“What did she say?” I asked.
“That I should feed you properly.” He reached for my plate. “That I’m a fool.”
“She’s not wrong.”
His lips twitched. “No. She’s not.” He held out his hand for my plate, and after a moment’s hesitation, I gave it to him. He piled it with portions of everything, explaining each dish as he went.
“Beef stroganoff—you probably know this one. Mati—dumplings my aunt taught me to make when I was six. Shashlik—grilled meat.”
“Your aunt taught you?” I interrupted. “Back in Russia?”
He nodded, sliding the full plate back to me. “My parents were Kazakh, but I grew up in St. Petersburg, raised by my mother’s sister.”
I picked up my fork, watching him carefully, afraid if I interrupted, he’d stop talking.
“My parents didn’t survive the fall of the Soviet Union,” he said quietly. “I don’t remember them much—just impressions.”
I thought of my own mother, who’d walked away when I was six. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It was a long time ago.” His rough voice belied the hidden emotion. “Irina—my aunt, Dmitri’s mother—tookme in. Her husband was part of a criminal organization. They raised me like I was theirs, until Dmitri and I immigrated to the States with the bratva.”
“You grew up in it,” I said slowly.
“Until hockey gave me a way out. Tell me why you dressed up for me.”
Color flooded my cheeks. “I thought you’d be more amenable to helping me if I…” I closed my eyes with shame, unable to make myself finish the sentence.
“Choose your next words carefully, baby girl.” He kept his voice soft, but we both heard the warning. “I won’t tolerate any more lies between us.”
The silence stretched.
“I need—” Fuck. “I need more, Alek. I can’t do this if—”If you don’t give me something I can hold on to.
“Be honest with yourself, Eva,” he rasped. “You never once imagined that seducing me would stop with a pretty dress and silk stockings. And you didn’t want it to.”
“Stop,” I whispered.Give me something, I pleaded silently.Anything.Please.
He set his utensils down and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his eyes. “Fuck, Eva, I’m so fucking sorry. If I could go back—” He stopped and swallowed, then met my eyes. “I wouldn’t take it back. A better man would say he’d never have done the things he did, but I can’t make myself regret a moment you spent on your knees in front of me.”
My chin trembled, and my heart thumped hard. My hand flew to my chest, and Alek’s expression turned worried.
“I missed—” I’d started talking to cut off any questions about my heart, but I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“What did you miss?” He leaned toward me, his size crowding me.
My breath caught. “Sir?—”
“What did you miss, Eva?”
I could lie, could say I didn’t miss anything, could put the walls back up and pretend the past weeks had erased every moment I’d spent on my knees beside his desk.
“I missed the quiet.”
The words came out barely above a whisper, but from the way his pupils dilated, I knew he’d heard them.
“The quiet,” he repeated slowly.
I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see whatever was in his eyes—triumph or pity or satisfaction.