God, I’d been so fucking naive. I’d put on a pretty dress and red lipstick like some kind of amateur femme fatale, thinking I could manipulate a man, thinking I could seduce him into helping me.
His grip tightened, holding me in place.
“Let me hold you,” he rasped. He stroked his hand up and down my spine, soothing. “You dressed up for me tonight, came to ask for my help. Let me hold you,malyshka.”
“This is a terrible idea,” I whispered.
“Maybe.”
“I can’t trust you.”
“I know.” His arms tightened around me. “I shouldn’t want to hold you,” he murmured. “I don’t deserve to.”
“No,” I agreed. “You don’t.”
But he didn’t let go, and I didn’t pull away.
His arms were solid around me, his chest warm beneath my cheek, and my body—my traitorous fucking body—relaxed into him, as if the anger and hurt and shame could be erased by the simple act of being held.
I hated myself for it, hated that even now, even after everything, I still felt safe in the arms of this man who’d used me, abused me, and then walked away when I needed him most.
He rubbed a strand of my hair between his fingers, looking down at me with his forehead creased.
“If you want to help me take down Jed Carter, it’s going to cost you.”
The warmth in my chest evaporated instantly. Of course there was a price. There always was with these fucking men.
I shoved off his lap hard enough that he had to release me or risk hurting me. My chair scraped against the floor as I sat back down, putting the table between us like it could protect me.
“I was waiting for the catch.” I said, my voice sharp and brittle.
“Eva—”
“What’s your price, Alek? What will I owe you for your help?”
His jaw tightened. “For my help? Fucking nothing. For letting you put yourself in danger even though it’s going to kill me to let you do it? I want your fucking honesty. I want partnership. And, fuck me, I want your trust.”
I stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, my heart pounding out of my chest. “Honesty? That’s it?”
“And for you to let me protect you.”
I laughed, bitter and sharp. “What part of ‘Jed Carter threatened my life and my father’s’ did you not understand? I’m already in danger. I’ve been in danger. Where the fuck were you when I needed protecting?”
His jaw clenched. “Eva?—”
“No. You don’t get to ask me for promises. You don’t get to demand I stay safe when you’re half the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.” My voice was rising, but I couldn’t stop it.
“You’re right.”
The simple agreement derailed my building rage. I stared at him.
“You’re right,” he repeated quietly. “I bear a great deal of the blame. But I need—” His voice roughened. “I need to know you’re as safe as you can be. Even if you hate me. Even if you never forgive me.”
The raw desperation in his voice made my anger falter.
Fuck.
Before I could answer, before I could figure out what the fuck I was supposed to say to that, Babushka returned with steaming bowls of soup.