“It’s just for expediency. I need to pack.”
“You’re going on a trip?” My heart beats twice, hard against my ribs. He’s leaving? Leaving me? Have I put him in harm’s way? The blood. His knuckles.
“Something like that,” he replies, continuing up the stairs.
A chill skitters down my spine. I’m on my own. What happened to I’ll take care of you? He owes me nothing, I remind myself.
We reach the landing, and Niko opens the first door on the left and gestures me ahead of him. The room is huge, lavishly decorated and deeply masculine. The walls are covered in a deep gray paneling and the bed, which is big enough for an Ottoman pasha, is heaped in bronze-colored linens. A dark colored sofa sits in front of a fireplace, a huge flatscreen TV hanging above it. Between the back of the sofa and the end of the bed, there’s still enough floorspace to hold a swing dance.
“Grab me a couple of shirts, would you?” He appears with a monogrammed weekend bag in one hand and a toiletry bag in the other.
“In there?” I point at the door he’s just come through, and he nods. Oh, wow! I know people who would kill for this kind of closet space. People like Tamsin.
The cabinetry is dark and sleek, matching the bedroom walls. The hanging spaces are open to reveal row upon row of jackets moving from darker to lighter hues. On the opposite wall, shirts are given the same treatment. Goodness, even his jeans!
“Find them?” he calls from the other room.
“I’m working on it.” I step up to the built-in drawers, pulling open the top one.
Watches. Omega. Cartier. Audemars Piguet. Patek Phillipe. It’s like a mini-Harrods! Closing the drawer, I pull open the next one. Blinking heavily, my hand has barely lifted from the handle when I sense Niko next to me.
“There aren’t any shirts in there,” he murmurs, sliding the drawer closed as though it had contained socks and not a handgun.
A gun. There’s a gun. A gun in that there drawer.
“Why?” I twist to face him. There are guns at the castle. I can even handle one. Not that I ever do, not after—I shut the thought down, clamp it closed, marking it Do Not Enter. But Niko’s gun isn’t the kind you’d easily get a license for.
“Don’t ask questions when you’re unprepared for the answers. Come here.” He pulls my reluctant form into him, pressing a kiss to my head. “It’s in the drawer, isn’t it? I rarely carry the thing.”
“But a gun, Niko.” Here, in the city.
“Alexander tells me you’re a crack shot.”
“Not like that,” I retort, part incredulity, part shock. “Sandy has guns for grouse and deer hunting, but the only shooting I do is the clay pigeon type.” And only when I force myself to join his guests. For the good of the castle. For the good of the bottom line.
Handguns are for criminals, aren’t they? Suddenly, my brother’s words come floating back to me. Van is his own kind of Tsar ruling over his own kind of serfs.
As he maneuvers around me, sliding opening a different drawer, I take the opportunity to look at him. Niko isn’t a criminal. He can’t be. He’s far too urbane. Jaded? Sophisticated.
What about Anatoli Aslanov? Wasn’t he a poor facsimile of this man?
No. Niko can’t be a criminal. I’d know. And Sandy wouldn’t knowingly go into business with a villain.
Another drawer, a rattle of hangers, and I come back to myself.
“Hand me that bag, would you?” Niko brushes past me making his way back into the bedroom. Grabbing the leather toiletries bag, I follow him out as he drops T-shirts and shorts into the leather bag before dropping a pair of loafers haphazardly to the top.
“Move over,” I mutter, pulling the shoes out. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to pack a bag?”
“Julia usually does it for me.”
“Does she?” I reply snippily, the words escaping without thought. I feel… resentful. Jealous? No. Whatever this is, my actions are jerky and erratic as I pull out his belongings.
“Julia is an employee.” His hand on my shoulder, her turns me from the bed. “She’s my housekeeper, and nothing else.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to, milaya. Your actions are loud enough”
“You can sleep with who you want,” I retort, ignoring the provocative curl of his mouth.
“If only that were true.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because the person I want to sleep with is you.” With that, he pulls me to him, his chest expanding with a sigh full of longing. I shouldn’t feel mollified, but I do. And also a little territorial as I wrap my arm around his waist. “Come, let’s get this finished.” He pulls away with a slow reluctance.
“Oh, yes.” I forgot. He’s going away. “You were going to tell me about it, what happened this afternoon, I mean. Did you find out anything?”