Clair dismissed that with a wave. “I’ve lived alone in London for five years.”
“Moscow isn’t London, Clair. Kidnappings are on the rise—”
“Who’s going to kidnap me?” She splayed a hand on her chest, forcing a laugh, but the need to state the obvious gave a surprising pluck against her heartstrings. “I don’t have any family to threaten. Remember?”
“Do you think the paparazzi at the Bolshoi haven’t printed photos of the woman with me last night? Even without that you’re young, pretty, well dressed. You don’t speak the language. Opportunists are out there and you should never, ever underestimate what people will do for money. I don’t.” His scar stood out stark white against his flush of emotion.
Foreboding slithered through her. She knew then that his scar was not the result of a tragically placed ice patch and a broken windshield. Aleksy had been indelibly marked by violence. Internal brakes wanted to screech the whole world to a stop so she could somehow process that, but how? There was no erasing what had happened to him.
A poignant ache flooded her at the same time. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached out with all the familiarity that had developed between them last night. Cupping his jaw, she lifted herself on tiptoes, aware of him stiffening as she leaned into him. Her lips almost brushed the puckered line before he abruptly set her away, jerking his head back.
“What are you doing?”
His rebuff tore her in two. She winced, regretting the lapse in her reserve, but he had no idea how few people ever showed concern for her—and after whatever he’d been through…
“Thank you for trying to look out for me.” She forced the words out.
He tugged the lapels of his overcoat as if he were fitting armor back into place and closed a few buttons. Glancing at his watch, he took a step toward the door, speaking over his shoulder dismissively, “You’ll stay in, then? Or call Lazlo for an escort?”
Her silence made him pause. He turned another weighty frown in her direction.
Clair curled her toes in her slippers. It would be so easy to let her self-reliance crumble and allow this protective, strong-willed, incredibly attractive man to run her life. What about when they were through, though? She’d be back to taking care of herself. She had to hold on to her independence.
“I’m not your kidnap victim.” She tried to sound wry, but for some reason her lips trembled and her heart skipped a beat. “I’ll go out if I want to.”
“Despite the risk,” he snapped, temper sharpening his voice.
“It’s not that great a risk!” She folded her arms, stopping short of saying he was overreacting. Obviously his experience had taught him differently. Determined to hold her own, she reasoned, “When you want to do something, who do you ask? No one, right? Same here.”
His jaw tightened. He was used to everyone answering to him, that much was clear. The precisely machined, titanium wheels in his head seemed to whir at top speed as he sought a suitable rejoinder.
“I’m not trying to be obstinate,” she said, checking her flawless manicure.
“But you won’t give me your word.”
“It would be a lie.”
With a hiss of impatience, he set down the briefcase, its weight hitting the tiles with a hard thunk. His mobile sounded and he answered with a staccato burst of Russian before tossing the device on the hall table and shedding his overcoat, his stare holding hers with antagonistic force.