Page 27 of Tracking Shadows

I grin, feeling more confident. “Thanks, Valentina. I owe you one.”

“You owe me about twenty,” she quips, her tone teasing. “But I’ll let you off easy this time. Just don’t forget to send me a picture of her in it. I need to see how this turns out.”

“You got it,” I promise, tucking the dress under my arm. “And thanks again, really.”

“Anytime, Alexei,” she says warmly before handing the phone back to Dmitri.

Dmitri’s voice comes back on the line, as stern as ever. “Remember, Alexei, Don’t get too distracted.”

“Distracted? Me? Never,” I say with a smirk, but I can hear the concern and it nags at me.

“Alexei,” Dmitri says, his tone more serious now. “I know how you get when things get . . . personal. Just be careful. You’re not invincible.”

I pause. “I know, Dmitri. I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Keep me updated.”

I end the call, already picturing the look on Irina’s face when she sees what I’ve picked out. She has no idea what’s coming, and I can’t wait to see her reaction.

Chapter 8 - Irina

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath, tugging at the ropes of this ridiculous dress. It’s gorgeous, no doubt—black, sleek, and just this side of scandalous—but it's also completely impractical. I’m not sure how women manage to breathe in these things, let alone tie themselves into them.

Another string slips through my fingers, and I curse again, louder this time. This isn’t the kind of thing I usually wear, and it shows. The fabric clings to my curves in a way that feels both foreign and dangerous, like I’m stepping into a role I’m not sure I’m ready to play.

After a few more futile attempts, I let out a frustrated huff and stomp down the hall to Alexei’s room. If I’m going to get this damn thing on, I’m going to need help. I push open the door without knocking.

He looks up from whatever he’s doing, a smirk already playing on his lips. “Need a hand?”

"Don’t even start," I snap, but the bite in my voice softens when I see the way his smirk fades into something else entirely as he takes in the sight of me. Suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of every inch of the dress, every curve it highlights.

"Is it that bad?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can’t help the way my fingers twitch nervously at my sides.

Alexei blinks, his usual confidence slipping. "No—no, it’s not bad at all." He clears his throat, clearly struggling to find his words. "You look . . . you look great."

I don’t have time to analyze the way my heart skips at his compliment. "Good. Now help me with this damn thing," I say, turning my back to him and pulling my hair over one shoulder to give him access to the tangled mess of ribbons.

He steps closer, and I swear I can feel the heat of him even before his fingers brush against my skin. The touch is light, almost too careful, as if he’s afraid of crossing a line. But the memory of those hands on me—exploring, claiming—floods my mind, and I have to bite my lip to keep from reacting.

His fingers work the ribbons, and I focus on the sensation, the way each brush of his hand sends little jolts of awareness through me. It’s maddening, really, how something so simple can be so charged.

"There," he murmurs close to my ear. I don’t even realize he’s finished until I feel the absence of his touch. "All done."

I take a breath, trying to steady myself before I turn back around. I’m about to thank him when I notice the way his eyes haven’t left mine, and for a moment, it’s like there’s too much electricity in the air.

"You’re . . . fine," he adds, the words almost stumbling out of him, and I know he’s not just talking about the dress.

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I can’t tell if it’s from his words or the way he’s looking at me. I step back, breaking the tension with a quick movement.

"Thanks," I say, a little too quickly, and I start to turn toward the door.

"And don’t forget," he says with that smirk returning, "you’re not wearing sneakers tonight. I expect to see those heels I bought you."

I shoot him a glare over my shoulder, swearing under my breath again as I leave the room. Behind me, I can hear his laughter following me down the hall.

***

Alexei’s hand rests firmly on the small of my back, his touch igniting a spark that spreads warmth through the thin fabric of my dress. The way his fingers splay possessively against my back, the heat of his body seeping into mine—it’s impossible to ignore how those same hands were on me last night, tracing my skin in ways that left me breathless and aching for more.

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