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Vasily’s hand settles against my lower back. The warmth of it sends an entirely different kind of awareness through me, and I find myself bowing away from his touch, trying not to notice the way he stiffens.
“I’m fine.”
I wave him off too quickly. He doesn’t move immediately, though the pilot and co-pilot are shutting things down and someone from Vasily’s lake house has arrived to grab our bags and put them in a waiting SUV.
I can feel his eyes on me, and suddenly I’m painfully aware of last night. Not the sex, but what came before that. The quiet conversation. The tension. The way everything between us felt less like pretending than it ever has before.
I don’t want him looking at me like that now; like I’m fragile, or like he cares. Men like Vasily Borisov lie their entire lives to avoid coming across people like me. Lawyers who can detect bullshit the way a shark detects blood in the water.
“It’s the helicopter,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Apparently my body has decided it hates flying.”
His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t make me explain any further. Which is good because it would be a stupid lie about never having traveled much.
“You weren’t sick on the way there yesterday.”
“I’ve evolved.”
That earns me the faintest flicker of amusement, though it’s cold. His eyes move to the waiting SUV, and he half-turns away, waiting for me. I take a deep breath through my nose and start for it, trying to ignore the way I can feel him there behind me. Like some kind of hulking shadow.
Anything to protect you. Anything to make you feel safe.
Those were the words he said last night. For some reason, those words hooked into my heart and don’t want to come out thanks to the barb in them.
The bitter truth settles in my gut as I slide into the backseat of the SUV. I’ve spent my whole life distrusting and protecting myself. Despite Ed and his soft demeanor with me. Despite my mother being a rock, despite Emma always being there as a confidante if I needed one.
There is something deeply wrong in me that just can’t trust others. But when Vasily Borisov said those words, my mind took everything I know about the man and believed him.
* * *
I turn toward the lake house before he can ask anything once we arrive. He spent the majority of the short drive on his cell. Most likely managing loose ends and getting caught up on what we’d missed in twenty-four hours.
It was probably nothing. The helicopter. The motion. Too much coffee. Too little sleep.
That’s all.
It has to be.
The moment we step into the foyer, my priorities shift. It hits me that this feels strangely comfortable, coming back to a space I’m getting used to working in, and I push the thought away.
“How long?” I ask.
Vasily looks at me.
“The trial.” I hold up my phone. “I just got confirmation. We have a trial date. Jury selection starts in three days.”
His expression changes immediately, moving from surprise to focus. All business.
“Then you need to be ready. We’ll get you whatever you need, just ask.”
I nod and turn toward the stairway, already mentally sorting through everything I need to review. Witness lists. Motions. Evidence. The prosecution’s strategy. Every possible weakness.
Vasily follows for a few steps; his boots heavy on the wood. The windows are open and it smells like summer, pine, and the lake. My body wars against how calming it feels to be here, in this man’s, this criminal’s, home.
“Matty.”
I recognize the tone of concern in his voice and bite out, “I’m fine.”
His expression tightens, and he stops halfway up. I know I’ve pushed him away, but I can’t help it. I need to focus. Whatever happened between us in New York has to be put somewhere I can deal with later.
