White Nights (White Nights 1)

I’m on the first step when he speaks again.

“Kate? I wouldn’t ask too many questions if I were you.”

Freezing, I turn to face him. “Why’s that?”

“Alex’s business shouldn’t concern you. The less you know, the better. It’s for your own safety.”

I swallow back a denial. I want to say that if Alex’s life is in danger, no matter the reason, it’s very much my business too, but I can only stake claim to that statement if I’m something more to Alex than a casual bed partner. As a fuck buddy, I have no right to act like a concerned girlfriend. Even with all of my clothes in Alex’s closet, I don’t have a say in his life. That’s what Igor is really telling me, that I shouldn’t stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong. That privilege is saved for family and wives.

“Does it happen often? Alex getting shot at?” I ask, my voice suddenly thick with the concern I apparently don’t have the right to express.

“No,” Igor says curtly before waving a hand at the staircase. “I’m sure Mr. Volkov is waiting for you.”

Without sparing him another glance, I make my way downstairs. Yuri is waiting in the foyer, standing on duty by the front door.

“Through here,” he says, opening a door leading off the foyer.

“Thanks,” I mumble, entering into a large dining room with a table big enough to seat twenty people. The table has a wooden top and metal legs, and the plastic chairs boast a sleek, contemporary design. The elements mix nicely together, creating a welcoming yet modern look.

Alex sits at the head of the table, a spread of cutlery and an empty plate in front of him.

He puts away the tablet he was reading and gets to his feet. In a wordless command, he pulls out the chair on his left.

I walk over and take my place, letting him seat me.

“Did you find everything you needed?” he asks, ringing a small brass bell that stands next to his place setting.

“My clothes…”

I’m about to ask him why he had everything moved over when Marusya enters with a plate that she puts down in front of me.

“Good morning, Kate.” Her round face is bright with a smile. “It’s good to be back.”

“She means it’s good to have you back,” Alex says.

“You eat up.” She arranges the salt and pepper next to my plate. “You need it.”

“Thank you,” I say as she bustles through the door.

“Yes,” Alex says. “You need your strength.” He pulls back his sleeve and checks his watch. “You have ten minutes, or else you’ll be late.”

Without further prompting, I delve into the fluffy scrambled eggs on rye toast. After last night’s marathon in bed, I’m hungry enough to clean off my plate in a few minutes.

Alex rises to his feet as I’m dabbing my lips with the napkin. “There’s no time for coffee, so I asked Marusya to prepare you one to go.”

On cue, the housekeeper appears with a travel mug and the infamous blue cooler bag.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting both items from her. “That’s very kind.”

Alex takes my arm and leads me to the entrance, where he hands my bag, coffee, and lunch to Yuri before helping me into my coat. The three of us make our way outside, but to my surprise, Yuri doesn’t drive. Instead, he gets the passenger door of Alex’s sports car for me and lets me settle and secure my seatbelt before he hands me the coffee. My coat and bag he leaves on the back seat. Alex takes the wheel.

“You’re driving me?” I ask.

Alex casts a glance in my direction as he starts the engine. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have a business to run?”

He smiles. “The business won’t run away. This is more important.”

“Driving me?”

“Yes,” he says in a non-negotiable manner.

I watch him as he steers us onto the road. His strong features are relaxed, but his gaze is sharp, his comportment vigilant. He’s a careful driver, paying attention to everything happening around him while still driving like a true local, maneuvering the car into the fastest-moving lanes.

“Alex,” I say, biting my lip.

He gives me another quick glance. “What is it, Katyusha?”

“Why did you have all my clothes moved to your place?”

His smile returns, but I don’t miss the strain in the way his eyes tighten minutely. “Drink your coffee, my love. It’s getting cold.”

My love.

My love.

My mind gets stuck on the phrase, and a giddy happiness bleeds out from my heart and infiltrates my chest. The term of endearment makes me deliriously content. Maybe I’m making too much of it, but I can’t help the way his words give wings to my romantic soul. Only I can’t let him sidetrack me. The declaration of affection may be completely meaningless.

To appease him, I take a sip of the coffee, then try again. “I thought you’d let Yuri bring a sweater and a pair of jeans. Instead, he emptied out my closet.”