Page 49 of Eyes in the Shadows

My head whips around, but his ire isn’t for me. He’s glaring at Wesley.

“I was talking to the lady,” Wesley clips back, sending me a surreptitious wink that earns him another displeased noise from across the kitchen.

“I promise it’ll be restaurant quality,” I say, hoping to tempt Dimitri. It’ll be easier to just prep everything instead of leaving some out for him to be stubborn about. “I’ll keep it healthy, if that’s what you want. I’ll be able to do a lot—this is basically a commercial kitchen. Except the knives kind of suck, for some reason.”

Dimitri looks at me suspiciously. “Why do they suck?”

“They’re just old. Dull.”

When he starts muttering in what I’m now sure is Russian and strides from the room, I throw Mac a bewildered look. “What did I say?”

Wesley is the one to answer, as he slides the last of his drinks onto the shelf. “You implied there was a knife under his roof that isn’t sharp enough to splice a hair. He won’t stand for it. Don’t be surprised if you come back and every knife has been taken to the grinding stone.”

I press my lips together to tamp down on the smile. “That’s a bit neurotic.”

“You don’t know the half.”

I feel an arm come around my waist from behind and I’m stunned as I’m physically blocked from Wesley’s line of sight. I didn’t even hear Mac move, but here he is, pressing me against the counter and shielding my body with his own.

“Back to your cave,” Mac says, his voice settling in a low, threatening register. He’s looking at me, staring at my mouth.

“Oh, but I was just about to drag her back there by her hair,” Wesley laughs as he walks out.

I want, so badly, to squirm against him, but I have a feeling that would end poorly for me. I can already feel his pelvis pressing against mine and just a bitof pressure might be the end of me. So, I stay still, letting him surround me, tilting my head back so much further than I’m used to. I want to protest the manhandling and the crowding, but the dirty truth is… I’m worried if I do, he’ll stop.

“I’m not allowed to talk to other men at all, now?” I ask in an accusatory tone. Every deep breath makes my chest brush against his.

“Darlin’, say those words you know I want to hear and you can talk to anyone you want. Are you going to stop pretending?”

I sigh. “Okay, I give up. I’ll admit there’s something here; you want me, I want you. But you know it can’t be that simple for us—for me. This thing you do… I’m not sure that whatever’s between us is enough for me to get over that. And I don’t know if I can dojust sex,” I finish with a shrug, feeling especially awkward. If we have sex, there’s no way I’m not getting my heart broken.

“We’re way past just sex,” he agrees.

I look down. “So… where does that leave us?”

He takes a pointed step back, looks me up and down, meets my eye, and adjusts the front of his pants. “Just so we’re clear, you did this,” he says, meaning the hardened bulge. “And once you’re mine, you’re going to be responsible for your actions when you do. Until then, well… it’s just gonna be real hard for me to see you smiling at any other guy, so keep that in mind.”

My mouth has gone so dry, I can’t even swallow, as my mind immediately creates my very own alternate reality where I drop to my knees to take care of that straining length that’s gotten so hard for me.

My face flushes as heat creeps up my neck. “It’s like you heard what I said and listened to none of it.”

“Oh, I listened, darlin’. You said no; I backed off. Isn’t going to stop me from fantasizing,” he says with a wink.

He turns around and produces a pad of paper from one of the drawers near the double doors that lead outside. With a flick of his wrist, he tosses it onto the island. “I’m going to send someone to pick up your things so you don’t have to wash those clothes every day. And you were scratching this morning, so I’m guessing you need your medication. Make me a list of what you want.”

Somewhat thrown off by the abrupt change in temperature of the exchange, I pull the paper closer to me and pick up the pen, then hesitate. “How long do you think I’ll be staying?” At his scowl, I quickly add, “just because there’s a difference between a night and a week in terms of, you know, things like toiletries and underwear…”

I feel myself blush a little, thinking about what else is in my underwear drawer. Just from being so close to him, I’m definitely in need of a little bit of a release. But if Mac is going to make me share his bed, there’s no way in hell I’ll be using my vibrator. I’m not tempting fate. Guess we’re going old-school, in stolen moments when he’s not around.

“There’s a possibility this will all be over next Sunday.”

So soon? I swallow the jumbled mess of excitement and disappointment that I really don’t feel like untangling. I nod and start listing things, adding a buffer for the “possibility” that a week is underestimating. I feel a twinge of guilt at making some stranger lift my overpacked bags, but push it aside.

When I’m done, he takes my list, scans it, glances at me with an unreadable expression, and nods. He walks away and I see him make a note at the bottom of the paper.

As he disappears into the hallway, I hear, “Felix—I know, twice in one week… yeah, you’re the luckiest boy in all the land.”

18

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