Page 117 of Dangerous Beginnings

“For anything,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can’t look away from him.

He studies me for a moment longer, then leans back with a smirk. “Good answer. But not good enough.”

I exhale slowly, realizing I’ve been holding my breath. “Are you always this intense?”

“Only when I’m interested,” he replies smoothly, the playful note in his voice easing some of the tension.

I roll my eyes, though the flutter in my chest betrays me. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re fascinating,” he counters, lifting his coffee cup to his lips and taking a slow sip, his gaze never leaving mine.

I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “You know, I can’t believe we’re sitting here having coffee like normal people.”

His smirk falters slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. He sets his cup down, his fingers tracing the rim as if considering something. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Do what? Have coffee?”

“Not like this.” His voice is quieter now, the playful edge replaced by something more serious. “Not for fun. Not withsomeone I care about.”

The words catch me off guard, and I blink at him, unsure if I’ve heard him right. He doesn’t look away, his gaze unflinching as if waiting for me to process what he’s said.

I stare at him, my mind struggling to catch up with the shift in his tone. For a moment, everything else fades—the murmur of voices around us, the clink of cups and plates—all I can hear is the thudding of my own heartbeat. Aslanov’s eyes soften, but there’s still that ever-present edge in them, as though he’s never fully free of the weight he carries.

Suddenly, without warning, his hand moves across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. My breath catches in my throat. His grip is firm but gentle, his thumb stroking the back of my hand in a gesture that feels both comforting and possessive. It’s a small touch, but it’s filled with so much more—ownership, care, and something unspoken. His eyes never leave mine, and I feel the weight of his gaze, intense and unwavering.

He slowly raises my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckle. The simple act feels loaded with so much more—possessiveness, tenderness, and something almost dangerous. I feel the pull of it deep in my chest.

His lips linger there for a moment longer than necessary, and when he pulls back, there’s something in his eyes that shifts—a glint of something fierce, something protective. It’s not just affection I see; it’s a promise. A silent vow.

Chapter 63

Between Darkness

and Longing

Isabella

The drive back to the cabin is quiet, the steady hum of the car mingling with the soft rustle of the trees as the city fades into the distance. Snow clings to the edges of the road, the pale light of the moon casting a soft glow on the frosted landscape. I glance at Aslanov, his hands steady on the wheel, his jaw set in that familiar tension I’ve come to recognize. The warm ease of the café is gone now, replaced by something heavier—something that presses down on both of us.

He doesn’t speak, but I can feel the weight of his thoughts. His gaze flickers to the rearview mirror, then to the side windows, scanning the empty road. Even here, miles from the city’s noise, his vigilance never fades.

When we reach the cabin, I notice the shadows first—men moving silently along the tree line, their figures dark against the snow. Their presence is unspoken but undeniable, a quiet reminder that danger isn’t as far away as it feels.

Aslanov stops the car in front of the cabin and kills the engine. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his fingers tightening briefly on the steering wheel before he exhales and steps out. The crunch of his boots on the snow is sharp in the stillness.

I wait for him to open my door, and he does, his hand outstretched to help me. His touch lingers for a fraction of a second too long, and I cling to that small moment of connection, unwilling to let it slip away so easily.

“Inside,” he says softly, his voice carrying none of thesharpness I expect. “I’ll be there soon.”

I hesitate, my eyes searching his face for something—an explanation, a reassurance—but all I see is the quiet storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. I nod, stepping out and making my way toward the cabin, the snow crunching softly beneath my boots.

Inside, the warmth wraps around me like a blanket, but it feels hollow. I set my bag down on the table and glance over my shoulder, watching through the window as Aslanov speaks to his men. His posture is commanding, his movements deliberate, but there’s something about the way he glances toward the cabin—just once, quickly—that sends a flicker of warmth through me.

I hear the crunch of gravel outside again, and then the sound of the front door opening. Aslanov steps inside but doesn’t close it behind him. The cold air hits me before the door shuts with a soft thud. I don’t look at him as he moves toward the hallway, his movements purposeful.

He’s silent for a long moment. Then I hear him sigh, the deep, frustrated sound that echoes in the empty room. I can almost feel his frustration radiating from him, and I don’t need to look up to know he’s rubbing his tattooed hand over his stubbled chin, trying to collect his thoughts. When he speaks again, his voice is rough, softer, but still laced with something I can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, the words barely audible but heavy with meaning.

---