Chapter 26: Devil’s Lair: Chapter 26

By the time we’re done with breakfast and I get Slava to myself, gray clouds replace the bright sunshine that woke me up, and the temperature drops further as a light rain begins. According to Alina, we’re supposed to get thunderstorms by noon, so I scrap the idea of taking my student on another hike.

Instead, I let Slava choose what he wants to do indoors, and I join him in that activity—which happens to be more LEGO tower assembly. That works well for me, since it lets us practice some of the words he’s learned. When he gets bored with that, we build a fort out of pillows and blankets and play campers and bears, where I growl as I chase him all around the house, earning us vaguely disapproving stares from Lyudmila and Pavel, who are prepping for the next meal in the kitchen. Afterward, I read him his favorite comic books, and we play with cars and trucks, our chosen vehicles racing against each other while I commentate like a NASCAR sportscaster.

The boy really is bright and funny; it’s a pleasure to teach him. Yet no matter how engaging our games are, I can’t concentrate on them, or on him, fully. A part of my mind is elsewhere, on a different pair of golden eyes. After Nikolai left, I lay awake for hours, my skin flushed and my heart racing. Each time I closed my eyes, I heard his deep, soft voice making those carnal promises, and the throbbing ache between my legs returned, making me slick and swollen and so sensitive I could barely tolerate the touch of my pajama shorts. It wasn’t until I gave in and used my fingers to reach another orgasm that I was able to drift off—and even then, my sleep was fitful, filled with hazy sex dreams interspersed with fragments of nightmares.

But not my usual nightmares.

In these, there was only one man in a mask, and he didn’t want to kill me.

He wanted to capture me.

He wanted to make me his.

Slava and I are lounging on our stomachs on his bed, flipping through a book about the ABCs, when I become aware of a tingling sensation between my shoulder blades. I cast a curious glance over my shoulder—and heat suffuses my entire body as I meet Nikolai’s gaze.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, watching us, his expression carefully veiled. I have no idea how long he’s been standing there, but I don’t remember hearing the door open, so it must’ve been a while.

“Go ahead, finish what you’re doing,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to interrupt the lesson.”

Swallowing hard, I return my attention to Slava and the book. He’s also spotted his father, but his reaction is much tamer. He’s slightly subdued as we resume naming letters and the objects that start with them, but by the time we get to P and I make oink-oink noises to go with the illustration of the piggy, he’s back to being his animated, giggling self.

Unable to help myself, I sneak another glance over my shoulder—and my heart stutters for a beat. Nikolai is not looking at me now but at his son, and there’s something soft and pained in his eyes… a strange, despairing sort of yearning.

I blink, and just that fast, his attention shifts to me, the odd expression disappearing, replaced with the familiar scorching heat. Flushing, I look away and resume the lesson, my pulse pounding unevenly. I must’ve imagined that look, or misinterpreted it somehow. It doesn’t make sense for Nikolai to yearn for a son who’s right in front of him. If he wants to be closer with the boy, all he has to do is reach out to him, smile at him, talk to him… get to know him.

He can try to actually be a dad instead of this distant authority figure that Slava doesn’t seem to know what to do with.

Then again, I’ve always found it easy to relate to children. That’s why I chose this career path. If Nikolai’s had minimal exposure to kids prior to learning of his son’s existence, maybe he’s just feeling lost and uncertain—as hard as it is to believe of a man this powerful and self-assured.

On impulse, I twist up to a sitting position facing him. “Would you like to join us? Maybe the two of us can finish going over the last few letters with Slava.”

A peculiar stillness steals over him. “The two of us?”

“Or you can do it yourself if you’d rather.” I’m beginning to feel foolish. It’s highly likely I’ve misread the whole thing, ascribing thoughts and emotions to Nikolai that reflect my own wishful thinking. Just because I’ve secretly dreamed of meeting my father and growing close to him doesn’t mean every parent-child relationship needs to adhere to a specific dynamic or—

“I’ll join you.” Nikolai pushes away from the doorframe and approaches the bed with those long, graceful strides that remind me of a jungle cat.

