Ultimate Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 4)(40)

Yes, he thought as the scent in the air filled his nostrils. Babies. He looked around. His first impression was that the unit was small and clean. Lonely and worn was his second. And almost barren. Most of the surfaces were empty as if she hadn’t wanted to bother with knick-knacks or framed pictures. Not Sacha. She enjoyed those sorts of things and had always had pretty little trinkets scattered all over their apartment.

He relaxed slightly. Maybe Sheppard didn’t take her places where she could indulge her harmless habit. Maybe the asshole didn’t see things throughout his day—a figurine of a couple dancing, or a delicately handcrafted carousel painted in pastels with ribbons hanging from it—and pick them up, hoping to please her when he saw her next.

As Alek looked around, another thing registered. Sheppard’s stamp was nowhere. Two years ago, it had taken Alek less than a week for his presence to be noted in her tiny bachelor apartment in Brighton Beach. Among other things, he’d left shaving supplies, a change of clothes, and a secretly stashed weapon Sacha hadn’t been aware of. If she hadn’t spent the night at his place, he usually ended up joining her in her bed in the wee hours. Not once had she turned him away.

He could have continued his tour without moving away from where she’d closed the door behind him. He moved anyway.

Wandering over, he glanced at the table that held an array of junk mail and a stack of papers that had Yale University stamped in the corner. There was the open course Maks had mentioned.

Another step and he was in front of three doors. One led to a broom-closet-sized bathroom, another to a bedroom that he peered into. It was relatively empty, had bare walls, a small desk—photo of her parents in ballroom garb was front and center—a playpen, and two chairs.

“We can speak over here. There is no need for you to invade my privacy completely.”

He didn’t push his luck by opening the third door, her bedroom, presumably. One that must house a crib because the smallest charge was missing. The one that had been nearest her in the stroller. The boy that was left was chattering away in a gated play area shaped like an octagon that took up most of the living room.

As Alek pulled his gloves off one finger at a time, he approached her. For her sake, he stopped with the sofa between them. “I never did apologize for the presence outside.”

“You do not have to. Just take them with you when you go and respectfully ask your uncle not to send them again.”

Well, that was direct. More direct than he was used to with her. And it seemed as though he was going to have to keep his coat on a little longer to hide what the fire crackling in her eyes was doing to his softening cock. “How did you know Vasily sent them?”

“Anton mentioned it last night.”

Huh. Anton needed to keep his mouth shut. “Getting to know the boys, Sacha?” he drawled as he shoved his gloves in his pocket. He spied a snow globe housing the Staten Island Ferry sitting on the window sill next to a plant.

She blanched. “Certainly not.”

“Good. That wouldn’t be wise on your part, or theirs.” The idea she was getting friendly with her protection killed his hard-on dead, so he took off his coat and threw it over the back of the sofa. “Where are all your things?”

“Pardon?” She came over and very deliberately picked his coat up. She handed it to him. “I did not invite you to get comfortable.”

He had to work not to smile as he put his arm out. Mmm. He liked her like this. She laid the soft fabric over it and moved away.

“Your things.” He waved his hand around. “Your carousels and dancers. Your parents’ trophies. The photographs you have of them.”

Pain moved swiftly through her eyes and she just looked at him with that slightly accusatory air surrounding her. She wasn’t going to answer him.

He offered her a gentle smile. “I never would have guessed my docile, subservient angel capable of an anger so intense it practically singes my eyebrows from across the room.”

Her cheeks went pink, and after her hands curled into small fists, she rounded a scratched coffee table and came right up to him, tipping her head back so she could hold his gaze. The glare from the overhead light in the kitchen shimmered off her hair as it slipped from her shoulder, and those tipped-up-at-the-corner eyes burned.

In Russian, her voice silky but cold, she said, “And I never would have guessed my passionate, attentive boyfriend capable of a betrayal so evil it practically tore out my heart from across the room. Say what you came here to say, Alekzander, and then get out.”





TEN




A long-suffering sigh pushed from Sergei’s lungs as he looked across the street. “No sense of self-preservation,” he muttered. “She has a child. Why would she invite him into their home?”