Page 51 of Heritage of Blood

I thought we might be making more progress after coffee.

There is a subtle restlessness when it comes to Luka; our interactions are elusive, and any conversational words are chosen carefully, with the tension thick enough to cut. I want to approach him, but I often retreat with burning indecision and knots tying my stomach.

Today is Friday, and the crisp, cool autumn weather has officially blanketed the city. Natallia ordered sushi for lunch and is telling me about a play she is excited to see. Her face becomes animated when she talks about her passions; I wonder if she has anyone to share them with.

The door pops open, and Luka’s gaze is on me instantly.

“Kate, I need you in the office. Bring your lunch,” he says, disappearing before I can respond. Natallia smiles at me, and I push to stand, grabbing my sushi and sparkling water.

“Here, take this,” she says, handing me a notepad and a pen.

“Old school, huh?” I chuckle.

She shakes her head. “It’s just in case.”

I nod, tucking the pad under my arm and sticking the pen in my top bun.

Luka is at his desk when I enter. The rich mahogany is glaringly dark against the light-painted room. Bookshelves line one end of the room, and a small bar is across from the large windows with a magnificent city view. There is minimal color, and the office is void of anything personal.

“Shut the door,” he says.

The demand in Luka’s voice causes my heart to flutter and my face to warm. Using my backside, I hip check the door and it slams shut. Luka jumps from behind his desk, and I can’t help but laugh at his startle.

Shoot.

“Uh, sorry, full hands.” I hold up my sushi and water as best I can with the pad still under my arm and make my way across from him. Once I’ve deposited my lunch on his desk, I look up. Luka’s eyes are narrowed on the top of my head.

“You have a pen in your hair.”

Oh. Right.

“Sorry,” I whisper, pulling out the pen, clicking it down, and writing the date on the notepad. I can’t believe it’s October already. It’s the one month I enjoy hot apple cider as opposed to lattes. I wonder if it would be good running weather this—

“Stop apologizing.” Luka’s bark interrupts my daydream.

“Sorry,” I say again, and he rolls his eyes before they drop to my tweed pencil skirt and slowly descend past my bare legs to my ankle boots.

With the changing weather, I’ll probably be wearing more pants, but I purchased this tweed skirt online after Luka asked me to work in the office. I love the idea of finally not having to wear a service uniform for work, and I went a tad overboard styling some work outfits. I paired this tweed skirt with a black turtleneck. It’s work appropriate, but I’m not sure why Luka is staring at it like it wronged him.

“Finish your lunch, I want to go to one of our warehouses to inspect some shipments. You are coming with me.”

I gulp down a sip of my water.Really? He is taking me to a warehouse?

Natallia says that the warehouses are where all his “product” is located and shipped from. She explained that they move both the businesses art imports and the Bratva’s weapons through these multiple warehouses. I’ve been working mostly on the art import side of things, doing paperwork, and communicating with some of the art curators. But I think Luka means to take me to one of theotherwarehouses.

I’m sweating. I rub my palms on my skirt and push out some words. “Umm. Okay. I’m done.”

I stand and take my trash over to the bin, wondering why now Luka wants me to see this side of things. The thought of adventure hums through my body. Given that what he does is highly illegal and can result in death, I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.

Swirling around to face Luka, I smack right into him.When did he end up behind me?His arms steady me and linger on my shoulders, gliding down my arms until only the tips of his middle fingers graze my hands. Then his touch is gone.

“I need you to stay close to me, Kate. When we enter the warehouse, there will be many of my men. And while they are good, loyal men, beautiful women like you don’t enter their world all that often, especially in that outfit.”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” I ask.

He lets out a growl and steps into me, so close I’m forced to peer up at him, even with my heeled boots. He is staring down at me again, and the ghost of his lips from when I kissed him flashes in my memory. The stubbled hair tickling the soft graze of my lips over his tiny scar.

I take a step back.

---