3

3

ALYSSA

I opt to walk.

One, because I don’t want him to think I want him to carry me.

And two, because if he so much as tries, I’m gonna blush so bad that astronauts flying through space will be able to see my red cheeks. Uri will feel me radiating nuclear-level embarrassed heat and will assume the obvious: that I’m completely and utterly infatuated with him.

Which I’m most definitely not. Apart from having a healthy appreciation for his rock-hard physique and symmetrical bone structure, that is. I mean, physical attraction is only skin-deep, right? Practically meaningless.

I mean, sure, I have been known to ogle him in the past from the reading nook in my bedroom. But I ogle Henry Cavill, too. Doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.

It’s a long, silent trek across the lawn back to the mansion. He leads me inside without any sense of pride or even the slightest hint that he knows he lives in the fucking Taj Mahal of L.A. I do my best not to gawk as we pass by double-height floor-to-ceiling windows, dark oil paintings, and black leather couches big enough to hold everyone I’ve ever known.

The living room overlooks the garden, which can be seen through the massive bow windows that hug the curve of the room. A maid cleaning one of the nooks startles when she sees Uri, then blushes bright red.

Yeah, I feel ya, sis. Better you than me, though.

“Mariska, can you bring in the first aid kit, please?”

Hm—polite to his household staff. Didn’t expect that.

Then again, what did I expect? It’s not like I know everything about this man. But also, I’d be lying if I said I knew nothing about him.

I know he likes to entertain women. Mostly blondes with the superhuman proportions of a Kardashian. But it’s not the only piece of information I have.

I also know that he likes to toss around a football on the front grounds of his property with a younger man that looks too much like him to not be his brother. I still remember the first time I saw them playing. My head was first turned by the shirtless, sculpted perfection of Uri’s abs. But it stayed turned because of the way he interacted with his brother. Not the usual no-nonsense, don’t fuck with me vibes that he always exudes even from a hundred yards away. But something more relatable.

He looked like an average guy. Well, that is, if the average guy is over six feet tall with impeccable biceps, washboard abs, and a face that could make the angels weep. More to my point, he looked like a big brother having fun with his younger brother.

It reminded me of the way Ziva and I used to be with each other. Comfortable. Easy. Effortless.

It made me sad and envious and needy all at the same time. That was the real reason I was maybe slightly too interested in Uri Bugrov. That was the real reason I couldn’t totally hate him.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the reason I just accepted this invitation into his home.

Because I wanted to see if there’s a human behind the flawless mask.

“Sit.”

I obey before I even realize what I’m doing, taking a chair facing the windows. I scowl at my submissiveness, but it’s too late to muster up some backbone, so I just sigh and sink into the seat. He wasn’t wrong—my leg does hurt.

“You have a nice house,” I remark.

He doesn’t smile like most people do when people compliment their homes. He just nods apathetically. “I do.”

“The humility is astounding.”

“One of my finer qualities.”

He’s not looking at me. He’s rummaging through a cabinet nearby. I clear my throat awkwardly as I look around in search of something to talk about. I’m not the greatest with tense silences. Or awkward silences. Or really, silences in general.

“You live alone?”

He frowns as though he finds my question offensive. “I have staff. Some of them live on the property.”

“No family?”

Maybe the guy I’ve seen him play football with is not actually his brother. Maybe he’s just a friend? A coworker? Secret lover?

Now, wouldn’t that be a plot twist?

I glance around the room and notice that the maid, Mariska, left the door to the cabinet she was cleaning open. I can see a frame peeking out, half a photo, a few stoic faces.

“Is that your family?”

Before I know it, the cabinet door is slamming shut. Uri’s blue eyes skewer me impatiently. “I don’t talk about my family. Don’t ask me about them again.”

Whoa. What the hell was that?

Then again, I remember people asking me about Ziva right after the funeral. I told them all to fuck off. Coming from Shylyssa, those words had more bite than intended. But they got me what I wanted: solitude.

“Okay,” I croak. “I won’t.”

His eyebrows arch like he’s going to say something else. Then Mariska walks back into the living room with a hefty-looking first aid kit.

He takes it from her. “Thank you, Mariska. Take the evening off, please.”

She gives him a self-conscious smile and backs out of the room. And all I can think is, No, Mariska, don’t leave me alone with him!

Though I haven’t yet decided if it’s because I can’t trust him…

Or because I can’t trust myself.

I glance down at the cut on my thigh. It’s mostly stopped bleeding, but it does look like a pretty gnarly tear. Uri sits down on the carved, glass-topped coffee table in front of me and opens up the first-aid kit.

“Put your leg on my lap.”

“Excuse me?” I nearly choke on my own tongue while he regards me with a raised eyebrow.

“Your leg,” he says with emphasized slowness, like I’m stupid. “On my lap. Unless you’d like me to try bandaging you up from a distance.”

I gulp. “Um, right. Yeah. Okay…”

Gingerly, I raise my leg and place it over his knee so that my foot dangles onto the coffee table behind him. The heat of his body soaks into my skin. He examines the wound for a prolonged few seconds before he takes a double handful of the fabric of my too-thin tights…

… and rips it apart like the Incredible Hulk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I balk as my leggings peel apart uselessly like wilted flower petals.

“I need to see the wound properly and the fabric is getting in my way. Plus, it’s already destroyed, so I haven’t done anything to you that you didn’t do to yourself. Now, stop fussing and let me take care of this before it gets infected.”

My jaw snaps shut but the heat spreading through me is no joke. I could really use a cold shower right about now.

For more reasons than one.

