Page 61 of Anton

“Get up.” His hands close around my hips, guiding me carefully to my feet. “I’ll help you get dressed, then take you back to your car.”

“Okay…”

He’s already retreating behind the coldness he uses to protect himself, shutting me out after revealing more than he intended. I hate when he does that.

He retrieves my panties, turning them over before tucking them into his pocket.

A laugh slips out of me. “What did you do that for?”

“They’re dirty.”

“So you’re going to clean them for me?”

“Yes.” The faintest twitch touches his mouth. “Is that a problem?”

That almost-smile does embarrassing things to my ability to think.

“Nope. No problem at all.”

He picks up my jeans and guides my legs into them, his hands traveling along my skin as he draws the denim into place. Then he crouches and helps me put my boots back on, and when he rises to fasten my jeans, his fingers graze my stomach before settling around my waist.

“That was fun.” His gravelly tone has lost some of its usual edge.

“I didn’t know you were capable of having fun. I thought you might be allergic.”

“Sometimes I wish I was allergic to you.” One finger trails down my bare arm, warmth following its path. “It would make my life easier.”

“How sweet.” I throw my arms around him, mostly because now that he’s allowing me to touch him, I can’t seem to stop. “Well, I’m glad I can provide you some much-needed entertainment.”

“You’re the source of a lot of things.” His lids lower as the back of his hand skims along my jaw. “Not all of them welcome.”

“I can’t tell whether that’s supposed to be good or bad.”

His body surrounds mine, and the gentle caress makes it difficult to remember why I’m supposed to be careful around him.

A quirk touches his mouth. “Neither can I.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ANTON

I drive into the punching bag in Aleksei’s gym as Thora fills my mind again, and every muscle in my body grows taut.

“Blyat!” I slam my fist into the bag, then keep hitting until my arms burn and my knuckles throb.

Across the room, Aleksei continues his workout with his headphones covering his ears, either unaware of me or choosing not to care.

Kirill isn’t so willing to ignore it. He crosses the gym, his expression sharpening.

“Chto s toboy?” What’s going on with you?

“Nothing.”

He studies me, not buying it. “You never get like this.”

“Like what?”

“Pissed.”