And in that moment, I knew that my fate, my life, hinged on my answer.
I shook my head. “No. Not intentionally.”
I swallowed hard, forced myself to again meet his gaze.
“Then what were you doing?” he asked, voice still silky smooth.
“I heard voices,” I said.
He stepped closer to me, forcing me to crane my neck to hold his gaze. My vision narrowed, and all I could see was him, and all I could hear was his voice and the pounding of my heart.
“So you came to investigate?”
I shook my head. “I came to tell you to be quiet.”
Anton looked surprised. Tilted his head in question.
“You were disturbing my patient,” I said in response to the unasked question.
I watched him, searching his gaze for any hint of a reaction, some clue as to what he was thinking. But after that brief moment of surprise, he had closed his expression down completely, left me with nothing but his imposing physical presence and the unknown of how he might respond.
“You’re that dedicated?”
The words were phrased as a question, but I heard the denial and disbelief. I lifted eyes I hadn’t realized I had lowered to meet his. “It’s my job. To make sure Mr. Constantin is comfortable. As comfortable as I can keep him.”
After I’d spoken, I realized that wasn’t a complete lie. Yes, I had been eavesdropping, and yes, I wanted ill for these people, but yes, I did want to keep Christoph comfortable. And that thought was wrenching. Almost wrenching enough to make me forget how drawn I was to Anton.
“Why are you here, Lily?”
My name on Anton’s lips, uttered in his voice, sent chills over me.
And not of fear.
I sighed deeply, the motion making my breasts brush against his chest. And he reacted. It was fleeting, barely perceptible, but I saw it nonetheless.
“I told you. I’m just here to do my job. To take care of your father,” I whispered.
Whatever moment had been passing between us shattered in an instant. His eyes, which had softened, went hard, ice cold.
“Then do that. Take care of him. And do nothing else,” he said, the last words an undeniable warning—and promise. “And he’s not my father.”
He was halfway down the hall, broad shoulders filling the space, before I even moved.
Nine
Anton
I stalked to the kitchen, trying mightily to calm myself.
First, Christoph Junior had been his usual, obstinate self, not at all caring about the risk and danger he’d exposed all of us to. And in his state, I couldn’t make him see reason. Wondered if I could have anyway. I frowned. But I had to, no matter how stubborn Christoph Junior might be. Clan Constantin’s future depended on my ability to do so.
My frown deepened. And there was the matter of the nurse. I’d caught her, seen the little embers of fear in her eyes, but when I heard her voice, everything in me told me to believe her.
And then she’d said that…called Christoph my father.
The words had been innocent enough, but still shocking, shocking enough to throw off my equilibrium, one that I was desperately seeking to regain. No one called him that ever, which was attention-gaining enough. But coming from her and combined with her ability to affect me, I was thrown off my game.
Then I heard her approach, the soles of her shoes muffled on the floor but still unmistakable, as was the sweet-and-spicy cinnamon scent that came with her.
“Mr.…”
She spoke softly, tentatively, but her voice curled around the base of my spine, lit a feeling that had nothing to do with Christoph Junior or Senior, Clan Constantin, or anything else. It was solely related to how she made me feel, how she made me want her.
I exhaled and then turned to her. She watched me with hooded eyes, the bright fluorescent lights in the kitchen dampening the warm brown glow of her skin but doing nothing to take away her beauty.
“Just Anton,” I finally said, happy when my voice came out relatively even.
She nodded. “Anton, I’m sorry about earlier. But Mr. Constantin sleeps so fitfully now, and I want him to get whatever rest he can.”
“Think nothing of it,” I said, struggling mightily to keep my voice from revealing the depth to which she had shaken me.
“Thank you,” she replied as she stepped into the kitchen. Then she lifted a small tin. “I have a peace offering anyway.”
I tilted my head. “What?”
She opened the tin and rooted around in it until she retrieved a small packet. “Here we go.”
“Is that tea?”
“Yep,” she said.
“No, thanks,” I replied.
“Trust me. You’ll like it,” she said as she moved to the electric kettle and turned it on.