I scramble back as he sits down on the mattress next to me, but with Slava stretched out between me and the wall, I can’t go far. Nikolai is so close to me we’re almost touching, and my breath catches in my throat as his sensual cedar-and-bergamot scent envelops me, reminding me of last night. Vivid sexual images invade my mind, and more heat surges through me, dampening my underwear and sending my heart into overdrive. Uncomfortably aware of Slava’s wide-eyed gaze on us, I try to tamp down on my arousal, but the heat doesn’t dissipate, my pulse refusing to settle into a steadier rhythm.

This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. I should be keeping my distance from my employer, not issuing what amounts to an invitation to cuddle on a twin-sized bed. There’s barely enough room for me and Slava. The only way for us all to fit is if—

“Lie down, zaychik,” Nikolai says softly, a wicked half-smile curving his lips as he reaches around me to pick up the book. “So I can properly join you.”

The blood flowing to my face feels like lava as I reluctantly obey, turning to lie on my stomach next to Slava—who seems fascinated by what’s happening. Nikolai stretches out next to me, his big, hard body flush against mine, and it belatedly occurs to me that Slava should be in the middle, serving as a buffer. Before I can suggest it, Nikolai drapes a heavy arm over my shoulders, pinning me in place, and places the book in front of me.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs in my ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps down my arm. “Let’s see you work your teaching magic.”

Magic? The only magic around here is that I’m somehow intact and not a puddle of goo on the sheets—which is what my body feels like as I lie in what amounts to his embrace. My pulse is pounding in my temples, my breath sawing through my lips as my underwear grows even slicker, and only the presence of the child next to us keeps me from repeating last night’s mistake by giving in to the dangerous, hypnotic pull Nikolai exerts on me.

Instead, I attempt to concentrate on the task at hand. Clearing my throat, I read, “T is for train: choo-choo. Also for truck.” My voice is a shade too husky, but I’m just glad my brain is functioning enough to make out the words on the page. Luckily, Slava doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as I continue, pointing at the picture of the truck with a slightly unsteady finger.

Casting curious looks at his father, he repeats the words after me, his voice quiet and subdued at first, then increasingly livelier, and by the time we get to Z, he’s laughing at the stripes on the zebra and purposefully mispronouncing the word, having forgotten all about the large man in bed with us.

After his third incorrect attempt, I tsk-tsk with mock disappointment and glance at Nikolai. “Why don’t you try saying it?” I suggest, ignoring the way my pulse spikes as I meet his gaze. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Nikolai’s expression doesn’t change, but the arm draped over my shoulders stiffens slightly. “All right,” he says in a measured tone, and looking down at the book, he says in a thick, exaggerated Russian accent, “Zye-bruh.”

Slava’s eyes round. He clearly wasn’t expecting his father to have trouble with the English word. I tsk-tsk again, shaking my head as if disappointed by Nikolai’s attempt, and after a brief, tension-filled moment, Slava bursts out laughing.

“Zebra,” he corrects through the giggles, his pronunciation as perfect as mine. “Zebra, zebra.”

“Oh, I see.” Nikolai glances at me, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “So… zee-bro?”

Slava is all but dying from laughter now, and I can’t help grinning as well. This is a side of my employer I’ve never seen before, and judging by Slava’s reaction, neither has he. Giggling, he corrects his father’s pronunciation, and Nikolai bungles it again, sending the boy into fresh peals of laughter. Finally, Slava succeeds in “teaching” Nikolai how it’s done, and we triumphantly close the book, having covered the entire alphabet.

Immediately, the tension between me and Nikolai returns, the air crackling with a sexual charge. I’ve been doing my best to ignore the feel of him pressed against my side, but without the distraction of the book, it’s impossible. His big body is warm and hard next to me, his arm heavy over my shoulder blades, and though we’re both fully clothed, the intimacy of lying together like this is undeniable.

To my relief, Nikolai removes his arm and sits up. I do the same, quickly scooting back to put some distance between us—a retreat he observes with dark amusement before saying something in Russian to his son.

The boy nods, still flushed from excitement, and Nikolai rises to his feet.

“Let’s go to my office,” he says to me. “There’s something I’d like to discuss.”