Page 19 of Gilded in Blood

She keeps going. "I mean, he was the one who hired you, wasn't he? I just assumed⁠—"

"I said we're not friends." The words come out sharper than I intend.

She blinks. "I was just asking."

I set the plate down and cover the small space between us, backing her up against the counter. I plant my hands on either side of her, leaning in close enough that I can smell the jasmine on her skin again.

"You ask too many questions."

"I was only making conversation."

"Here's some advice." I plant my hands on either side of her, trapping her against the counter. "Stop asking questions about people you don't know."

She searches my face, clearly trying to figure me out. I wish she'd stop looking at me like that.

Her eyes drop for a split second, then widen slightly as she registers exactly how hard I am, pressed close against her. The flush that creeps up her neck is fucking beautiful.

I lean in even closer, my mouth near her ear. “If you want to be fucked on this kitchen table, keep wearing shit like that. If not, go put on something that doesn’t make me want to bend you over right now.”

I push off the counter before I do exactly that and turn to leave.

“And Milana?” I say without looking back. “Don’t speak to me again unless it’s important.”

I walk out of the kitchen, jaw clenched so tight it hurts, trying to ignore the way my body is screaming at me to go back and take what I suddenly want more than anything.

This woman is going to destroy my control.

Milana

Sunlight spills across the bedroom, pulling me awake.

For a moment, I forget where I am. Everything feels wrong, the bed, the silence. Sarah would usually be singing off-key right now as she gets ready for class.

Letting out a sigh, I sit up rubbing my eyes. I’m back in the U.S., but not with my family. How am I supposed to fill my day? Back in Manchester, my days had structure. Classes, time with friends, volunteering at the center.

Now, my classes have been shifted online, and with the time difference, there’s nothing I can do yet. I need something to fill the gap before the day really starts.

A run might help. Fresh air. Sunlight. Movement. I swing my legs off the bed and decide that’s exactly what I’ll do.

I quickly change into my running gear, black leggings, a fitted sports bra, and a loose tank top, my hair into a high ponytail. I lace up my sneakers. A good run is exactly what I need to clear my head and burn off some of this restless energy.

I’m halfway to the front door when Ilya’s bedroom door swings open. “Going somewhere?”

He steps out wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his hips.

My steps falter.

Water droplets still cling to his broad, muscled chest and shoulders, trailing down the hard ridges of his abdomen. His arms are corded with tattoos, ink wrapping over muscle like dark veins.

My gaze locks onto the large, bold cross inked across his chest, dark, intricate, and strangely compelling on a man who radiates pure danger. Heat floods my face as I force my eyes upward to meet his.

The air between us instantly grows thick and charged, it crackles so intensely it feels electric. I can’t seem to breathe normally.

“Where are you going?” he asks again.

I clear my throat, trying to get my voice back. “I’m going running.”

“Outside?”