Wrath
Page 20
The groceries? She eyed them suspiciously. Really? “So… you’re giving up on your crusade to stop me from returning to the club?”
He gave a curt nod, but from the set of his jaw, he still wasn’t happy about it.
“What changed your mind?”
“Can I come in?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She stepped aside. “Of course.”
He moved through the living area and into the modern stainless steel kitchen where he unloaded his heavy bags onto the granite bench.
Unable to help herself, Misha went to the table and picked up the picture of her parents. She held it like a security blanket. “Why are you here, Wyatt?”
He began unpacking the bags, ignoring her, so she stalked up to him. “What changed your mind?”
Some apples rolled from the bag. His hand expertly shot out to catch them. Once he put them back in place, he braced himself on the bench, head dipped, almost defeated.
“I got back to my apartment,” he said, voice low and rough, “for the first time in almost half a year last week. Do you know what I found?”
“A lot of dust?”
He smirked, but his eyes turned soulful. “Evidence of Sara everywhere. Pictures of her were still on my fridge. Her clothes in the laundry basket. Nothing had changed.”
Misha tightened her hold on the picture.
Wyatt noticed. “It took me this past week of erasing her from my life to realize that you were right.”
“I was?” Misha took an involuntary step back.
“I didn’t know her, and I don’t know you.”
“Okay.” Another step. “Can’t say I’m a fan of you drawing similarities between me and the woman who tried to kill you.”
Eyes flashed in alarm. “No, that’s not what I meant. Please stop walking away. I… I want to get to know you. Um. That’s what I want.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Do you know the second I get within a few feet of you, I feel calmer? It’s a physical reaction in my body. And when we touch, I can’t sense that ugly sin at all. It’s like your aura is a balm over my senses—like someone injects valium into my veins. My reaction is that visceral, that real.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not telling you this to pressure you, I’m telling you so that you know where I’m coming from, what I’m struggling with, and that I get it—you don’t have this instinct pushing you into my arms. I get it now. It took me a week of looking back at my past with the wrong woman, but I get it.”
“Do you know that’s the most I’ve heard you speak since I met you?”
A shy meeting of the eyes, and he blushed. “I don’t want to pressure you. And I don’t want you to pay any attention to this welcome-to-the-family-shit. I just want to cook you breakfast. And talk. Simple. Easy.”
The picture frame cut into her fingers. When she looked down, she was reminded of her behavior with her family over the past few years, and the knowledge that she had massive commitment issues, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be alone for the rest of her life. She wanted that all-consuming love, no matter the risk. And—she looked back at Wyatt—she wanted it with him.
She put the picture down. He took the first step. She could take the next.
“I’m a vegetarian.”
He grew even more alarmed. “Are you joking?”
Laughter burst from her so hard she had to hold her belly. He must have thought she was joking, because he began to laugh too, shaking his head incredulously as he unpacked the pounds of sausage, bacon and some other nameless meat.
“I’m not.” Her laughter died. “I’m not joking. I really am a vegetarian.”
All humor dropped from his face until he deadpanned. When it was clear she wasn’t kidding, he exhaled in a huff and blew out through his teeth. “Fuck.”
“Is that a deal breaker?”
“No. No. It’s just that…” He stared at the groceries with devastation. “We really are opposites. What am I going to do with all this sausage?”
“Eat it.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind?”
He shrugged. “Some people mind.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m not like most people.” She sidled up to him and tipped up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “But just so we’re clear, the only sausage I want in my mouth is yours.”
He snorted, but his eyes turned dark and darted down to her lips before lifting again. The message was unmistakable: I want you.
She traced her fingers gently down his back, around his waistband to the front, and tugged until their bodies were flush.
When his words came out, they were deep and rough. “So… omelet?”
Misha released him and then hopped up onto the granite bench and smiled. She picked out an apple and bit into it. Juicy goodness exploded in her mouth. “Nah. Eggs are like baby meat.”
“Heaven help me now.” He prayed to the ceiling, and she laughed. Teasing him was so much fun. “Pancakes?” he offered.
A moan caught in her throat, almost making her choke on the apple. “Yes, please.”
For the next few minutes, she watched him move about the kitchen while she nibbled on her apple. He was incredible. Confident. Talented. Goddamned sexy. Even the way he casually tossed the towel over his shoulder while he flipped the pancakes in the pan had her heart hammering. Little beads of sweat dotted his top lip, and he had a look about him that was both passionate and focused. Seeing him all eager to cook and feed her was the most arousing thing she’d faced in years. She wanted to stop him, tear his clothes off and have her way with him right there on the kitchen floor.
“Um, Wyatt?” she asked quietly.
Enthralled with his cooking, he grunted, stirred something in a pot, and then enthusiastically lifted the spoon to her lips, expectantly watching her reaction.
She tentatively touched her tongue to the spoon and the berry flavor exploded in her mouth. She snatched the spoon and licked the lot, moaning. “Oh my God that’s amazing. Where did you learn to cook?”
Wyatt’s sultry gaze locked with hers before he collected the spoon and wrenched it back to the pot. “France.”
