Page 5

Katya gasps in mock horror, pulling back. “How dare you disparage my queen, my mother, my goddess!”

“My deepest apologies.” I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips.

Her expression shifts to one of playful suspicion. “Oh no… don’t tell me you’re a Lena Goodlove fan.”

I shrug, smirking. “Honestly, their music sounds the same to me.”

“BLASPHEMY!”

She’s fine. She’s not hurt. She’s making jokes. I didn’t lose her.

Relief courses through me like a shot of adrenaline, grounding me for the first time tonight.

“Well, since I offended you so deeply,” I murmur, my voice low, “what can I do to make you feel better?”

My hand lingers on her cheek, my thumb brushing lightly against her soft, flushed skin. Her warmth spreads to my own skin, warming me… to the point of burning. I tilt her chin gently, forcing her to meet my gaze.

Her blush deepens, her lips parting slightly. What does she want me to do? Hold her? Kiss her? Lay her across my desk and take what I’ve dreamed about for the past year? The possibilities race through my mind, each one more graphic than the last.

She leans in closer, her lips grazing mine—a whisper of contact that sets my pulse hammering.

“I know where the cook keeps his secret stash of ice cream,” she whispers, her voice playful but laced with mischief.

“Ice cream is what you want?” I ask, barely managing to form the words.

Her voice lightens, soft and teasing. “Yes. I want to eat ice cream and watch funny animal videos with you.”

Not quite fucking her, but if this is what she wants, I’m happy to oblige.

She slides off the desk gracefully, her fingers lacing with mine. “Come on,” She leads me through the hallway to the kitchen. “He gets it imported from Switzerland,” she says.

Glancing at our entwined fingers, my heart clenches at how perfect and right it feels.

“And why does he hide it here?” I ask, watching her pull the pint from the back of the walk-in freezer, hidden beneath a stack of frozen meat.

“Because he’s afraid his wife will find it and eat it.”

A few minutes later, we’re in the kitchen, huddled over a pint of ice cream with two spoons. The lights hum above us and the stainless steel counters gleam. I laugh, scooping a spoonful. “Gotta have trust in a relationship. No secrets. Especially not hidden stockpiles of ice cream. Secrets kill marriages.”

She smirks but says nothing.

I nudge her lightly. “Tell me a secret.”

She turns her phone toward me, a soft grin on her lips. “Otters are my favorite animal.”

I arch a brow. “Your favorite animal isn’t a secret. That’s just a fun fact.”

She rolls her eyes and taps the screen, showing me a video. In it, an otter grabs another otter’s hand, presses it to its mouth, and holds it close. The caption reads: “Otters hold each other’s hands so they don’t float away while sleeping.”

“That’s sweet,” I say, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as I take another scoop of ice cream.

She swipes to the next video. This time, a group of giant river otters attack a caiman, tearing it apart with vicious efficiency.

“Holy shit, that took a turn,” I blurt, recoiling slightly as she quickly tosses the phone onto the counter. She laughs, the sound light and melodic. “Do you feel better now?” I ask.

“Better after what? The attack? Or the adorable otter image being completely shattered?”

I shrug, the corners of my lips twitching upward. “Either, I guess.”