“You didn’t actually make those yourself, did you?” I ask. My voice sounds husky from sleep.
A guffaw sounds from the couch. Maxim tosses an arm over the back of the sofa to twist grin at me. “As if. Ravil only knows how to heat food up.” English. Huzzah!
I lift my brows playfully. “Are you speaking to me now? I’m so honored.” I’m teasing—there’s no rancor behind the words. I simply don’t feel it right now.
Maxim darts a glance Ravil’s way. “I always spoke to you. It just wasn’t always in a language you understood.” He winks at me.
“Stop flirting with my—” Ravil breaks off mid-growl. I’m not sure what he was going to say. My captive? My prisoner? My lover? “—lawyer,” he finishes. He slides the perogies onto a plate.
“Your lawyer?” I scoff, strolling into the kitchen like this is my house, too. Like I’m a roommate here not a prisoner. Like I’m Ravil’s girlfriend.
Was that what I wanted him to say? Surely not.
“I’m Adrian’s lawyer, not yours,” I remind him. “Bear that in mind because you do not enjoy attorney-client privilege with me. Your secrets aren’t safe.”
Dima makes an exploding sound from the table where he’s working. His twin mimes a plane crashing. They’re laughing at Ravil.
The whole scene puts me more at ease than I’ve been since I arrived. Like I’m in on the one big happy family thing they have going.
“Don’t worry,” Dima pipes up, looking my way. “He doesn’t bake for any of his other lawyers. You’re definitely something more.”
I smile because it’s funny to see Ravil getting ribbed. It’s even more fun to see him as relaxed as I feel.
“Come, kitten.” He beckons me over. He has a tall glass of milk sitting on the countertop. “Drink this while the perogies cool. And the answer is no, I didn’t make them. Mrs. Kuznetzov brought them up ready to bake. I have them on daily order for you.”
“And he won’t let us touch them!” Pavel calls from the living room. “Not even the day-old ones. In case you get hungry in the night.”
“That’s good because I seem to want them for every meal.” I reach for one from the plate, but Ravil pulls it out of my reach.
“They’re too hot.”
He plops a container of organic strawberries in front of me. “Snack on these. I already washed them.”
Damn. Ravil is sweet. Sweeter than I want him to be. I could get used to being treated like that. And where would that get me? I’m not staying here permanently—that idea is ludicrous. Ravil doesn’t get to kidnap a woman and keep her.
But would it be so bad? a little voice in my head whispers.
Yes! It would. I bite into a juicy strawberry, savoring the taste. I’ve never sampled one so juicy, so sweet. Or is that my senses are all heightened from the sex and the physical pleasures Ravil constantly throws at me?
“What else do you want?” Ravil asks. “You don’t have to eat perogies, I just wanted them on hand if you craved them again.”
“I want perogies.”
“I guess there’s no doubt that our baby’s Russian, ah?” Maxim says, wandering into the kitchen. He grabs a perogie and bites into it, then exclaims and opens his mouth, panting. “Hot!”
“You should’ve warned him,” I scold.
“He should’ve obeyed my order not to touch them,” Ravil counters.
“Cocksucker,” Maxim mutters, but it’s obviously with affection.
Oleg gets up from his chair in the living room and walks to the door.
“Where are you going, Oleg?” Ravil asks, even though he can’t speak.
“It’s Saturday night,” Maxim reminds him.
Ravil looks blank.
“He goes to that club to listen to music on Saturdays.”
Oleg lifts a hand to wave goodbye and walks out.
Maxim says, “There’s a girl.”
Ravil’s brows shoot up. “Oleg goes to a club to meet a girl?”
Maxim shrugs. “To see a girl. She’s the lead singer of the band. He has a thing for her.”
Ravil shares a who knew? look with me, as if I know Oleg well enough to be as surprised as he is.
“He has a big thing for her,” Maxim says, waggling his brows.
“So you’ve met her? What’s the story?”
“Well, I went with him once to see where he was going every Saturday. And that’s when I saw. She knows he comes to see her and flirts up a storm with him.”
Ravil cocks his head. “Huh. I’m having a hard time picturing it.”
“You’ll have to see it for yourself. Maybe you can help him ask her out.”
“Why didn’t you?” Ravil demands.
“Because he acted like he was going to knock my teeth out if I pushed. But with you, it might be different.” Maxim’s phone rings, and he looks at the screen. “Ugh. It’s Igor.”
Ravil sends him some sort of meaningful look.
Maxim holds the phone, looking at the screen.
“Are you going to answer it?”
Maxim says something in Russian that sounds like a swear. “No.”