Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
I stand up, taking a breath.
“Are you mad at me?” she asks hesitantly.
“No,” I tell her. “But if I don’t get some space, damn, Mila … I’m going to fuck your perfect, curvy body. I’m going to fuck your tight slit. I’m going to—” I cut myself off, shuddering. It’s like a fire is about to consume me. “I need to work. You’re right. We can’t do anything until we know for sure.”
When I turn away, she says, “Wait, Mik.”
I smirk, turning back to her. “Mik?”
“Doesn’t anybody call you that?” she asks, standing up and smoothing her hands down her skirt as if trying to make me even crazier by drawing attention to what I can’t have.
“No,” I say. “But there’s a first time for anything, Mil.”
“Mik and Mil. It sounds like the title of some Eastern Bloc fairy tale.”
I chuckle, and she beams as though making me laugh is as rewarding to her as making her laugh is for me.
“What work, though?” she asks. She must be able to read the doubt in me. She walks closer, placing her hand on my chest. “Whoa, your heart’s beating fast.”
“Can you blame me?” I place my hand on hers.
“I’m not going to tell my dad anything. I promise. I hate him. I know how that sounds, but it’s true. I can help.”
“You don’t even know what you’d be doing.”
She lets go of my chest and folds her arms. Sometimes, Mila looks so vulnerable, as if, at any moment, she could crumple into grief and pain. Other times, like now, she appears so capable it makes me proud. “Does it involve computers?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Then I can help.”
I almost say no again. Or tell her I need to check with Dimitri, but I don’t need to check anything.
“My excuse for coming here was for more manpower,” I say.
“Really? That’s what you told yourself?”
I laugh. “Are you saying I lied to myself?”
“Maybe a little. Please let me help. I don’t want to sit around here like a spare part. I want to be useful.”
How could I ever tell her no? She’s so passionate, so confident. She’s bursting with her need to do something productive. She looks so eager to help. Or are these all excuses? Maybe the blunt fact is that I want to spend more time with her.
“Okay,” I say, and her face lights up with a broad, beautiful grin.
She throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Thank you.”
I hold her, fighting the temptation to make it intimate. There’s something wholesome about holding her like this. It fills me with a warm contentment I’ve never experienced before. I wonder if this is what the first stages of love feel like.
Thinking like this probably means I need to calm down. This could all still easily end in disaster.
CHAPTER 7
MILA
“Maybe we should move the pool table,” I say, standing at the door to the game room. This is the room we’ve converted into our hacking hub.
Mikhail leans against the table, his hair wild, a smirk on his face as he looks at me. We’re both still in our funeral clothes, making the sticky heat between my legs and the passion still pulsing through me feel even more out of place. I didn’t expect him to leap on me like that.
I wanted to keep going but knew I’d have to tell him how inexperienced I am. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, but if he wants a quickie, he’s come to the wrong girl, and what I said is true. This could all blow up in our faces.
“Think you got it in you to move this?” he chuckles, tapping the pool table.
“I think I can help,” I say, propping one door open with a stack of board games. Looking around, I grab some more games from another shelf and prop the other door open.
Mikhail smirks. There’s something in his expression that makes me feel so special somehow. It’s like he’s proud of me. “Relax, code queen. I’ll have Yuri assemble some of the staff.”
“No,” I tell him, taking a step forward. “We can do this. We don’t need help all the time.”
“Nothing wrong with a little help,” he replies.
“Maybe I’m tired of it. Maybe I want to do something on my own.”
Mikhail shrugs, then moves away from the table. “Okay, my firewall fairy. Be my guest.”
I laugh. “Okay, byte boss, maybe I will!”
Guilt tries to twist through me as we banter. I know my father. He won’t physically hurt Anatoly unless he thinks, in his warped mind, he has to. Dad has always preferred psychological torment.
Walking over to the table, I bend my knees and grip the edge, preparing to pull it.
“Nah, ah,” Mikhail says, walking up behind me. “We have to lift, not drag. Or we’ll ruin the floor. Are you sure you don’t need help?”