His fingers graze against my inner thigh and I draw in a breath. When he raises his eyes to mine, I find myself unable to look away.

Aaand cue the blushing. I’m disappointed in myself for not lasting that long. But I suppose it was a losing battle from the start.

“Y-you really don’t have to do this,” I blurt.

He doesn’t raise his head from where his fingers are kneading at my skin. “You’re in my house, pants ruined, with your thigh draped over my leg. We’ve come this far. No point in turning back now.”

I look down and nod, hoping that he hasn’t noticed the blush. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Of course he’s noticed. My usually pale skin goes from borderline anemic to blotchy sunburn in a matter of seconds. Subtle, it is not.

I stay silent while he cleans the wound with a cotton swab to remove the debris. For such a big, brutish man, he’s meticulous and gentle.

“Dealt with a lot of bloody wounds in your lifetime?” I joke.

“Many. I don’t usually stick around for the bandaging part, though.”

“Ha-ha,” I say awkwardly. “Bringing new meaning to the word ‘ladykiller.’”

He doesn’t so much as crack a smile. He does, however, keep cleaning my bloody thigh.

My heart rate rises so fast that my palms start to sweat. All those mob rumors came racing back into my head. It’s not like they’re that hard to believe. I mean, the man lives on a fenced compound bristling with every type of security known to man. It’s beyond me now why I thought trespassing here was a good idea.

Uri pulls back suddenly and I jump in place. He freezes, turning his eyes on me. “You can relax. I’m just getting the disinfectant.”

I clear my throat. “Right. Of course. Knew that.”

He reaches into the kit and comes up with a bottle. “Are you scared of me, Alyssa?”

“Who, me?” A shiver runs up and down my spine. “No. Never.”

Uri smirks darkly. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to believe you. I can smell a lie a mile away.”

Is it just my imagination or has his grip tightened around my leg? Is this meant to be a threat? A power play? Am I a dead woman walking? Was my ladykiller joke a little too on the nose?

Stay calm, I tell myself. Don’t let him see that he’s getting to you.

“I might be a little scared. I mean, look at where you live. Look at how you live. It’s intimidating as hell. And yes, so are you—but if you smiled more, that might help.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to help?”

A stab of pain in my leg takes away whatever retort I was getting ready to deliver. I look down only to realize that he’s applying the disinfectant.

“A little warning would have been nice,” I snap.

“Pain rarely comes with a warning, narushitel.”

His hand brushes against my thigh and the heat rises up again. Great, that’s just what I need. More heat to really kick up the sweating another notch. He seems oblivious to the mental conflict raging in my head. Most people have an inbuilt fight or flight switch. Me? I have a flight or freeze switch. Tonight, it’s stuck on freeze.

I grit my teeth. “This is taking a while.”

“That’ll teach you to climb other people’s fences.”

I scowl. “There’s no reason for your fences to be that high. Or that sharp.”

“Considering a nosy neighbor tried to scale it tonight, I’m inclined to disagree.”

“I am not nosy!”

“Then why were you trying to scale my fence?”

There it is again—the freeze reaction. Because I needed to retrieve my giant purple dildo, that’s why.

“I… um…” Just tell him the truth. It’s a simple enough fix. “I just needed something.”

“No one takes anything from my estate unless they have my permission first.”

When he says it like that, it does sound stupid. I’m having a hard time remembering why I thought I was Jason freaking Bourne instead of just going to the gate and asking nicely like a normal person.

I’m the first one to break eye contact. “You know what? I don’t need the bandage, seriously. I can—”

“Stay still,” he growls. His voice is whip-sharp and my butt falls back into place instantly. “You will sit there until I say otherwise.”

I’m starting to wonder if maybe I should be panicking right now. I’m in a strange man’s house, at a strange man’s mercy. So what if he’s good-looking and rich? So what if he oozes this weirdly seductive dark charm that makes me shiver and sweat at the same time whenever he touches me? I bet plenty of serial killers are charismatic.

But Uri shows no signs of letting me go. He bandages up my thigh carefully, his eyebrows perched high on his brow the entire time. He looks pissed off—but then again, he’s looked like that since the second he sauntered up on me dangling from his fence.

The pain in my leg has reduced to a mild and entirely endurable sting. “Thank you,” I murmur softly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t thank me just yet.”

I swallow hard. Every time my heartbeat evens out, he says something to speed it back up again.

He waits a beat, then the corner of his mouth twitches up one degree. It’s the closest I’ve seen yet to a smile on him. He sets my foot down gingerly, then rises to his full height. “Come on. Dinner should be on the table by now.”

Is this really happening? Apparently, it is, because Uri stands up and starts walking out of the living room without even bothering to glance back. He’s that sure that I’ll follow him.

“Wait!” I protest, getting to my feet awkwardly.

He glances at me over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I… I can’t have dinner here.”

“Why?”

A thousand obvious answers leap to the forefront of my mind. Because you have mafia ties! A history of shady business deals! Crazy security, troubling rumors, a smile that makes my knees feel like limp spaghetti. Just take your pick.

Ziva might have said as much to him.

But not Shylyssa.

“Because… well… look at me.” I really don’t know why I’m gesturing down to my thighs. That’s just what I need—more attention on my embarrassing state of undress.

His mouth twitches upward. “I’ve already seen the orange cat on your panties, Alyssa. Changing now won’t make me unsee it. Now, come.”

There’s so much authority in his voice that I feel like I don’t have a choice. One dinner won’t kill me, right?

I hope.

So I follow him to the dinner table, hoping to God that I don’t end up as the appetizer.