Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I worked to create the filling, trying and failing to block Roman from my mind.
It was impossible. The kitchen was enormous, but he just took up so much space. I had a feeling it wouldn’t matter how big or small the kitchen was, he was the kind of man who filled a space in a way that you couldn’t ignore him.
Or maybe it was that I didn’t want to ignore him.
When the filling was done and simmering in the pot, I rolled out some extra dough and started cutting decorative stars for the pastry dome.
I didn’t need to.
We weren’t making it for a celebration. It didn’t have to be pretty, but it was a habit. The first thing I learned how to do as a child was cut out the stars, and doing so now made me feel better. It reminded me of a time when I still trusted people, when I still thought my father had my best interest at heart and I wasn’t a prop used to further men’s agendas.
After I slid the completed pastry into the oven, I hopped up onto the counter and Roman stepped in front of me, handing me a full glass of water.
“Drink this. You’re supposed to stay hydrated.”
I nodded, suppressing a small smile as I took the glass from him.
Roman opened his mouth at least half a dozen times to say something, but nothing came out.
There were so many questions on the tip of my tongue and I didn’t dare ask them.
Not because I didn’t want the answers. But because I wasn’t ready for the answers, not yet. I wasn’t ready for reality to intrude into this little moment that Roman and I had stolen from the rest of the world.
When the kurnik came out of the oven, Roman’s face was priceless.
He stared at the perfect golden dome in awe, like he didn’t quite believe that we had made this together.
I smirked as my hand went to the knife block and wrapped around the black handle of the fillet knife.
His hand whipped out and grabbed my wrist, holding me as I pulled the knife from the block.
A breath passed before my fingers tightened around the handle. This was a test. A silent promise.
I said nothing as I turned the blade toward the pastry and he let me cut into the golden dome. He didn’t release my wrist until I had sliced two pieces and placed the knife down.
Only then did he grab two plates and load the pastry onto them. Despite the hunger gnawing at my stomach, I waited and watched Roman take his first bite.
The pleasure sliding across his features made the extra moments worth the wait. His eyes closed as a groan of male satisfaction rumbled from his chest.
“That is — amazing,” he said.
I smiled as I took my first bite.
“What you made was really good too,” I admitted.
“Yeah, but you should’ve been a chef.”
His words hit me a lot harder than they should have.
I fought the sting behind my eyes and pushed down the memory of a life I once wanted. A different life. A life where my hands hadn’t been trained to kill, but instead to create.
“In another lifetime, maybe,” I said when I looked up to find him staring at me. Watching me with those dark eyes that saw far more than they should.
Roman set his fork down, his gaze locked on mine.
The shift was subtle but undeniable as he leaned forward.
A pull radiated from him, like he had his own magnetic force. There was an unmistakable weight to the moment, and against my better judgment, against every instinct screaming at me to pull away, I leaned forward too. Just enough. Just barely.
His lips were so close to mine I could taste his breath. I could almost feel him…
Until the moment was shattered in a hail of bullets.
CHAPTER 18
ROMAN
Iknew better.
This was my fault.
A wave of fire surged through my veins, burning away every shred of logic. Guilt knotted in my gut like barbed wire.
I was the one that let my guard down. I got too comfortable, and I didn’t notice the cars coming up the driveway.
She was my captive, not my girlfriend.
Of course her people would come for her. How could I have let myself be so stupid?
The cameras were off, shut down because the sight of Zoya in my T-shirt was for my eyes only.
Worse, I was the one that ordered the other men to leave and, in my arrogance, deactivated every ounce of security including the alarms.
I told myself at the time they weren’t needed. I had Zoya under control, and I didn’t want her vulnerability on display.
Except that wasn’t the true reason.
I sent them away because I didn’t want anyone to catch me being so vulnerable with her.
Like this silly little domestic scene, us cooking together.