Page 18 of Ten

Keep it. No return date. Just—here you go.

“Come on.” Ten scanned our surroundings as if he expected trouble and placed his hand between my shoulder blades. With a gentle push, he guided me forward. Even though I knew my psycho ex was out there somewhere, vengeful and murderous, I felt safe with Ten.

Safe. With an ex-con. With a Russian mafioso.

But as he carefully positioned me between his body and anyone else who might want to hurt me, I acknowledged he was so much more than those things. I wasn’t naïve anymore. I didn’t believe I could fix a man. I wasn’t looking at Ten as a project. I was looking at him as he was, ugly parts and all.

And I couldn’t find a reason to push him away. There was something about him, something underneath that gruff, hard exterior, that left me wondering if maybe he had a secret. All I had seen of him—and admittedly, it wasn’t much—convinced me he wasn’t a violent brute.

Sure, Nisha, except for the part where he went to prison!

When we stepped inside his condo, I was taken aback by how incredible it looked. Masculine was the first word that came to mind. Leather, wood, exposed brick. Moody shades of gray and hunter green on the walls. Bookshelves crammed with paperbacks and hardcovers. Artwork and black and white photos in antique frames.

A basket of neon green yarn with a terrible crochet chain dangling off of it caught my eye. I glanced at him, and his ears and cheeks turned bright red. He rushed over to the leather couch and snatched up the crochet basket. He tried to hide it behind his back, but there was no escaping my curiosity.

“You crochet?” I hoped he didn’t feel embarrassed, but the furious flush creeping up his neck told me otherwise.

“I’m learning. Against my will,” he muttered. “It’s part of my court-mandated anger management.”

“Really?” I had never heard of crochet as a form of anger management, but it made sense. It was a calm, relaxing activity, and one I enjoyed quite a bit. “If you need some pointers, I can help. I’ve been crocheting since I was a little girl. My grandma taught me.”

“Uh, sure. Maybe.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll be right back.”

While he disappeared with the crochet basket, I locked the front door and then wandered around his living room, taking in the art and then finding myself in front of a bookshelf. He had a lot of thrifted hardcover classics and a mix of newer paperback releases. There was a good mix of nonfiction and fiction with a heavy tilt toward science fiction and fantasy and detective novels.

I glanced in his direction as his heavy footfalls echoed on the hardwood floor. “You have a nice library.”

“You have a lot of time to read in prison.” Ten joined me at the floor-to-ceiling shelf and reached for a title high up at the top. It was well-worn and leather-bound. He ran his fingers over the spine before handing it to me. “I spent a lot of time reading this one.”

I tried to read the title but couldn’t make sense of it. “It’s in Russian.”

“Yes.” He seemed amused. “Dostoevsky.”

“Of course,” I murmured, finding it a little funny, too. “Crime and Punishment?”

“Yes.”

“How do you say it in Russian?” I looked up at him, marveling at how warm he was standing this close. His body heat soothed my nerves and called me closer.

“Prestupléniye i nakazániye.”

“Uh,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not going to insult you by butchering your language while trying to repeat that.”

“There’s nothing you could say that would insult or offend me.” Ten carefully took the book from my hand, purposely rubbing his finger along mine, and placed it back where it belonged.

“I bet I could”

“Well, for all you know, that’s my kink.” He grinned down at me, and I felt giddy like a teenage girl in her first blush of romance. “Being insulted by a beautiful, successful woman.”

“You’re teasing.” I turned away, my face burning with excitement and nervousness. I hadn’t flirted like this in a long time. Ever since Kiki, I had chosen men who were easy to read and well-behaved. Betas, I guess, you might call them. Non-threatening. Simple. Quiet. Small. Slim. No one who could hurt me or get the upper hand in a fight. The dates never went anywhere, and I hadn’t touched or slept with another man.

But Ten was the complete opposite. There was nothing small or slim or quiet about him. He was big and loud and handsome, and I knew that if I went on a date with him, it would absolutely lead somewhere. Probably a bedroom.

“I can do more than tease if you’d like.”

I pivoted at his offer, finding him staring at me in a way that made me feel naked and seen. I gulped and let my needy gaze roam his chiseled body. I was reminded of my silly idea that morning and blurted out, “I planned to proposition you.”

Ten reacted with surprise. “What?”

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