Isn't It Bromantic?

by Lyssa Kay Adams

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Vlad pressed his thumb into the knot and rubbed a small circle around it. Elena tilted her head to give him greater access because it felt so good and she was so rarely touched. “You’re going to put me in a trance.”

  “I would settle for putting you to sleep.”

  “I don’t know how to take that.”

  He chuckled, and the warm vibration of it set her heart jumping. “I just mean that I know you don’t sleep much. You need to relax.”

  “How do you know I don’t sleep?”

  “I can hear you at night when you get up and walk around.” He pressed the pad of his thumb into the knot again, and she sighed. “You’re working too hard, Lenochka.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “That sounds like something your father would say.”

  “It is. He said it often.” His fingers stalled against her neck, so she plowed forward before he could say anything to match the tension in his hands. “He did the best he knew how to do, Vlad. He never expected to have to raise me alone.”

  Vlad spread his hands down to her shoulders and squeezed the tight muscles there. “People have to make hard choices all the time for the ones they love. He was no different than anyone else.”

  She snorted. “Yes, he was. How many kids are taught a secret code word to know if their father is in trouble?”

  Vlad’s voice sounded like it had been dragged across gravel. “What are you talking about?”

  She picked at the cuff of her shorts. “If he texted me that word, then I knew something was wrong. And we had this whole plan about what I was supposed to do. I had to take his hard drive from the computer, burn his journals in the woodstove. We had a motel room that we would meet at. He changed the location every few months.”

  His hands paused again. “When did this start?”

  She shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t remember. When I was twelve, maybe.”

  “What was the code word?”

  “Sparrow.” At his questioning silence, she explained. “From the proverb. A word is not a sparrow.”

  Vlad finished the old Soviet-area saying. “Once it flies out, you can’t catch it.”

  “He only used it once. That night.”

  His hands rested against her shoulders, protective and warm, drugging her with their soothing weight. And so she kept talking. About something she swore she never would. “I got home from work around eleven o’clock. He was gone, of course, but that wasn’t strange. He was almost always gone somewhere. I’d been . . . We’d been fighting a lot. I wanted to move out and go to college and be normal for a change, but he wouldn’t let me. He said I was still too young, and he was working on something too dangerous. But he’d been saying that my whole life, and nothing had ever happened. So, I started rebelling and sneaking out when he was gone. Going out and . . .” She sucked in a breath and let it out, sparing him the and part. The part where she sought temporary comfort in the arms of a string of bad decisions.

  “Anyway, when I realized he was gone that night, I went out and left my cell phone at home as if that was some way to get back at him. I got home at four in the morning, and I realized he had texted me while I was gone. It was just that word. Sparrow.”

  Vlad let out a long breath and rubbed the pads of his thumbs up and down the tense strains of her neck.

  “I just stared at it, like I couldn’t understand the word. I almost called him to ask if he was serious. But then I just snapped into action. I went through all the steps. Dug out his hard drive. Burned his journals. Grabbed my bag and went to the motel.” She picked at her cuticles. “I waited and waited and waited. But he never showed up. I waited for him in that hotel room for three days, too scared to even go to the vending machine. I nearly starved.”

  Vlad’s fingers stalled again. “Christ, Elena. Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

  The same reason she hid all her notes in the bottom drawer of her dresser upstairs. Why she kept it a secret that she was trying to finish her father’s story. And why she knew she had to leave him when every part of her longed to stay right there in the warm cradle of his body. To protect him.

  With a forced yawn, she sat forward. “I need to clean the kitchen.”

  His hands cupped her shoulders and tugged her back again. His voice was as gruff as his hands were gentle. “Your father never should have put you in that position. It was selfish. You deserved better, Lenochka.”

  “Better than what?”

  “Better than him.”

  “But I had you.”

  Vlad’s breathing grew heavy with the weight of his pause.

  Hers rushed out in a single gush when his lips lowered to the top of her head. “You still do,” he murmured.

  Elena rose to her feet and slowly turned in the opening of his legs. He gazed up at her, his eyes smoldering with the same something from when she’d hugged him earlier that week. It lit a fire low in her belly that burned long into another sleepless night.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Elena set her alarm for extra early the next morning so she could tackle the rest of the cooking for the party. She showered and dressed quickly. When she walked out of her room, she discovered the door to Vlad’s bedroom open. A quick peek inside revealed an empty bed.

  She found him in the kitchen, back to her as he filled a mug with one hand, the other holding on to a single crutch. The other was propped against the island. Neighbor Cat was happily scarfing down her treat by the pantry.

  Elena cleared her throat to announce herself. Vlad looked over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, a tired lilt to his voice and a shy smile on his lips.

  “Good morning.”

  “I made you some tea.” He nodded with his chin toward another mug on the island.

  “Thank you.” She slid the mug closer to her. “You should have waited for me, though.”

