Page 91 of Disguised as Love

“The mafiya is going to want answers. A scapegoat. They’ll want your head, and they won’t stop with just you,” Cruz told Papa, but his eyes were on me, burrowing into my veins and causing my heartbeat to beat wildly.

I tried to ignore it. I tried to ignore the flames that surged to attention at his gaze.

“The data you have and what happened in the club will convince them all that Volkov wasn’t who he said he was,” Papa told Cruz. “He was a rat in their midst, turning on them for his own benefit. It’s the truth, but also not.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what had happened to Rurik once my father and Cruz had found him behind the club, but I knew it wasn’t anything good if Papa and Cruz had the locket. The fact that Papa had given it to Cruz of his own free will was more unexpected than even Papa trying to retire.

“Did Rurik really try to kill you?” I asked my father.

He nodded. “Yes, but Malik found out in time for us to enact our own plan.”

I couldn’t listen anymore. I was tired. So tired I thought I might sleep for a week once we landed. I’d sleep on the beach in the sunshine to escape the cold that would settle in my veins once Cruz left, and then I’d return to Stanford and my lab. But even thoughts of my work left me feeling empty when normally it filled me.

I closed my eyes, let the lull of the voices of the people I loved put me to sleep, and only awoke as we were touching down in New York for refueling.

Cruz grabbed his bag and headed toward the steps.

My heart seized as I realized the truth. He really was leaving.

I found my feet, trailing him to the door and out onto the stairs leading down to the tarmac.

“Were you going to say goodbye?” I demanded.

He turned, not surprised at all that I was there, and I wasn’t sure if I was angry or relieved that he’d known I’d follow him. He was two steps down from me, and it brought us almost eye level. I went to grab my necklace, realizing it wasn’t there and would likely never be again, and I suddenly felt naked. Bare. Sad in a way that I knew was about much more than just the locket.

“This isn’t goodbye, little one,” he said, eyes glimmering.

I couldn’t help the way my heart skipped a beat at his comment.

“We have no reason to see each other after this,” I said and hated the way my voice was breathy and unsure.

He smiled, and it was so gorgeous and stunning it caused every part of me to ignite, chasing away the cold I’d felt drawing near for a little longer. I’d seen so few of his smiles, and this one seemed even bigger and fuller than any of the others I’d witnessed. As if the real Cruz Malone was peeking out from behind his mask.

“Will you do me a favor?” he asked, voice low and gritty, barreling into my heart and soul. I wanted to do whatever he asked, but we both knew it was impossible. I’d told him the truth. There could never be a relationship between us. His giving up his career and my father retiring would change nothing about who we were.

I didn’t respond, and he continued, “Stay in Hawaii with your father and his security detail until you hear from me? Until I know it’ll be safe for you to go back to your life at Stanford?”

“I’m not giving up my career, Cruz, and I don’t want you to give up yours either.”

His smile widened even more, stretching his eyes and crinkling the corners. I fought the desire to touch him, but he didn’t. His hand rose and caressed my cheek. I pushed it away when, really, I wanted to pull it closer, to eliminate all the remaining space between us until our lips met again.

“There’s the fire I adore,” he said, and my insides flipped. Had I ever been adored by anyone besides my father? “No one wants you to give up your work, Raechka. You’re going to change the world, and I’m going to see that you do,” he said quietly. A vow. A promise.

I huffed, crossing my arms over my body so I didn’t do something stupid just because he’d used the sweet Russian form of my name my family used. An endearment as tender as the little one he insisted on calling me even after I’d told him to stop.

“My body and soul were tired until you stormed into my life,” he said, a quiet admission, as if he’d told me the deepest, darkest of state secrets, but I couldn’t let the words continue to batter at my defenses, so I threw them back at him.

“Me? Storm into your life? You’re the one who all but kidnapped me!”

He laughed, and the sound was brilliant. A bell ringing in a church. A piano chord echoing across a stage.

He grabbed me on either side of my waist, leaned in, and kissed me. And I let him. I let him because I needed the touch before I said goodbye. Once we’d both returned to our real worlds, this moment, this feeling of being bound together, would disappear. It had to. For both of our sakes, but especially for his.

The kiss was tender and soft, then turned into heat and flame because I didn’t think we could ever touch without the fire reappearing. Lips slid against lips. Tongues danced and twined together. My heart ached. My soul ached. God, if only I could be kissed like this for the rest of my life, nothing else would matter.

Then, he was letting go of my waist, moving away, journeying down the remainder of the steps. He looked up at me from the bottom.

“Promise me you’ll stay with them.”

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