Page 52 of Preferential Treatment

“You can’t move your bishop there, your knight’s in the way.”

He swore softly in Russian. “Queen to g7…?”

“That one you can do.” She slid his queen forward.

The game progressed quickly, and Kate won. Mikhail pulled up the blindfold, stared at the board, and swore again.

“Another?” Kate offered, stifling a yawn. “This time without a blindfold?”

Mikhail looked over at her, thoughtful and serious. He leaned in close, cupping her cheek as his gaze tracked over her face. “You’re tired again. You need to get some real sleep.”

She was tired, but she didn’t want him to leave. The dangerous feelings that had been growing for a while now had officially become a full-blown disaster. She liked him as more than just a source of ready cash and orgasms. She liked his dry humor and his protectiveness and his even his unreadable stoicism. She liked that she felt safe with him, but also unstoppably powerful. Selfishly, she liked that he wanted to give her things, and that he did so without an ounce of prickish entitlement.

She liked him too much. She was afraid it might be more than mere liking. But she was slightly comforted by the fact that he seemed to be in the same boat. What kind of detached, only-in-it-for-the-sex kind of man would leave work to make tea for his sick sex-contractor, and then sit beside her while she slept for several hours?

“Let’s get you into bed,” Mikhail said, reaching to help her up.

“Okay,” Kate said, stupefied into agreeability by the terrifying emotional realization she was going through.

In the bedroom, Mikhail peeled her covers back and then flipped them over her once she’d crawled in. He’d brought her water bottle from the living room and set it on her nightstand. He pressed his hand to her forehead one more time, then her cheek, then the side of her neck, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Where’s that thermometer?” he muttered, darting back out to the living room. He returned a second later to take her temperature. Ninety-nine-point-one. Practically normal again. Mikhail visibly relaxed at the reading, setting the thermometer on the nightstand.

“Thank you for… everything,” Kate said softly.

Mikhail nodded. “If you wake up feeling too hot, or too cold, take your temperature again. If it’s high, you go to a doctor.”

“I’m not wracking up emergency room charges for a mild fever,” she objected.

“Fevers can be deadly,” Mikhail said roughly. There was something in his gaze that told her not to argue—something fragile and dark.

“Okay,” she agreed, just to put his mind at ease. “I will.”

He nodded. “Good, then.” He shifted restlessly at her bedside, looking cagey and uncertain. After a moment, he ducked down, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Sleep well, Katya. Don’t come into work tomorrow. Spend the day recovering.”

Kate stared up at him, stunned into silence. The place where his lips had touched the crown of her head still felt the ghost of that pressure—a gentle comfort that was spreading through the rest of her body like a soft glow.

“Good,” Mikhail said as if she’d agreed with him. He clicked out her bedside lamp. “Goodnight, knyazhna.”

And then he was gone. Kate lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, overwhelmed again by those dangerous feelings. Soft, hot tears tracked from her eyes to her temples, sliding into her hair. She didn’t fight them this time. She let out a slow, shuddering breath, and let them fall.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The next day, Kate stayed home, to both his trepidation and his relief. Mikhail called her in the morning, and she actually answered this time.

“I’m much better,” she insisted, though she was still a bit hoarse. “I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

“Don’t rush yourself, Katya.”

She laughed. “I’m honestly fine. No fever today. No body aches. My appetite’s back.”

“Good. Drink more tea. Use another mustard compress. I left the box on your counter by the tea.”

“Yes, I will definitely do all of those things.”

Her blatant lie made him smile, even while the anxious need to make sure she was healthy and safe was still nagging at him. “I’ll come over. You don’t know how to make the tea.”

“You can’t.” Kate’s voice lowered. “My roommate’s home today.”

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