Page 25 of Nikolai

Before I open my eyes, I am aware I'm not in my own bed. The smell lingering on the pillow is what tips me off. I'd know Nikolai's scent anywhere.

Opening my eyes, I blink a few times and rub my palms over my face as I sit up. To my right, I spot my glasses on the table beside the bed and slide them on. The once blurry bedroom comes into focus, and I take in every detail. Nikolai's room is like the rest of his house—framed in dark, rich wood with dark gray walls. I can tell by the view coming from the floor to ceiling window, I'm on the second floor. Nikolai's four-poster bed is larger than the average king and is the same dark finish as the rest of the house. It also sits at least three feet off the floor. My gaze lands on the space beside me, still neatly made, and I realize I slept alone. I don't miss the loose change, wallet, and empty glass sitting on the table with the smallest amount of brown liquid resting in the bottom. Nikolai didn't sleep in the bed with me, but he was in here at some point. I should probably be freaking out because I just woke up in his bed, but I'm not. The only thing I feel is safe. It dawns on me last night was the first night in a long time the monster that haunts my dreams at night was silenced.

Smiling, I blow out a breath and throw myself back on the pillow. Being in Nikolai's home feels like a dream. I know he was just being a good guy by taking care of me yesterday and letting me crash here since I must have fallen asleep during the movie. But what's the harm in taking a few minutes to pretend I'm in his bed for a different reason. A girl can dream, right? Only in my dreams could a man like Nikolai be interested in a girl like me. Nikolai Volkov, next in line to the Volkov Empire, brother to the Vice President of The Kings of Retribution, owner of Kings Construction and the hottest most beautiful man to walk this earth is not in the same league as me. Heck, I'm still trying to figure out why he's insisting on helping me out and dragging me here to his house yesterday. At that thought, something ugly settles in my gut. Is he doing all this because he feels sorry for me? Is that why he asked me on a date last night? Suddenly, I start questioning his motives. I'm aware the people in my life, my friends, want to help and protect me, but most of the time, the way I'm treated makes me feel like a charity case like they see me as weak. I know that's not their intent. Mostly it's me conjuring negative thoughts up inside my head. It's not lost on me; I haven't gotten a handle on my insecurities. Not wanting to start my day off in a bad place, I file those thoughts away so I can stew on them later in the privacy of my own home. If I'm going to have a pity party, I'd rather it be a party of one.

Deciding it's time to get up, I climb out of bed but stop when something grabs my attention, and I catch the squeal that nearly escapes my mouth. That something is my reflection, directly above me, is a mirror. Holy crap!

As my mind starts drifting as to why Nikolai has a mirror strategically placed there, I toss the sheet back and jump out of bed. I don't want to think about the women he's brought home; the women he has shared his bed with and watched do things that someone like me can only dream about. I might be naïve in some ways, but I'm not so naïve. I don't know why he has that mirror.

Still, in yesterday's clothes, I pad over to the en-suite bathroom. Flicking the light on, I see a spare toothbrush sitting next to the sink. Once I finish taking care of business, washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I decide to go search for Nikolai before I head home. The first place I look is downstairs in the living room. When I don't see him there or the kitchen, I head to the gym. When I hear metal hitting metal, I know I have found him. Nikolai is lying with his back against the weight bench, his legs straddling each side as he presses the weights. I can't help taking in the way his shorts sit low on his hips and the way his muscles flex with each press. My eyes take the time to travel over his broad chest, glistening with sweat, then follow the path of the light dusting of chest hair leading down between his six-pack abs and disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. Even the grunt that comes from his mouth as he lifts the weights is sexy. Not wanting to bother him or get caught perving, I head back to the kitchen. Since Nikolai cooked for me last night, it's only right I make him a quick breakfast before I go. Plus, I need my morning caffeine fix.

Twenty minutes later, I've sucked back a cup of coffee and made Nikolai some cream cheese stuffed French toast with an omelet covered in onions, red peppers, and mushrooms. Nikolai's kitchen is a dream. I could spend hours here. It has a country cottage feel with a down to earth style, making the space homey, comfortable and inviting. The kitchen is painted in glazed cabinets, a farmhouse sink, and open shelving. It also has two gas stoves, two ovens, and two microwaves. Once I have finished admiring my dream kitchen, I get back to work on breakfast.

I've just wrapped the plate for Nikolai in foil and in the process of slinging my purse over my shoulder when Nikolai's deep, velvety voice rings out from behind me, making me jump. "Going somewhere?"

I push my glasses up my nose. "Uh… I'm going to head out. I made you breakfast. Just a little thank you for yesterday," I stammer, sounding like an idiot as I try not to look at the beads of sweat dripping down his bare torso but fail. I also can't help taking in the colorful tattoos covering his chest and arms. Or the piercings he's sporting in both his nipples. Good lord!

When my gaze flicks back to Nikolai's face, his smirk is a good indication he caught me ogling. My face heats with embarrassment, and cast my eyes down to my feet and mumble. "I'll… I'll just get out of your hair."

As I shuffle past Nikolai, his hand clamps down on my elbow, halting my retreat. "Stay. Eat breakfast with me."

"I need to go. I only made enough for you," I'm quick to say, my flight mode kicking in. I'm desperate to scram before I embarrass myself further.

"I'm sure there is enough. We can share."

Not giving me a choice, Nikolai keeps his hold on my arm and walks me over to the kitchen island, pulls out a stool, takes my purse from me by sliding off my shoulder, setting it on the counter effectively puts me where he wants me. He then takes the seat next to me. He's so close. His scent assaults my senses. Who smells good even when they sweat?

No words are spoken. I watch as Nikolai vacates his stool, and rounds the island. Reaching above the counter, he pulls down two glasses, then retrieves the orange juice from the refrigerator, filling both. After he slides both glasses toward me, Nikolai grabs two forks from the drawer. Once he sits back down, he hands me a fork and removes the foil from the plate. "Eat, Malyshka."

There it is again—him calling me that name. Just the sound of his thick Russian accent makes my insides melt.

"This is fucking good. Where'd you learn to cook like this?" he asks around a mouth full of food.

"My neighbor, who lives across the street from my parents, Mrs. Mae, taught me."

"What about your mother? Didn't you cook with her growing up?"

I take a small bite of eggs and shrug. "Not really. My mom didn't have a lot of patience when it came to stuff like that. I didn't have many friends, so I spent all my free time with Mrs. Mae. She loved to cook and bake, and she loved teaching me."

"This woman, Mrs. Mae, means a lot to you?"

"Yes. I don't know what I would have done without her growing up. I know it sounds stupid that a sixty-seven-year-old woman was a little girl's best friend, but she was. She still is."

"That doesn't sound stupid at all, Leah," Nikolai says with sincerity, and I smile.

"Anyway, it turns out I have a knack for it. At first, it was small stuff like cookies. Soon, I was cooking all kinds of things. I make a mean Bolognese."

"Sounds good. You can make it for me tonight."

"What?" I nearly choke on the eggs in my mouth.

"I'm looking forward to it, Malyshka."

"I can't cook for you tonight, Nikolai."

"Sure, you can." He goes about eating as if he didn't just hear me.

"I… I have things to do today," I lie. "Maybe I can cook for you some other time."

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