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“You sure?”
He snorts a laugh and nods. “Positive. It’s gonna be one of those days.”
I nudge the fridge door close with my foot and bring the bottle of Irish cream to where he’s leaning against the kitchen island. “You’re not forming an addiction, I hope? We’ll have to stage an intervention.”
I set the bottle down and turn to leave, but I don’t get far before his arm slips around my waist and pulls me back against him. Demyen buries his face in my messy bun and breathes me in.
“Addicted? No. Not to alcohol, at least.”
My heart pounds against my ribcage. If he says anything more, it might burst through and run off into the Sierra Nevada.
But that’s all Demyen says before hugging me close, sucking in one last, deep inhale, then releasing me to return to his precious bean water.
And that’s all he says to me for the rest of the day.
I catch him watching me closely, but from a good distance, several times throughout my cleaning rounds. At the pool, arranging freshly laundered towels and bath sheets, I spot him leaning against a column and watching me work.
In the main entrance, as I dust the windowsills and clean the glass, I catch him in the reflection, pausing in the archway to watch me when he thinks I don’t know he’s right there.
And during lunch, when I decide to sit by one of the fountains to eat my sandwich and bask in the last of the summer sunlight… I feel his eyes on me.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. I love it, actually. I love the way his gaze caresses my body, the way he actually blushes when I do catch him in the act.
He’s so freaking adorable, and I’ll never in a million years tell him that. Demyen is meant to be this big, bad, intimidating crime lord running a dual-natured empire of fantasy-fulfillment and smuggled goods. Authority seeps from his pores and confidence is the very thing stitching his being together.
So when I catch him wavering around me? Well, yeah. It makes me feel pretty damn special.
I just can’t admit to it out loud. Ever. Not if I want to keep it.
Not if I want to keephim.
I polish off my sandwich and check my watch. It’s only a little after noon now, which means I have a couple of hours before I need to suck it up and remind Demyen we need to go pick up Willow. Or maybe I can ask one of her guards to do it.
Herguards. What a concept. As weird as it is, it’s actually comforting to know my baby girl has her own private army. Martin doesn’t stand a chance.
On my way back to my room to quickly stash my now-empty lunch bag, Gloria stops me and lets me know that we actually finished early today. So now, I’m free to change out of my uniform and relax until it’s time to get Willow.
“Go find something to do,mija,” she says with a mischievous and completely unexplained wink. She saunters away before I can ask what’s making her smile so big.
I trade one dress for another—my uniform for a light sage sundress with tiny floral patterns stitched into the linen. I slip on my sandals after checking the transparency of the dress—nothing’s showing through, thank goodness—and head out to go relax by the pool.
But Demyen’s right there, at my door, fist raised like he was just about to knock.
“Clara.” He clears his throat and lowers his hand.
I smile and rock on the balls of my feet, waiting for him to continue. He stares at me for a long, silent moment, his eyes slowly taking me in.
Note to self: wear this dress more often.
“This way.” Demyen turns on his heel and walks away, fully expecting me to follow him.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
No answer.
We make our way across the compound to his massive garage. I don’t know why a man would ever need eighty cars, but Demyen isn’t in a hurry to answer any of my questions right now, so I don’t bother asking.
“Over here.”
