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Ivan’s gaze caught mine and he groaned. “Don’t do that shit. The way you’re staring at me is sexy as fuck and I don’t have time to drag you back to bed.”
“You’re doing it too!” I accused and he rolled his eyes at my childish accusation. My eyes widened and my body stiffened at his casual reference to us having sex again. Was he not going to freak out? I hoped not.
“Here,” he said, handing me a towel that was a little damp. He definitely only had one towel. Or maybe he had two and the other was in the laundry. I wrapped it around me and nearly gasped when he turned around. He had a series of scars on his left side and snaking around to his back in jagged lines. My eyebrows slammed together in concern and curiosity.
I opened my mouth to ask about it, but quickly closed it. He seemed to have adjusted to the idea of us having sex and I didn’t want to jeopardize things by asking questions that were going to cause him to shut down. I’d have to ask Katya about it and see if she knew anything.
I quickly dressed in jeans and a pale blue, long sleeved t-shirt, putting my wet hair up in a bun, not wanting to deal with it. I walked into the kitchen and stared in shock at the box on the counter.
“Oh my god, the pizza! When did that get here?” I’d completely forgotten about even ordering the thing. When had it arrived?
“Right after you fell asleep last night. You were knocked out. I have no other food, so feel free to make it your breakfast.”
My stomach groaned, remembering that I’d missed dinner and I shrugged and grabbed a piece of cold cheese pizza. “Oh god, this is good. I’m starving,” I murmured, indelicately shoving more cold pizza in my mouth.
Ivan stared at me, the corner of his mouth kicking upwards. “Work up an appetite?” he asked, then his eyebrows drew together. “How are you feeling?”
I chewed, my cheeks flushing. “Um, okay,” I said shyly.
Ivan tilted his head and walked toward me. Placing his hands on my hips, he looked directly into my eyes and asked, “You sure? You’d tell me if you were in pain, right?”
Disbelief and pleasure burst in my chest. How could this be the same person? He was so considerate, so accepting of this dynamic it was scrambling my brain.
Again, I wanted to ask him about it but was afraid of shattering the moment. “Yes, of course. I’m good—great, in fact.”
He looked relieved and slid his hand to my nape and laid a sweet kiss on my mouth. “Good. Finish eating and let’s go. I’m going to walk you to your class today. Hannah’s meeting you after with Nikolai, right?”
“Yeah, probably. I mean, definitely Hannah, but since they're never apart, I assume Nikolai.”
He nodded and went back to his bedroom, probably to finish dressing. My hunch proved right when he returned wearing a black, long-sleeved t-shirt and carrying my shoes, which he placed on the floor next to me.
I grabbed my backpack and purse, and slid my shoes on, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek for bringing them to me. It was a little test to see if he’d accept affection from me. Instead of pulling away, as I feared, he returned the kiss on my mouth.
“You taste like pizza,” he said, then turned to grab his jacket, keys, and phone.
I groaned. “No girl wants to hear that she tastes like pizza. That’s not romantic.”
He chuckled. “Your mouth tastes like pizza, but there are other parts of your body that taste infinitely better. You want me to talk about that?”
I put my hand over his mouth. “No, but at least that’s more romantic,” I grumbled.
He laughed behind my hand, kissed my palm, and dragged me out the door.
Chapter 28
Ivan
I rolled into Drago’s office, and while I expected to see Maxim there, I was surprised to see Nikolai. Maybe Drago pulled him to discuss Emmy’s father with him, considering there could be ramifications for Hannah.
It was always funny to see Drago in the formal office setting, dressed casually in jeans in a t-shirt, which showcased all of his scars and tattoos, from both prison and the mob. Mikhail had an office, too, of course, but he always dressed in some kind of suit.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Drago blew out a breath and reached for a pack of cigarettes before throwing it back on his desk, and instead reaching in his pocket for a toothpick. “We got problems. Well, Emmy does. Or, I should say, Emmy’s got more problems.”
“Fuck,” I grunted, unsettled by Drago’s grim expression and even grimmer assessment.
“What’s going on?” Nikolai said, looking confused.