavy-lidded, they glowed golden.
“Thank you for that, kotyonok.”
“What is kot—?”
“Kitten.” The word caressed my ears. His hand rested on my thigh, the heat and weight comforting.
“Kitten?”
He chuckled. “You have claws, you fight fiercely, but you are so tiny.”
“Tiny?” I let the disbelief creep into my voice. I was average, but I liked feeling tiny beside him. I grinned, wanting to trail kisses across his jaw and nip his neck. Yes, I could be his kitten.
“Compared to me, yes.” He squeezed my thigh and set off a flight of butterflies, zipping through my body, the flutters awakening every nerve.
He parked in his restaurant’s underground garage. I enjoyed the view of him crossing in front of the car to my side. He helped me out, wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned his forehead against mine. “Sweet Adrianna.”
My heart skipped and I relaxed against him, savoring the moment.
He nudged me toward an elevator with his hand resting against my back, and inserted a key card inside instead of pressing a floor button.
“Express elevator?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Must be nice. I don’t think I’ve seen a garage elevator that didn’t have graffiti.” Or urine, but I kept that to myself.
“The building has excellent security.”
I nodded, my head bobbing up and down, agreeing, and then I added a quick shake of my head. “I feel like I’m entering the super-secret sanctum of socialites and will be ejected once my credit score is revealed.”
He chuckled. “You have an active imagination.”
“I blame the perm solution and nail polish fumes,” I said with seriousness.
“Hmm. You don’t need to worry. It’s just my place.”
The elevator doors opened, and we entered an elegant marble foyer with four doors. He unlocked the door to the left, swinging it wide and waiting for me to enter first.
The same neutral marble continued into the hallway, complimenting the light coffee colored walls and thick unscuffed white baseboards. There was no carpet, just a white closet door and an off-white leather bench. The mood was formal, and uncluttered. I dropped my red purse onto the bench, adding the first color to his condo, and continued down the hall.
The hall opened into a great room and featured a full bank of curved windows framing an impressive view of the city. “Wow, this is beautiful.” I clicked across the marble floor, pulled toward the windows. It was a huge room, a galley kitchen on the left with more marble and stainless steel appliances and stools. The dining table was next, more stainless steel and glass, blending into the neutrality of the space, so that my eye was drawn to the lights of the bridge outside. I barely noticed the linen-colored couches. I stopped, balling my hands up to prevent from leaning against the glass.
“On clear days you can see the boats on the Bay.” His breath ruffled my hair and I smelled that intoxicating sandalwood scent.
“It’s amazing.” I turned and smiled.
“I’m glad you like it.” He studied me, tilting his head to the side. “You look good here.” His odd statement hung in the air. I leaned toward him, and he reached out and picked up a tendril of my hair. He wrapped it around his fingers and kissed it. His other arm wrapped around my waist.
The weight of his arm comforted me, anchored me into a place where I felt safe.
“Have you lived here long?” Between the sparsely decorated beiges and browns of the contemporary furnishings and the gajillion dollar view, Thor looked at home in his penthouse haven.
“I bought it nine months ago.”
The condo must have been rental-ready for the uber-rich. I eyed the neutral suede—suede!—couch. “It has an amazing view.”
He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “I’m sensing a question.”
“Are you adverse to color?”
“No.” He drew back and looked around the condo, from the stainless steel appliances, to the white and beiges of everything else and shrugged. “I spend most of my time at Konstantin’s.”
“The commute is easy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You are teasing me.”
I held up my thumb and forefinger, millimeters apart. “Maybe just a little.”
“I purchased the condo furnished.” He pulled me close and whispered, “But you can add any color you wish.” He cupped the back of my head, strong fingers combed through my hair. His lips were inches from mine, his breath whispered across my face, teasing me.
If I rolled up on my toes I could kiss him. Release the pressure building between us. He seemed to wait for me to do something… and I chickened out. My body froze, breath held, brain locked, wishing he would make the first move.
He released me, and tugged my hand toward the dining table.
I slumped into the leather upholstered dining chair, and swallowed the lump of disappointment growing in my throat.
“Adrianna, I wondered if you would consider doing me a favor that would benefit both of us.”
“What is it?” My blood cooled at his serious tone.
“Let me get our food, first.” Behind a sand-colored marble bar was the kitchen, completely open to the rest of the room. He turned off his oven, some built-in stainless steel job with what looked like a fancy gas stove on top. He donned beige pot holders and pulled out several restaurant containers from his oven.
“Jeez, even your pot holders are neutral.” I glanced at the couch area, where a large mirror reflected the windows. “And your couch throw is beige.”
“Don’t even think about adding throw pillows. I threw those away the first week I was here.”
“What color were they?”
“Blue I think, maybe green.” He smirked as he plated our dinners. “The dye stained the couch.”
“Oh. That’s bad.” Delicious scents of butter, onions, and spices wafted toward me. The man had been prepared for any possibility, restaurant reservations, and a dinner at his home.
“Do you like white wine?” Alyosha asked.
“Some, I’m not crazy about Chardonnay.”
He twisted the cork, and his tattoos seemed to dance on his forearms. He caught me looking and chuckled. “You don’t mind my tattoos?”
“I love your art.”
“That is good. I’m glad you like them.” His lips twitched like he was holding back a secret and he poured our wine. His left wrist had a tiger’s tail wrapped around it. The tiger’s body crouched on his forearm, ready to pounce, its jaws rippling with each movement. The predator’s eyes warning Alyosha’s touch was dangerous. He cleared his throat and his face brightened, amused, and warm. I was still ogling.
“You have an amazing kitchen. Do you cook much?” The question did nothing to cover my awkwardness.
“No. I own a restaurant. Cooking is superfluous.”
“Superfluous.” I cocked my head to the side at his verbal accuracy.
“Yes. I think I used the word correctly. I do not need to cook. Yes?” His eyebrows arched and he waited for my answer.
“Yes. How do you know the word superfluous but not pick up?”
“Pick up?”
“You wanted to collect me for lunch. Not pick me up?”
“Ah, that word bothered you. Pick up means to carry, yes? Why would I carry you?”
I laughed. “Well, I never considered that before.”
“English is ridiculous and your expressions are impossible to learn.” He brought over the wine glasses and returned with our plates.
“We collect things, not people. Your English is excellent.”
He sat next to me. “Thank you. I make many mistakes every day. I usually glare and people figure it out.” He narrowed his eyes in a mock glare.
“I’m sure they’d do it without that glare. Which is horrible, by the way. Totally un-intimidating.” I mentally patted myself on the back for being able to overcome my nervousness and be myself with Thor.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He faced me, relaxed and handsome, and in his casual shirt but elegant house, my body softened. So many contradictions in one man.