  “Why?” He turned around, putting the bulk of his weight on his crutch. She winced in anticipation as he lowered his broken leg all the way to the floor.

  She let out a breath. “That’s why.”

  “I’m supposed to start putting weight on it, remember?”

  Yeah. But that didn’t make her any less worried. He leaned back against the counter and raised his mug to his lips. Over the rim, he met her gaze and smiled with his eyes alone. Her heart jumpy-jumped clear into her throat. Mornings were an intimate routine they had yet to settle into, and this was why. Because it was moments like this, like last night, that would be hardest for her to give up and forget. Even with ten feet of distance between them, it felt suddenly too close, the kitchen too small. His hands dwarfed the mug, and as he raised it to his lips again, the short sleeves of his T-shirt protested against the bulge of his bicep. If she pressed her nose into the space where his pulse pounded in his neck, she knew he would smell like warm skin and sleepy man.

  “How can I help today?” he asked, interrupting her ogling.

  She shook her head. “Just relax and take care of your leg.”

  “I can’t relax if I know you’re working yourself to the bone in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll try to rein myself in for your benefit.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled over his mug again.

  He really needed to stop doing that, or she was going to suffer cardiac arrest. She stood with purpose. “Do you want breakfast?”

  “I ate a muffin.”

  “Okay, well, I sort of need to get started, so . . .”

  He laughed. Not one of those big, boisterous laughs that invited people to join in, but one of those quiet, just between us kinds of laughs. “I get the feeling you are trying to kick me out of the kitchen.”

  “More like gently nudge.”

  “I’m going.” He downed the rest of his tea. “I’m actually looking forward to bathing today since I
can do it by myself again.”

  She bit her lip. “You’re sure you don’t need help?”

  That sexy eyebrow did its thing as he gazed across the island at her. “Are you offering?”

  “I’m telling you to be careful.” Her voice was stern but the bright heat of her cheeks likely gave her away. She was rather unused to his flirting but enjoying it all the same.

  “I’ll get out of your way now.” Using both crutches, he slowly rounded the island, stopping briefly at her side. “But if you were offering—”

  “Go.” She pointed.

  His laughter followed him down the hallway. Elena returned to her seat and lightly banged her forehead on the counter. Neighbor Cat meowed at her feet.

  “What are you waiting for?” Elena asked the animal. “He’s about to get naked upstairs. Now’s your chance.”

  A few minutes later, the water turned on overhead, which brought to mind an image of him naked. She really needed to get busy, because—a loud thud split the thought.

  No. Oh shit. Elena ran down the hallway and up the stairs. “Vlad?”

  His bedroom door was open, so she ran inside. The bathroom door was halfway shut. Oh, God, if he fell . . .

  “Vlad!” She threw open the bathroom door.

  And skidded to a stop.

  Vlad was on the floor, one hand raised to ward her off. “I’m okay. I slipped. But I’m fine. I didn’t hurt my leg.”

  Elena planted her hands on her hips. “I told you it was too dangerous.”

  Vlad winced and lowered his hand.

  And that’s when she realized.

  He was nude.

  As in naked.

  As in, oh, sweet Jesus, the man was cut from stone.

  Elena sucked in a gasp and spun around. “I’m sorry. I—I should have knocked. But I heard the thud and I was worried.” Her breath came in tiny pants. “What—what can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. I’ve got this.”

  “If you think I’m going to let you get off the floor alone, you are deranged.”

  “I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

  “If you don’t want me to see you naked, I can close my eyes and hand you a towel to put around you or something. I promise not to look.”

  He made a frustrated noise.

  She repeated it. “Vlad, we’re adults. This is ridiculous.”

  “Fine,” he rasped. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Elena fortified herself with a deep breath and turned around. She locked eyes with the wall. “How do we do this?”

  “Just let me hold your arm while I get into the water.”

  Okay. She could do that. She waited with arms outstretched as he hauled himself from the floor and onto the edge of the tub. His bare legs brushed against hers as he reached for her hand for balance. Unbidden, her mind conjured an image of what she was purposely not looking at, and she had to close her eyes to chase it away.

  “That bad, huh?” His voice had gone from annoyed to grumpy again.

  “Huh?”

  “You look like you’d rather die than catch a glimpse.”

  “You didn’t want me to look.”

  “That’s not what I said.” He muttered it under his breath.

  “So you want me to look?”

  “I want you to stop acting like you’ll turn to stone if you do.”

  “Make up your mind, Vlad. Do you want me to look or not?”

  “I want you to open your damn eyes before you fall down.”

  She obeyed and found herself staring intently at a popping vein along his temple. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he said.

  “Just get in the tub.”

  “I need your hand again.”

  “Right. Okay.” She needed to get her shit together. She was acting like a teenage girl with her first crush. Which he was, of course. Her first crush. Her forever crush.

  He held on tightly as he turned around and lowered his good leg into the water. Then he let go of her hand so he could instead grip both sides of the tub. With ease, he lowered his body fully, relying on the strength of his thick, massive thighs to take all the weight off his lower leg.