“Right. Well. You’re gifted.”
“I know.”
Her lips curved, and she became entranced by the way his defined forearms flexed as he whisked.
He shot her a sideways glance. “What were you going to say?”
“I… um.” She went all shy. “I was going to say that you were right, too.”
“I was?”
“Yes. About me going tonight.”
He stiffened, but kept his eyes on the stove, stirring his coulis.
“I may have been a little rash in my decision to go back. I should have discussed it with you first. I heard what you said about your situation, and… I get it too. It’s hard for you. I don’t want to start a relationship built on distrust.”
Thirty-Two
Wyatt took his pot from the heat and focused on Misha. Sitting on the bench, with her legs dangling, she looked picture perfect. Blond ringlets bounced playfully, thick lashes surrounded her blue eyes, and pink pouty lips sucked a round apple. The same lips he’d been dreaming about every night for the past week. He’d tried to stay away from her—but it was useless. His attraction hadn’t dimmed since the first moment they’d met. If anything, it was stronger.
Every night, he’d gone to sleep without her by his side, and the temptation of his sin had seeped in until it stewed his insides. It built in his blood, making him toss and turn, until by nine the next morning, he’d been craving her fun, light-hearted attitude and calming aura. But every time her presence washed over him, dampening the sensation of wrath, every other sense in his body was free to feel more. So when she said no—that she still intended to go back to the club—he knew that losing her would be the hardest thing he’d ever face.
When he had awoken this morning, he’d realized he was already losing her, and it was his fault.
She shrugged. “I realized that maybe I was a little freaked out by us. I have some pretty intense feelings for you, Wyatt. Feelings I’ve never had about anyone else, and it scares me.”
“Why does it scare you?” he asked gruffly and then pulled out two plates, trying not to let it show how much he enjoyed hearing about her intense feelings for him. If he acted casual, carried on with a menial task, maybe she would continue.
When she spoke, her voice held a note of strain. “When Mama died, it was hard. I was pretty young at the time, and I still remember sitting at the hospital with Ciocia and little Roksana, waiting to meet our new baby brother. Even Babcia and Dziadzio were there.”
While she spoke, he dished up a stack of pancakes onto each plate, then drizzled the coulis.
“When Tata came out holding Alek in his arms, he had this look on his face. It was pure devastation. His eyes were puffy. There were tear tracks down his cheeks. He could barely hold on to the baby with his trembling arms, and then he just handed the little bundle to me. He told me mama went to heaven and then walked out.”
“I’m sorry.” Wyatt handed Misha some strawberries to hull. When their gazes collided, sorrow was all he could see.
“He didn’t hand Alek to Ciocia. He handed him to me, a child.” She glanced down at her strawberry, turning it over in her fingers. “He was such a quiet baby. So peaceful. It took us months to learn he couldn’t speak or hear. Tata was never the same after Mama’s passing, and I wanted to make sure Alek never felt that lack of love. After that, I spent my time trying to fill my mother’s shoes. I didn’t go to my prom. I never went on dates. I worked in the restaurant and took Alek to his doctor appointments, and Roksana to ballet lessons. I helped them with homework. I was their mother.” She sighed and took a bite of the strawberry she was supposed to hull, chewed it over for a bit. “When Roksana finished high school and went to college, I realized I’d spent my entire life looking after them. There she was, getting a college education, and I had nothing. I was resentful. I moved out, started my own business, focused on my happiness and didn’t look back. Well, I didn’t until the attacks on the restaurant started, and since then, it’s been an avalanche of bad karma. I feel like it’s all because I left. All because, instead of sticking it out with my family, I was selfish.”
Wyatt’s heart ached for her, and he couldn’t resist lifting his hand to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheek.
She leaned into his touch, brows puckering. “I don’t want your pity, Wyatt. Like you did earlier, I’m saying this so you know where I’m coming from. Losing someone you love doesn’t just affect the partner, but the children, parents, aunts, uncles. It has a knock-on effect. So, this”—she waved between them, and pulled away from his touch—“whatever it is, is a big risk. Not only am I afraid of losing you, but… I’m afraid of making it work.”
“Of making it work?”
“Yeah, because it’s hard. You give so much of yourself to another person—other people if there’s a family, like in my experience. It’s harder than anything I’ve ever done before and if I fail at it with you… what will be left of me?”
They were silent for a moment, but Wyatt couldn’t help the question brimming on his tongue. “Do you? Want to make it work, I mean?”
In answer, she captured his mouth in a needy kiss that left him panting with ragged breaths. Every emotion she felt came through that kiss, and when they broke apart, the hunger in her eyes left him no doubt.
“I can’t help myself when I’m around you, Wyatt,” she murmured and tugged on his shirt. “I’m selfish. I want this all for myself. And I’m afraid what knock-on effect that will have. This past week away from you was a hell I never knew existed.”
“I know. I hated it too.”
She pulled his lips to hers, this time teasing him with little licks and nips that sent pleasure shooting straight down his spine. He hardened instantly. A sound caught between a growl and a moan came out of him, and she sighed in delight.
