Page 17 of Milo

"That is—" Milo licks his lips, processing my explanation. He lets out a breath. "You're remarkable."

"No, I'm just lucky." I shrug, turning away from him, watching trees sway in the wind on the fringe of the cobblestoned courtyard. Several men dressed in suits walk around the perimeter. "I just happen to be born with this ability. I didn't work for it. It was given to me."

His chair squeaks as he stands up and stalks up behind me. "There is no need to be modest, Kiara—" My breath hitches as he sweeps strands of hair off my shoulder. He arches over, whispering in my ear, "You are remarkable."

I suck in a shaky breath, twisting my body to face him, his chest an inch away from mine.

"Is a cat remarkable for always landing on its feet?" I fight the urge to reach out and touch the sculpted ridges of his chest as my back presses up against the jagged windowpanes. "Or is it just a cat?"

"Well—" Milo smirks, resting his palm above my head. He leans closer to me, caging me with his hellish body. "I have always found pussies to be quite remarkable."

I force a scoff, my breathing ragged. "Charming," I murmur, denying Milo the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

Bastard.

"You're blushing.” His gaze dances across my burning face. He’s clearly pleased with himself. I don't dignify his annoying observation with a response. He segues when he's certain I have nothing to add to his lewd remark, "But truly, Kiara, it is worrisome that you cannot see what a gift you have been given."

"It's only a gift now because it's what's saved me from being executed by you.” I weave under his arm, escaping his burrowing intense gaze. "But I suppose it has served a greater purpose."

Hanging his head, Milo expels a low chuckle before slowly turning around. He leans against the window, crossing his arms. "Some optimism.” His top lip quirks up. "Finally."

I roll my eyes.

"So now that I've answered all your questions,” I take one more stride backward so that there's optimal space between us, "I think it's time you answered some of mine."

"You may ask me whatever you'd like.” He pushes himself off the window and perches on the corner of his desk. "But I will tell you only what you need to know."

"I figured as much.” I nibble on my bottom lip, surveying his neutral features, attempting to recall everything I've studied about micro expressions. "What is it that you and your family do?"

For half a second, his eyebrows perk up, his lips clipping up into a smile. Amusement. I'm fairly certain.

"I own a chain of hotels and casinos across Europe," he answers flatly. "I'm a businessman."

This is going to be tricky.

"Most regular businessmen don't get kidnapped by the Russian mob. Might want to consider changing professions." I pause. "Why did they kidnap you? Hmm?"

He shakes his head. "Not relevant."

Hmm… Let's turn it up. I've always wanted to put my self-education to the test.

"What do you really do?" I take a step forward, my gaze bouncing between his lips, eyebrows, and nose. The trifecta of human emotions. "Gunrunning?" Nothing. "Extortion?" No. "Drugs?"

The right corner of his lip tightens and rises. Contempt? Interesting. Not the reaction I was expecting. I was anticipating pride.

"Drugs? How unoriginal," I muse, striding closer to Milo who's narrowing his eyes at me, body tense. "Do you make the drugs, traffic them, or sell them?"

His lip twitches, one eye briefly squinting. Traffic.

I think.

I tilt my head, continuing on my rampage. "And the hotels and casinos are what? A front for money laundering?"

His jaw clenches. "I did not say that."

"You didn't have to," I smile, blessing Paul Ekman and his research. "You can't conceal a biopsychosocial reaction." I pause, cocking my head to the side. "The amygdala— it really is the snitch of one's brain."

"What?" he asks through his teeth. "What are you talking about?"

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