Page 54 of Disguised as Love

I went limp in his arms, putting my forehead on his massive chest, trying to control my breathing, trying not to panic at the thought of losing my brother in addition to my father. The flash of Gustov I’d seen on Malik’s phone screen outside the restaurant proved how much my grief was impacting my judgment. It was ridiculous that I’d mistaken our lawyer for Papa for a brief second, even if they both had white hair and wrinkled skin.

“You purposefully provoked them,” I whispered into Cruz’s chest. “They could have shot each other.”

It twisted inside me, returning not only the anguish I felt over our father but the fear that my brother might have had a role in all of it.

“I need him to trust me,” Cruz replied.

His arms went around me. Strength and safety I knew I shouldn’t count on. Except, he’d repeatedly defended me. Repeatedly put himself between me and danger. He’d been cut today by Damien for doing just that. No one, other than someone my father had paid to do so, had ever stood up for me that way.

I felt like crying for no particular reason other than my emotions had been tugged back and forth for days now. Because I was tired and exhausted and wanted back the complete simplicity the day had held. To just be a girl named Raisa showing her boyfriend named Cruz the city she loved and wasn’t sure she’d be back to in a very long time?if ever. It had been my chance to say goodbye to it all.

I felt pressure on the back of my head, as if he’d bent and kissed me, and my legs wavered, causing me to fall into him even more. His arms tightened about me, and then he led me back to the wingback I’d jumped from moments before. He waited for me to sink into it before moving away again. I missed everything about being tucked up close to him, and that made me even more emotional. Disgust with myself twined with the loss.

I closed my eyes, but they popped open again at the gentle clang of crystal hitting crystal. He poured two glasses of whiskey from an expensive set of cut-glass containers sitting behind Papa’s desk. He brought me one, watched while I sipped at it, and then stood in the center of the room, taking in every single part of it.

He put his glass down on a side table and began moving around the room slowly. He randomly pulled books from shelves, opened boxes, and turned over the knick-knacks littering shelves. If you were watching from the camera in the cornice at the top of the window frame, it would look like he was just fascinated by the art and books in Papa’s possession, but I knew better. I knew Cruz was looking for something.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He shook his head again but continued on. I put the whiskey down. It had never been my drink of choice, but I was suddenly in need of something strong. Something that would put fire in my blood in a different way than the man in front of me. I moved toward the door, and this time, he didn’t stop me.

“Do whatever the hell it is you think you’re doing, but I’m going up to the bar,” I said. I turned to watch him, twisting my locket in my hand and waiting for him to try and stop me.

Instead, his feet found their way next to me. He tucked a stray tendril behind my ear in a move so gentle I had to swallow back another wave of unexpected tears. I pushed his hand away, turned, and exited the room.

The living room we’d left Malik and Yano in was now empty, and the guards had not returned, but Ilia had. He followed us into the lift without question. I pushed the button for the rooftop bar, and we all waited in silence while the elevator took us to the top.

When we stepped out onto the roof, the temperature had dropped as the sun sank toward the horizon, casting the sky into the forever twilight. Soft music, the clink of glasses, and quiet conversation smattered with laughter greeted us. The bar was only open to residents, but it seemed like the White Nights had drawn a number of them to the roof, just as it had us.

Ilia remained near the elevator where he had a view of not only the lift but the emergency stairs descending the side of the building. I led the way between the tables flickering with candlelight. The bar was a complete contrast to the eighteenth-century elegance of our penthouse. This was all twenty-first-century modern with stained teak furniture, copper-and-steel tables, and abstract cushions you could almost lose yourself in. I found my way to a table by the rail. The brisk breeze blowing in from the river had kept most people away from the tables by the edge, but I simply pulled one of the folded cashmere blankets from a stack the bar kept nearby and sat in a love seat facing a gorgeous view of the Neva River and all four bridges that would raise soon.

Cruz didn’t take one of the other chairs around the table. Instead, he joined me on the love seat, our legs and shoulders bumping together. I glared.

“Body warmth, little one.”

The endearment had started to tug sweetly at my insides somewhere along the way, and I hated that almost as much as I hated the fire that was coasting through me at his touch. Why did it have to be this man?an FBI special agent?who brought out these feelings?

A waiter arrived at our table, putting down a basket of bulochki made locally and delivered daily for the residents. I ordered a vodka tonic, and Cruz ordered seltzer water. I guessed the one whiskey in the apartment had been his limit.

“What were you looking for?” I asked once we were alone again.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Something that will keep you safe from Volkov,” he said quietly.

This was not at all what I’d expected him to say, and when I looked up into his eyes, they glittered like black diamonds in the darkened skies with only the candles lighting the way.

“But it will help you, as well, right?” I asked, trying not to read into his statement more than there was.

“I have no idea,” he said and slouched down so his long legs were sprawled out in front of him, and his head rested on the back of the couch. He looked completely done in. As exhausted as I felt.

My feet were killing me from being in spiked boots all day as we’d traversed the city. Even though we’d taken a CarShare before Ilia had joined us, I’d still done a fair share of walking.

I reached down, unzipped my boots, and slid my feet out before pulling them back under the blanket. Cruz tugged my legs into his lap, dragging the blanket so it covered both of us. Then, he rubbed his thumb into the arch of my foot, pushing up over the ball as he had on the plane. It had been damn hypnotic before I knew him, but now, after the time we’d shared together, it undid me a little bit more.

“At least you didn’t jump this time,” he said, and I saw a flash of white in the semi-darkness that proved he’d smiled.

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