“I—um—should get to it…” she says, biting her lips shyly and doing everything but meeting my eyes.
God, she’s adorable.
I give her a small nod and she swerves and hurries past me and back to her desk. I watch her go, my heart and cock dancing to a similar tune.Hard and fast.
Once the door closes, I pull out my phone and text Natalya that I need a bouquet delivered to my apartment tonight.
She answers almost immediately:
Who is she?
I smirk.
Just make it beautiful.
Chapter Five
Mila
Andrei’s apartment is nothing like I imagined.
I’d imagined a man like him would live in a fancy, cold house with harsh marble and stark glass. But instead, the space feels…lived in. The floors are made of warm wood with soft lighting tucked into corners instead of glaring overhead fixtures. The faint scent of something clean and masculine, like soap and spice, lingers in the air.
It’s open, yet controlled. Quietly comforting.
Like him.
My gaze drifts toward the kitchen, and that’s when I see the bouquet sitting on the island, simple but undeniably gorgeous. My steps falter, my heartbeat picking up.
“Oh,” I breathe. I stop in front of it, fingers hovering just above the petals. “These are beautiful.”
Andrei comes up behind me. I don’t hear him move, but I feel his presence, solid and steady at my back.
“Pick up the card,” he says in that gentle yet firm way of his.
I do, my fingers suddenly unsteady. The envelope is thick, expensive. Inside, the message is short.
For you.
—Andrei
That’s all.
My throat tightens. I turn to him without thinking, my emotions pressing too close to the surface, and I kiss him. It’s soft, instinctive, my hands nervously clutching his chest. He responds immediately, his mouth warm and sure against mine, the kiss deepening just enough to make my pulse kick violently.
Then he pulls away and it takes everything in me not to pull him back to me. He slides his hands gently to my waist, holding me in place. Then he drops his forehead briefly against mine, his breath warm on my lips.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “We’ve got time.”
The words settle something inside me instead of stirring panic. I nod, cheeks warm, and he lets me go just enough to guide me around the island.
He rolls up his sleeves, forearms flexing as he opens the fridge and starts pulling things out with practiced ease.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching him line ingredients up on the counter.
“We’re cooking,” he says calmly.
My stomach flips. “We’re cooking…together?”