Page 28 of Cruel Existence

I pushed between the two of them. The testosterone battle was frustrating. “Just stop. I’m hungry.” I stormed into the restaurant. Luka followed me.

“Why don’t you send him home?” he suggested once we wereseated. “He’s a little obsessive about his job. You are safe with me. He needs to accept that.”

“I don’t know that he’ll listen.” I held the menu under the candlelight to read it. I didn’t want him to know that Ciro had no faith in him and distrusted everything about Luka and his family. “What about you? Don’t you travel with bodyguards?”

“Yes.”

“But, where are they?” I studied the guests in the dimly lit dining room.

“I sent them home after drinks.”

“I never saw anyone at the bar,” I argued. “Where were they? Who was it?”

He smiled. “That’s how it should be. My team knows how to fade into the background. They’re virtually ghosts. Ciro sticks out. Everyone knows he’s watching you. I believe it makes you a target. Fire him.”

I shifted in my chair. “He’s following orders.” I didn’t know why I chose to defend him.

“But when does he start doing what you want him to do?”

“I’m working on it.” I smiled wryly. I didn’t like that my bodyguard was planted near the restaurant bar, watching everyone who walked in and out of the door. I didn’t like that he was memorizing the moments of my dinner. I didn’t like that he was witnessing how I interacted with Luka. It felt like a violation, not an act of protection.

A solo saxophone took the stage in the corner of the restaurant. I hadn’t even realized it was there until the spotlight highlighted the musician. My breath caught in the back of my throat with the firstnote.

Luka reached underneath the table and stroked the top of my thigh with his thumb. I leaned toward him.

“Ya tebya hochu,” he whispered. I shivered as his fingers began to climb along the slit of fabric against my leg.

“What does that mean?” I asked. I knew no Russian. Not even how to say hello.

“I want you.” His eyes lit. There was a storm swirling in his pupils.

Every part of me tingled. My breaths became shallow. “I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered. I was suddenly filled with nerves.

“Why not? I think it’s going well, kotyonok.”

“What’s with all the Russian?” I pressed. His feet hooked against my ankle, dragging my leg slightly wider. His fingers slid deeper along my inner leg. I whimpered.

“You need to understand I am Russian, Amara. Our worlds are not the same. And yet, neither one of us wants this night to end, do we?”

I turned my head from side to side. “No.”

His eyes were fixed on me with hunger. A hunger I’d never seen in a man before. If I turned around I risked Ciro having a better vantage point of where Luka’s hand was.

I lowered my eyes. “It’s bigger than us, isn’t it?”

I was afraid to look at him again. Afraid to feel my soul bounce around my body as if he had the other end of the string and tugged it when it suited him. It shouldn’t be like this. Who gave up control this quickly?

“That depends.”

“On?” I decided to look up. I searched his eyes for something definitive. I didn’t believe that there was anything but trouble ahead for us. The hotel was an obvious impasse. I was on a short leash, and as soon as my father found a family to partner with, I’d be married.

With his other hand, his fingertips trailed the side of my cheek. I pressed into his open palm.

“How much control we give to others,” he replied softly. “If you give it to me, I will protect you, kitten.”

“Kitten? Is that what you called me?”

I chuckled. “It is. I can teach you more. So much more.”

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