Chapter 37: Devil’s Lair: Chapter 37

I’ve never felt as giddy as I do this Sunday. All day long, I catch myself smiling uncontrollably and walking around like I’m floating on a cloud. It’s embarrassing, really, but I can’t stop. Each time I think about last night’s call, my pulse races with excitement.

Nikolai wants me.

He misses me.

He wants us to be exclusive.

I feel like a teenager whose movie star crush just asked her out on a date. Which, in a way, is what’s happening.

Nikolai wants us to date, or more precisely, to be in a relationship.

It should seem crazy, and on some level, it does. We’ve known each other less than a week, and for the past couple of days, he hasn’t been here in person. It’s way too soon to be talking about exclusivity, much less destiny and fate. But I can’t deny the strength of the attraction that burns between us, of that powerful, magnetic force that’s terrified me from the start. It wasn’t the attraction itself I feared, though—it was getting hurt. I was afraid of falling for a man who, at best, thought of me as a few nights of entertainment. But that’s not how it is for Nikolai. He made that clear last night, and though it may be naïve of me, I believe him.

I see no reason for him to lie to me.

There are other obstacles to our relationship, of course—like his status as my employer and the fact that I’m on the run from a pair of ruthless killers. At some point soon, I’ll have to disclose that, and I have no idea how he’ll react. But that’s a worry for another day.

Right now, all I want to think about is seeing him on my computer screen tonight.

“Someone chasing you?” Alina inquires at dinner, and I freeze, my heart stopping for a second before I realize she’s referring to the speed with which I’m devouring my food.

“Just hungry,” I say after I swallow. “Sorry if I’m being rude.”

She shrugs her graceful shoulders, which are left bare by her strapless evening dress. “I don’t care. Just curious why you’re in such a rush.”

I’m in a rush because I’m dying to get up to my room in case Nikolai calls early, but there’s no way I’m telling her that. “No reason other than yummy food.”

Slava giggles at my side. “Yummy. I like yummy in my tummy.”

I beam at him. “Yes, you do.” We’ve spent all day learning various words and phrases, including this little rhyme, and I’m beyond pleased he remembers it.

“At this rate, you’re going to have him speaking English in a week,” Alina says, cutting a piece of chicken and placing it on his plate.

I grin at her. “I hope so—but more realistically, in a couple of months.”

She smiles back at me and resumes eating, and I do likewise, eager to be done and ensconced comfortably in my bed with the laptop. Like Alina, I’m wearing an evening gown, and I’m looking forward to changing into my pajamas. Although… maybe I shouldn’t. Nikolai might enjoy seeing me like this, even through the camera.

In fact, I should probably refresh my makeup before he calls.

“Want to race?” I ask Slava, and make engine-revving noises to remind him of our racing game with toy cars. “See who can eat faster?”

He blinks, not understanding, so I pick up my fork and begin shoveling food into my mouth with exaggerated speed. Catching on, he does the same, and we clean our plates in record time. Alina, who’s eating at a normal pace, watches our race with amusement, and by the time we’re done, she pushes away her half-eaten chicken.

“I guess I’m done as well,” she says dryly. Louder, she calls, “Lyuda,Slava gotov!”

Lyudmila appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. I smile and thank her for the delicious meal—though, truth be told, it was nowhere near as good as what her husband makes. The chicken was on the dry side, the potatoes were too salty, and most of the appetizers and side dishes were leftovers. But I’m not about to quibble: Food is food, and I’m grateful to have it.

Smiling back at me, Lyudmila picks up Slava, and just like that, my evening is free.

As soon as I get to my room, I completely redo my makeup—all I had on at dinner was a light layer of foundation and a coat of mascara—and fix up my hair. I still don’t look nearly as polished as when Alina did this for me, but hopefully, Nikolai won’t mind.

I was barefaced and in my PJs on our last two calls, so this is a definite improvement.

Feeling giddy again, I grin at my reflection. I look much better than when I first got here. My cheeks are no longer painfully hollow and the dark circles under my eyes have faded, as has the look of desperation in them. Last night was another one with no nightmares, only sex dreams, and I have Nikolai to thank for that. I may have woken up wet and aching, with my hand pressed between my thighs, but at least I slept through the night.

God, I can’t wait to talk to him.

Hurrying over to my bed, I sprawl on my stomach and grab the laptop, willing him to call at this very moment.

He doesn’t. I guess my mental powers aren’t up to snuff.

Sighing, I go into my inbox to check for any replies from the journalists. There’s nothing, naturally—though there is a quote from one of the PI firms, detailing their hourly rates and retainer fees.

I skim it and wince. It’s a lot, way more than I can hope to cover with my first week’s paycheck, at least given the number of hours I anticipate they’ll have to spend. I’ll need at least a couple weeks’ pay for the retainer alone. Maybe the other PIs will be cheaper, but they haven’t responded yet, so I have to wait.

Like I’m waiting for Nikolai, who’s still not calling.

Taking a breath, I remind myself to be patient. He said he’d call me around the same time as yesterday, and it’s nowhere near that. For now, I need to distract myself with something, so I begin researching my mom’s friends and co-workers again on the off chance I missed something the first time.

I’m scrolling through the pictures of her manager’s daughter’s quinceañera when the call request pops up, sending my pulse skyrocketing.

Beaming, I smooth my hair and click “Accept.”