Page 146 of Mission Shift

“The crew might be stealthy, but they exist, you know. They have eyes.”

“Then I hope they enjoy the show,” I said, grinning as I walked out, boots in one hand, clothes in the other.

Behind me, she muttered something in Russian I didn’t catch but assumed was less than polite. I laughed all the way to my room.

When I came back fifteen minutes later, fully dressed in a navy Henley and cargo pants, Daria was tying her shoes. Her hair was still damp from the shower, her cheeks a little pink, probably from laughing too hard at my expense. She seemed relaxed—and she looked damn good in a snug pink hoodie and black leggings.

“You’re different,” she said, glancing up at me, “from any man I’ve ever known.”

I dropped onto the edge of the bed. “Because I’m American?”

“Maybe, but I think you’re an anomaly.” She paused, head tilted. “I’ve hardly ever woken up next to a man, much less one who takes his time to make love to me. They usually disappear and act like the night before didn’t happen. And if they do stick around, it’s usually because they have ulterior motives. And then…there’s your whole constant touching thing.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

“No. It’s…confusing. Good. But new.” She stood, pulling down the hem of her hoodie. “The men I know are more selfish. They take what they want and move on. They act like affection is weakness.”

I stood and stepped in close to her, brushing a kiss across her temple.

“If all you American guys are anything like the ones in Svetlana’s romance novels,” she added, “Russian women are missing out.”

I chuckled. “I’ve never read a romance novel, so I don’t know how I stack up.”

“Well, keep doing what you’re doing.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “All I want is to make you happy, for you to give me half a chance.”

Her mouth curved up into a smile. “We’ll see, as long as you never lie to me again.”

“At least that wasn’t ano,” I quipped, releasing her and grabbing her hand. “Come on. I’m starving.”

She shoved me aside with her hip and sprinted for the stairs. “Second one there starves! Try to keep up, Boy Scout.”

I laughed and chased her up to the main deck.

The lounge was quiet and bright; morning light spilled in through the large windows. The sea outside stretched into the distance, gray and endless, the low hum of the engines the only background noise.

Since Nik’s tech setup occupied the dining table, the crew was laying out a buffet-style breakfast on the bar—eggs, smoked salmon, warm rolls, fruit, and enough coffee to fuel a platoon.

Daria stopped to grab a plate, and I stepped up behind her, bracing my arms on either side of her waist and trapping her between the bar and me.

I leaned in and kissed her neck. “So do I get to eat?”

“I guess. Since you were a close second. Besides, I think we both need lots of fuel to keep our strength up.”

“You planning on getting a workout in?”

“I don’t think we’ll be lacking physical conditioning options,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

I nuzzled her neck and nipped at her earlobe. She hummed and turned, then kissed me—hard. Her hand found the back of my neck, pulling me in deeper. She tasted like mint and desire.

A throat cleared behind us.

We broke apart to see Nik standing in the doorway, one brow raised, his arms crossed.

“Weeeell,” he said, dragging the word out. “What a difference twenty-four hours makes.”

Daria stepped to the side and grabbed a scoop of scrambled eggs as if nothing had happened.

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