Page 12 of Close Protection

‘Mr Petrov, you frightened me,’ I say, clutching my hand to my chest.

‘Apologies, Miss Green,’ he drawls, his voice deep and cold with indifference. He didn’t even so much as flinch when I rounded the corner. He just kept his eyes on the bowl as he continued to pour the milk.

As I walk to the fridge to get out what I need, I give him a once-over. He’s still wearing his black cargos and a black short-sleeve T-shirt, but his hair is now slightly tousled and messy, as if he’s been continuously running his hands through it.

I wonder what it would feel like to run my hands through it?

Yeah, no. We’re not doing that.

Shaking off that thought, I focus on looking for the blueberries.

‘What are you doing downstairs so late?’ I ask, mybreath catching as he comes up behind me to return the milk to the fridge.

‘Couldn’t sleep, so I thought now would be a good time to look through the documents Mrs Harris gave me,’ he says, his arm brushing mine as he reaches past me to grab an apple. This close, all I can smell is him.

And it’s intoxicating.

Whatever fragrance he’s wearing is the perfect mix of freshness and pure masculinity, without trying too hard.

‘Why couldn’t you sleep? Is there something wrong with the bed?’

‘No. Just couldn’t sleep,’ he states as he returns to the pile of documents strewn across the island counter, apple in hand.

‘Oh, okay. Well, good.’ I close the fridge, grab a bowl and start sorting through the blueberries. ‘Does your work normally keep you up at night?’ I ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

‘Depends,’ is his one word answer.

‘Depends on what?’

‘Whether I’m working military or… private.’

‘Which one do you prefer?’ I ask, moving over to the sink to rinse my fruit.

‘Both have pros and cons, but there seem to be a lot more perks with going private.’ I turn back to look at himonly to find his eyes already on me.

‘Oh.’ I clear my throat, suddenly feeling a rush of heat throughout my body while the ghost of a smirk graces his lips as he looks back down at the paperwork in front of him.

‘Why were you crying?’ Milosh asks after a few moments have passed.

‘Pardon?’

‘Why. Were. You. Crying.’

‘Oh, um… My father and I had a little disagreement, that’s all.’ I smile sadly.

‘He made you cry?’

‘No, the situation made me cry,’ I correct, attempting to keep my expression soft. I’d rather not be talking about this right now. Least of all with a guy I only met yesterday.

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’ I ask, trying to keep my tone level, but failing when I hear a hint of exasperation slip through.

‘Why did the situation make you cry?’

I stop for a moment, trying to think of the best way to answer that question whilst still painting my father in a positive light. ‘Well, sometimes talking about my mother can unearth some pretty unpleasant emotions for my father.’

His eyes drink me in as he processes my answer. I turn my back to him and walk over to the cupboard to get aglass, only to find they’ve all been put on the highest shelf.

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