When he bends down and kisses the crown of my head, I swallow the retort that’s on the tip of my tongue. Alex has strange notions of right and wrong, and the borders of personal space seem to be fuzzy for him, but making sure I have clean clothes to wear to work is a considerate act. He probably did it to let me sleep an extra hour, as I now don’t have to travel back to my place to change before going to work.
He’s already at the door before I gather my thoughts. “You got up early to arrange this for me, didn’t you?”
His smile turns ten degrees warmer. “I needed a workout and a shower. I was up anyway.”
I feel the effect of that smile in the heat that spreads through my chest. “Thank you,” I say softly.
Whenever he’s angry, the blue of his eyes looks like the Arctic glaciers. Now the color is the hue of the sky on a summer day. His Russian accent is a soft, melodic sound in my ears as he says, “You’re welcome.”
He holds my gaze for another moment, and then he turns and leaves.
Shaking off my reverie, I check the clock on his nightstand. I have thirty minutes to get ready and have breakfast.
I down the fizzy drink, thankful for his thoughtfulness, and hurry through a shower. With towels wrapped around my wet hair and my body, I search for the clean clothes he mentioned, but there’s nothing in the bathroom or bedroom. Not wanting to step out of his room dressed only in a towel in case I run into any of his staff, I dart into his walk-in closet to borrow one of his T-shirts and a pair of shorts, only to halt in the doorway.
When Alex mentioned that Yuri had gone to my apartment for my clothes, I imagined a change of clothes—a pair of jeans and a sweater maybe—not a solid portion of Alex’s massive closet filled with my dresses, jeans, and blouses. Padding inside as if I’m walking on glass, I gape at the shelves filled with my favorite T-shirts and turtlenecks. My shoes are lined up neatly on the bottom shelf. I open a drawer to find my underwear arranged inside. The second drawer holds my socks and scarves. This isn’t a change of clothes. This is my whole closet, winter as well as summer garments.
Summer is two seasons away. Summer clothes scream long-term.
I don’t get it. Why would Alex move everything into his house? He mentioned keeping a few items of clothing here, but all of them? Baffled, I grab the first sweater my hand falls on and pull it on with a pair of jeans and my Uggs. I take a few minutes to dry my hair, leaving it naturally wavy, and apply mascara and lip gloss before looking for my coat and handbag. My bag sits on the dresser next to a vase of fresh flowers, but my coat is nowhere to be seen. Alex must’ve taken it downstairs.
As I exit into the hallway, I almost bump into a hulk of a man who’s making his way to the staircase with brisk strides.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” he says, stepping aside to let me go ahead of him.
“Igor.” I recognize him from the hospital. At six-foot-ten, he looks a lot bigger on his feet than on a hospital gurney. His blond hair is cropped close to his skull and his sharp jaw is clean-shaven. The ashen pallor of his face from the last time I saw him has been replaced with a healthy color. “Please, call me Kate.” I motion at his chest. “How’s the wound?”
“Pretty much healed.” He offers me a semblance of a smile. “Almost as good as new.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You look well.”
“Much better than when we met. I haven’t yet had the chance to thank you for saving my life.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I can’t take the credit. The doctor did all the work. I only stabilized you.”
“Thank you all the same.” He gives a stiff, military kind of nod. “I’m grateful for your capable hands.”
“You’re welcome. I’m happy that you’re fully recovered.” I wasn’t going to bring this up, but since the opportunity has presented itself… “Um, Igor?”
He watches me with a level stare, giving me his full attention. “Kate?”
“I was wondering… Who was it that shot you?”
His expression betrays nothing. He doesn’t move a muscle. There’s not even a twitch of his eyelashes. “We’re not sure yet, but Mr. Volkov is working on finding out.”
“Does he have any suspicions? What did the police say?”
He regards me with the same blank look. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Volkov about that.”
“Right.” It seems that’s the only reply I’ll ever get from Alex’s staff. Well, it was worth a try. “Take care of yourself.”