Page 162 of Ruthless Rustanovs

See, he is SO arrogant, she pointed out to her body, mentally reminding it why she should in no way be attracted to this guy.

But then he ducked his head and looked at her with an almost shy smile. “Also, after this week we have had together, I would like to cook for you.”

F-word. Her sex was basically screaming at her to jump his bones already. Just for saying he wanted to cook for her because she’d had a bad week.

Ugh! Stockholm Syndrome much? she wondered.

Sola took the Bisquick box from him, and muttered, “Thanks, but as curious as I am about how vanilla ice cream pancakes would taste, I think it’s best if I take over from here.”

Which was how she ended up passing the next half hour under Ivan’s watchful gaze as she threw together a batch of caramel apple pancakes.

“You are right. This cooking is not as easy as I thought it would be,” he admitted when she set a stack of pancakes in front of him at the kitchen table before sitting across from him with a plate of her own.

“Well, no, it wouldn’t be if you’ve never, ever cooked before. How did that happen, exactly? Did your mom never let you into the kitchen? Or maybe you had servants?”

“Servants. And when I moved out to start fighting, I had people to take care of that for me. I’ve never had to cook for myself,” he admitted before putting the first forkful of pancakes in his mouth.

“So you’re a fighter?” she asked, curious despite her resolve to keep her distance. That would explain how he’d managed to K.O. the wolf.

He held up a finger and finished chewing before he answered, “Yes, I was a very successful fighter. I became the EFC world champion shortly before the accident.”

“EFC? That’s like where you kick box instead of regular boxing, right?”

A small smile lifted his lips. “Something like that. I am trained in a variety of martial arts, including jujitsu. But there is kick boxing involved sometimes, yes.”

“I’ve never watched any EFC fights before, but my dad loved boxing when I was a kid.

Some of my earliest memories are of him holding me in his lap while he yelled at the TV.

” A smile of remembrance lifted her own lips as she cut up her own pancakes.

“I bet he would have liked watching you fight. Did you and your dad bond over boxing?”

“No.” His voice had gone considerably colder. “My father and I did not have that kind of relationship. He wanted me to be a businessman like the rest of the men in our family. He did not understand why I would want to do anything else with my life.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, the only nice thing about being an orphan is there was no one there to tell me how crazy I was when I decided to apply for art school.”

A long silence. Then: “I am an orphan now, too. My parents…died.”

She looked up from her pancakes then, and found him staring down at his plate, his posture one of deep sadness.

So, he knows how it feels to lose family, she thought, sad they had this one thing in common.

“I’m so sorry about your loss,” she said. “As much as the students at art school complain about their parents, they’re lucky they don’t know what it’s like to not have anyone around trying to tell you how to live your life. That’s the sort of thing you don’t know you’ll miss until it’s gone.”

“No…” he agreed.

Quiet descended over the kitchen as they finished eating their pancakes. At least Ivan finished his pancakes. She found she didn’t quite have the appetite to finish hers.

“I do not like this sadness between us now,” he said when she stood up and took both of their plates over to the kitchen’s triple sink.

“Yeah,” she agreed, pushing the remains of her pancakes into the small middle sink. “Dead parents definitely don’t make good breakfast conversation.”

Behind her, she heard him stand up from the table. “We will talk of something else,” he decreed in his domineering way.

But she didn’t mind his tone so much, because she was more than ready to change the subject.

“Okay, what should we talk about?” she asked as she began washing the dishes.

“Hannah and Gregory will be gone all week,” he said.

It was a casual change of topic, but something about it made her nipples pebble in her bra, especially when he came to stand behind her.

What is wrong with me? she wondered for at least the tenth time that morning. Sola felt like an open-ended nerve. Highly sensitized. Her body was going crazy just because he was standing near her, watching her wash their breakfast plates.

“You know what that means, da?” he asked her.

“That we’re going to have to figure out something to make for lunch and dinner, too?” she answered.

“That we have the house to ourselves all week,” he answered. “No more hiding what we are doing during the day.”

“What do you mean hide—?” she started to ask.

But then he reached past her and flicked off the water with one sharp turn of his wrist.

“What are you do—” she started to ask again.

And without any warning whatsoever, his arms came around her from behind. One hand slipping down below the waistline of her jeans, while the other turned her to face him. He took slow, sensual possession of her mouth while beginning to finger the part of her that had been aching all morning…

She was so surprised by the intense intimacy of his actions, she actually let the kiss and fingering going on for a few shocked moments before she remembered who she was. Who he was.

“What are you doing?!?!” she demanded, shoving him off angrily. “Stop! STOP!”