The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)
“Sorry,” I muttered.
That couldn’t be what she said, could it? Did a concussion make you hallucinate?
We reached the car, but I hesitated. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
Turning around, I fought against the crowd back to the ticket booth. When the old woman saw me coming, her eyes widened with fear. She s
tarted to get up, but I tried to reassure her.
“Nyet . . . druz’ya.”
I thought I said “friends,” but she looked at me like I just told her we were uncles, which was annoyingly possible. I crouched in my heels and fur coat in front of her, took some rubles from my clutch, and offered them out. I wished I could give her all of my money, but I knew if I pulled cash from an ATM, Ivan would find me and force me home. I wasn’t ready to go yet.
The woman eyed the rubles warily for a moment, but then, as if she thought they might disappear, she snatched them from my hand. Her hands were red and raw, and with a gust of wind, a shiver wracked her. I chewed my lip in contemplation.
Oh, screw it.
I took the coat off and settled it on her shoulders. It swallowed her small frame. I didn’t know how Ronan would feel about me giving a crazy homeless woman a luxury coat he just gifted me, but my conscience wouldn’t let me sleep in a warm bed tonight while she was out here cold.
She ran dirty hands over the white fur, an expression of awe on her face. “Angel,” she breathed. “Ty angel.”
Her belief I was an angel made me feel better about the D’yavol comment. Maybe her mind was stuck in an episode of Supernatural.
I avoided Ronan’s gaze on the way back to the car, nervous of his reaction and wishing I was still buzzed. Albert leaned against the passenger door, watching me with cautious eyes and smoking another cigarette.
“That’ll kill you, ya know.”
He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply.
I raised a brow at the challenge. “Keep smoking like that, and you’re going to break a lot of girls’ hearts when you go.”
He grunted.
I finally brought my gaze to Ronan’s unreadable expression. The theater attendant who served us drinks rushed over and said something quietly to Ronan, whose eyes lowered. I could see a hint of annoyance in them.
“I’ll be right back, kotyonok.” His dark gaze drifted down my body, caressing and setting fire to every curve encased by thin yellow fabric. “Wait in the car. You’re not wearing a coat.”
He walked toward the theater doors, the red-vested attendant following behind like a lapdog. Ronan stood out in the crowd, not only because people parted like the Red Sea to allow him by, but because of the smooth and powerful way he walked, as if he owned the pavement beneath his feet. The sight of his dark silhouette among falling flurries sent something dense and languid to every nerve beneath my skin, like the steady beep of a heart on life support.
Feeling unsteady, I turned to Albert, who actually rolled his eyes at me. Clearly, I wasn’t very secretive about checking out his boss. My cheeks were flushed from the cold, but my blood burned hot, so I leaned against the car beside him. My arm brushed his, and he eyed me like I’d just challenged him to a spitting contest.
I raised a brow. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me.”
“He told you to get in the car.”
“He’s awful bossy, isn’t he?”
He didn’t confirm nor deny, just stared forward and blew out a breath of smoke.
“Serious question,” I said direly, “and answer carefully, because this is the deciding factor in whether you and I can be pals.” After a heavy pause to make sure he knew the gravity of the matter, I asked, “Team Duckie or Blane?”
His narrowed eyes came to me. “I do not speak whatever language that was.”
I smiled. “Pop culture? Eighties films are back, you know.”
He looked like he was suffering from a headache, and I couldn’t hold in the small laugh.
After a moment, I asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?”