  “You’re looking.”

  Flames burst from her cheeks. Elena turned around so abruptly that she stumbled. “No, I’m not.”

  “I cannot help that I have a hairy chest.”

  That’s what he thought she was staring at? His chest hair? And anyway, why would it be bad to stare at the thick blanket of dark hair that covered his sculpted pecs and dipped enticingly toward his defined abs?

  She squeaked out a response. “There’s nothing wrong with your hairy chest.”

  “Colton says I should wax.”

  “Colton is a stupid American.”

  He looked up with an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

  “Shut up and let me wash your hair.”

  His grimace lifted into something resembling a smile. “You’re bossy.”

  “And you’re stubborn.”

  “I could have just called Colton.”

  “So he can insult your chest hair again? I don’t think so.”

  His smile became a chuckle as he relaxed. Elena squeezed a dollop of shampoo into her hands, rubbed them together, and then slowly massaged the liquid into his wet hair. Suds formed between her fingers, turning his thick, dark locks into foamy spikes. She spread her fingers wide to slowly scrub along his temples and then down behind his ears. The smooth outline of his head took shape in her imagination, and the need for exploration overtook all common sense. Her fingers dipped lower to the cords of his neck, where tiny, wispy hairs were already growing back from his last haircut. Such a simple thing. Washing someone’s hair. But there was nothing simple about the layers of complex emotion competing inside her as he turned himself over to her. Touching him like this was at once intimate and innocent. Seductive and sweet. Dangerous and natural.

  He sucked in a breath, and she immediately paused. “Am I hurting you?” Her voice sounded like sandpaper over glass.

  “No,” came his gruff response. “I would let you do this all day.”

  She suddenly wanted to. She splayed her fingers again and scraped them up into his hair, massaging his scalp inch by inch like he’d done for her last night. His head moved with her, toward her touch. And when he tilted his head all the way back, she saw that his eyes were closed.

  Her own eyes betrayed her, and they drifted downward to the place she swore she wouldn’t look, along a dark trail of hair down the center of his abs that pointed farther south to a thicker patch.

  What would it be like with him? It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to imagine it, but now her body insisted on painting every vivid pornographic picture in her mind. To feel those powerful hips move against hers. To press her fleshy breasts against that coarse, dark hair, that hard, granite chest.

  His breathing changed, and her eyes snapped back to find his now open, watching her with an unreadable expression.

  She should have been embarrassed, but she couldn’t summon any emotion beyond the tightly coiled sexual kind. Her hands stalled against his scalp. “You have a beautiful body, Vlad.”

  His throat moved with a deep swallow. But when he didn’t respond, the embarrassment finally pushed through. She forced a lightness to her voice that she didn’t feel. “Like you need me to tell you that.”

  “I do,” he rasped.

  The lightness evaporated. “Why?”

  “What husband doesn’t want to know his wife finds him attractive?”

  “I’ve always found you attractive, Vlad. You just never invited me to look before.”

  “I’m inviting you now.”

  Reality collided with fantasy. What the hell was she doing? She pulled her hand
s away and stood. Oxygen was in short supply, and so was sanity. “Can you rinse without me?”

  “Elena—”

  “I’ll wait outside in case you need me again.”

  Coward. She cursed herself as she fled to hide in the bedroom, too afraid to hear or see his reaction. But maybe also because she was too afraid of herself and the feelings coursing through her, the desire that lingered still.

  It was just physical. A natural reaction. That’s all it was. What woman wouldn’t feel a surge of lust with her hands on a man like that? What woman wouldn’t begin to imagine all nature of naughty things when presented with a specimen like him?

  Except she wasn’t just any woman, and he wasn’t just any man. And the body wasn’t a nameless or faceless specimen. It was Vlad. Her lifelong friend. Her husband. The one she was, in fact, divorcing. And she’d just all but admitted to him that she wanted him.

  Desire became humiliation. Years of hiding it, poof. Gone. Exposure was a thief, stealing the protective veil she hid behind until she felt like the one who’d been stripped naked.

  “Maybe this is a mistake.”

  Elena plastered herself against the wall outside Vlad’s bedroom. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but Vlad had one of those voices. The deep baritone kind that carried even when he was trying to be quiet. He and his father had disappeared after his father’s toast, and she went to look for him because she had gone long enough without her husband by her side.

  Husband. She couldn’t get used to the word. That morning, she’d nearly called the whole thing off. Vlad didn’t need a burden like her, no matter how she felt about him. But the minute she saw him in his suit, waiting for her at the city office with that warm smile and those tender eyes, all her fears evaporated. Maybe she was always meant to marry this man, her best friend. And he’d kissed her with such tenderness after their vows that a hundred forgotten dreams were restored. She wasn’t sure what would happen tonight, their wedding night. But hope and desire had quickly made her drunk with possibilities.