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“I lost my mother last year.”
My eyes fly up and I hear the echo of pain in his voice. “Was it sudden?”
“Yes.” He looks across the cemetery. “A heart attack. No warning.”
“The same thing happened to my mother.” He covers my hand, and knowing that he understands the loss makes the gesture all the more meaningful.
“What do you miss most about her?”
Shocked that he’s interested in my thoughts, I swallow slowly, feeling a sob snag the back of my throat. “My mother was tiny. Built like a baby bird with scrawny arms and childlike wrists. One of my hands covered both of hers. But when she held me, I felt instantly stronger.”
“No force on earth is more powerful than a mother’s love.”
“Which makes the loss all the more painful.” He studies me closely, causing a whisper of electricity to zing along my veins. “I’m glad you took my words to heart last night.” He cocks his head to the side. “About taking care of yourself.”
“I am alive, so perhaps I did.” He shifts closer. “Are there any other words of wisdom you’d like to share?”
I’m drawn into his vortex. Half aristocrat and half street brawler. His raw, brutal power is a magnet I’m incapable of resisting. “Don’t use those stain sticks on your shirts anymore.” His mouth lifts at the corners. “Just bring them to me, and I will take care of it.”
“That’s an offer a man couldn’t easily refuse.”
“Which is why I made it.” Startled that I would say anything so audacious, I clear my throat and hear my phone alarm. Fumbling for it, I feel relief wash through my body. Yuri’s attention is lovely, but having it in small servings is best. “I need to go.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Pushing myself to my knees, I begin collecting my things. “I have to catch the next bus. It’s the last one for the day, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“You use public transportation?”
“Why do you say it like a dirty word?” I pop the top on the glass dish and shove it in my tote. “The city buses are a great way to get around.”
“I will drive you.” He stands and slides his jacket on. “You shouldn’t sit next to strangers.”
“I also shouldn’t eat as many sweets as I do.” Picking up the blanket, I shake it out and then push it into my bag. “But I will continue doing both.”
“We’ll see about that.”
The command in his tone is unmistakable as he reaches for the tote. “I’ve got it.”
Sliding it out of my hands, he holds it up. “Are there bricks in the bottom?”
“At least three.”
He scoffs. “Feels more like six.”
“Something you would clearly know.” His surprised expression tells me he’s unfamiliar with snappy retorts. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It was a clever quip.” He leans closer. “But make no mistake, the Bratva is a modern organization and doesn’t resort to old-fashioned tactics.”
“Good to know.” I roll my eyes and hold out my hand. “I’m happy to carry my bricks.” Shaking his head, he steps back. “Are you always this obstinate?”
“Yes.”
The scent of fresh soap and cedar surrounds me and I shake off the spell his scent wants to cast. “That’s unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes you immune to other people’s desires.” His eyes crawl over me slowly as he wipes the corner of his mouth.
