Chapter 19

Two weeks of recovery after a building literally fell on top of me, and I still don't feel back to normal. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Boris helped me fake my own death. Or it could be that I'm living in the suite connected to his office and now working with him.

Is it the closet full of nice clothes he bought me, or the fact that my bathroom is something straight out of a fairytale?

All I know is the more nice things that surround me and the more comfortable he tries to make everything, the more fear claws at me. It's both frustrating and anxiety provoking.

When it's just the two of us in his office, working, it feels normal. But when we're in his personal space, it's as if I am his roommate that he buys nice things for.

The salary his company pays me is more than enough for me to get everything I need for myself, but still, he insists. And when I say no, he does it anyway.

At one point, I did try to ask to have my salary cut in half because there was no way it was normal for someone like me, but then Boris showed me it was the same amount he pays his secretary, and that helped.

I guess, at the end of the day, I just fear all of it will be taken away in the end. I don't want to get used to the nice shampoo or fancy bubble baths because what if I have to leave it all behind?

Some people may be good at enjoying the present, but I'm simply not one of those people. Nearly every nice thing that has been given to me by a man in my life has come with a price. All but one man at least.

And I'm terrified to figure out what price Boris will ask of me.

Tossing the covers off, I figure sleep is nowhere in sight for me. I need a cup of tea and maybe to sit in the office for a bit. It's strange that in a room full of everything I could ever want or ask for, the place that feels most like comfort is the room that smells most like him.

Scotch and cigars. Intimidating, but inviting.

After making a hot cup of tea, I push open the door to the office, surprised to find him sitting at his desk with the lamp on.

"Oh," I say, frozen in the doorway. "I didn't know you would be here at this time of night."

His hair looks tussled, and he's dressed down, which I don't get to see often. His strong arms, usually trapped behind a suit, are on full display now and it draws my attention.

"Little Fox?" My eyes snap up to his, the blue seeming so much darker in the dimly lit room. "What are you doing here?"

I bite my bottom lip, letting it slide though my teeth as I try to think of an excuse. Nothing really comes to mind, so with a small sigh I tell him the truth.

"I wanted to sit by the window and drink some tea," I say, walking over to the floor to ceiling windows that look down on the entire city. Some days, I swear the building is so tall it sways in the wind, but it's comforting in a sense too.

Up here, nothing can touch me. At least, nothing I'm afraid of.

"It is three in the morning, why are you awake?" he questions, placing papers down to stand beside me.

"Couldn't sleep," I shrug. "What about you?"

He looks at me for a moment then back at his desk. His brows pinch together, and I have this urge to rub my thumb over the wrinkle to smooth it out. He may be old enough to be my father, but there is something about him my heart calls to.

"I had the same issue."

We stand there, watching as the lights in the city refuse to sleep. My tea grows cool, and I sip on it, appreciating the silence. It's so rare that two people can just enjoy the peace silence brings together.

"Is something wrong?" he asks gently. "Do you need another blanket or something in your room that I can have delivered? Or if it is tea you seek then I can…"

I don't let him finish the thought because I can't have him do another thing for me. Boris and I have been dancing around this for a few days now, and I want to see what it is.

My hand fists in his shirt while the other holds my now empty cup and I pull him in. With our lips less than an inch apart, he stares down at me.

I have never wanted a man to save me, never asked for it and probably never will. But Boris did it anyway.

When I insist I have everything I need, he buys me more. When I say that anything works for dinner, he calls my friends to find out what I enjoy. He doesn't take no for an answer when it comes to taking care of me.

Which is why I rise onto my tiptoes, slanting my lips over his so that my breath caresses them lightly.

"Tell me you feel it too." I loosen my hold on his shirt and place the palm of my hand over his heart.

Boris' forehead falls to mine and his eyes close.

"I do. But I do not want to ask so much of you. I am much older than you."

I allow my eyes to fall closed and explore his body with my free hand. First, I start with his hair, the smooth strands gliding through my fingers like silk. Then, my fingers drift down to broad shoulders that ripple under the sensation of my touch before finally latching onto muscular arms that have the capability of caging me in and keeping me safe. He doesn't feel old, he just feels like a man. One that makes me feel safe and cherished.

"You don't feel old to me," I whisper. A sharp breath leaves him and I tilt my head slightly, letting him make the choice.

His warmth greets me so suddenly that I nearly drop my cup. But his hands reach out, taking it from me to set it down on the table beside us without having to look. Then, I am in his arms.

Firm muscle wraps around me in a way that makes me feel as if his strength is bleeding into me. Our mouths fuse as our bodies come together. And my heart that just moments ago felt so vulnerable, starts to awaken.

Just a year ago, I felt that love wasn't for me, but now it feels as if I can hold it in my hands and take it, keep it for myself. So, I do. I vow then and there that Boris is mine and I am his. No matter what happens.