“Let’s not separate again,” she mumbled into his mouth.
“I agree. Move in with me. Now, don’t freak out,” he said with a hint of humor lacing his tone. “It’s not like we’re getting married.”
She raised a cocky eyebrow. “I see what you’re doing there. Using my own words against me.”
He shrugged coyly.
“Okay.” Her lopsided grin melted his heart. “I’ll stay with you. If only for the gourmet breakfasts, you’ll cook me.”
“And lunch.” He pecked her on the lips. “And dinner.”
“Oh, now you’re talking dirty.”
Wyatt chuckled and then had to step away in case he forgot about the meal he’d cooked and take her straight to the bedroom. “Breakfast is getting cold. Come on.”
He served their meal on the table beside the kitchen bench and then helped Misha down from her perch. Instead of walking, she clutched him like a baby koala.
She grinned playfully. “Take me for a ride.”
“Oh, I’ll take you for a ride, all right,” he replied darkly, sensual visions already swimming through his mind.
Damn it.
Pancakes.
“Promise?” She winked up at him as he deposited her in her seat.
As they enjoyed their first official meal together, Wyatt couldn’t help his thoughts wandering back to her confession. Raising Alek when she was still a child herself must have been tough.
After his family’s extraction from the lab, he’d had an idyllic childhood with Mary and Flint. With their new identities keeping them safe, they worried about nothing except managing the internal sensations of their sin. They went to school. They dated. He never went to prom because of the years training in combat, but he went to culinary college afterward. It had been one of the things Mary and Flint had insisted on, that they had half a life of normalcy.
He’d had time to focus on himself. Misha had only just begun.
He could help with that. Get rid of Dimitri. Get her back to her yoga. Help with her family.
It felt good to have a purpose again.
“So,” he said in between bites. “Alek has been texting me.”
“Oh?”
“He hasn’t mentioned it to you?”
“No. I’ve hardly said a word to him since they’ve been gone. Just that one phone call.”
A tickle of unease washed over him. “I thought you were in contact.”
“No.” She pushed around her food with her fork. “My phone is still at the club. I thought you knew that.”
Wyatt’s fork clattered to the plate loudly, and for a few seconds, his heart stopped. “But he said he’d been texting you.”
“What?”
“Shit.” Wyatt pulled out his cell and dialed Alek’s number. Alek couldn’t speak to answer, but he might text back. He might hand the phone to Roksana.
“Wyatt?” Color rushed from Misha’s cheeks. “What’s going on?”
Abruptly, he began pacing as he listened to the dial tone ring. And ring. And ring.
“Wyatt?”
When their gazes clashed, he couldn’t hide his concern, and they’d promised to be honest with each other. “Alek told me he’d been texting you. Your phone is at the club. He’s not answering. It doesn’t add up.”
“But… but you said they’re all safe. That my family is hidden where no one can find them.”
A cold feeling washed over him. “He’s not safe if he’s been lured out of there.”
“Oh my God.” Misha’s hand covered her mouth and her eyes watered. Then suddenly, she ran into the bathroom and closed the door.
“Misha?” He jogged after her and knocked on the door. “Don’t worry. If he’s missing, I’ll find him.” When she didn’t answer, he began to worry. “Misha? Are you okay?”
“
I’m fine,” came her lackluster reply.
He stood before the door, finger tapping on his thigh, thinking back to the green look she’d had on her face. “Are you sick?”
Can’t be my cooking.
A muffled sound and a toilet flushing. “I’m not sick.”
He stood back and waited, but she didn’t come out. More sounds in there—sounded like… vomiting. Why was she trying to hide it from him? He could help.
“I’m coming in.”
“No!” she cried. Her voice was muffled. Tired.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Get Lilo.”
Her harsh tone made him jerk back. It was an instant reaction he couldn’t control. She still didn’t feel safe with him. He turned the knob. “Lilo is at work,” he started to say, but when the door slammed back in his face, he jumped back.
“I have my period,” she shouted. “You can’t come in. I need tampons. I need Lilo.”
Oh. He froze. Tampons.
Um.
Okay.
“So. Um. Lilo?”
“Or… if she’s working, get Grace. Actually, yes, Grace! Get Grace.”
“I’ll be back. And Misha—” he paused. “Don’t worry. I’ll find Alek.”
A muffled response was all he heard, and then he left to find the doctor. The unease in his gut expanded. She had lied to him.
Thirty-Three
Walking along the corridor to his office, Dimitri glared at his previously injured hand—now gleaming with gold-plated armor and skeletal metal fingers. A week ago, Wyatt Lazarus had pulverized the bones, destroying his hand for good. All that had been left was a floppy skin covered mess they had to amputate to above the elbow. If it wasn’t for the Syndicate and their special doctors, he’d still be healing. Humiliation had almost drowned him, but when they offered to supply him with the robotic prosthetic, he didn’t ask what the price was; he asked them to plate it in gold. Show all those fuckers he wasn’t to be underestimated, that if you beat him down, he came back more powerful, and more valuable.