Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 141532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Everyone is special in their own way, Mitya,” she said softly.
“Perhaps. How did you come by the name of Ania? This is Russian, not American.”
“It’s a family name. My grandmother was named Ania. She was an amazing woman. She came to the United States as a child with her family, although they only spoke their native language and it took her a while to speak English. She never seemed comfortable speaking it. She spoke only Russian at home, as did my grandfather and parents. I did as well, which explains my accent.”
“Did your grandmother know how to change a tire as well?”
She burst out laughing. The sound was melodious rather than jarring. It held that soft, husky pitch he’d come to associate with her, but now it was mixed with something else, some sweet note that wrapped around his heart, shaking him. Women didn’t laugh around him. He was used to them wanting him, but not this—not simply finding enjoyment in anything he said.
“I suppose a wagon wheel. I wouldn’t have been surprised at anything she could do.”
“But you lost her?”
She nodded. “Some years ago in a car accident. My mother, grandmother and grandfather were coming back from a theater production of The Phantom of the Opera. It was their absolute favorite. I was supposed to go that night as well, but I ended up sick. I’d grown up going to the theater and had seen it, but I was still disappointed. My father stayed home with me.”
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I would never want to bring up anything to cause you sorrow.” He could hear lies. It was a shifter trait. Something wasn’t quite right with what she’d told him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“As I said, it was three years ago. I have wonderful memories of my mother and grandparents. Do you like theater?”
A memory surfaced. The theater in Russia. It was a little chilly and very dark. The sound of music was loud. A woman’s voice singing, the sound impossibly beautiful, so much so that for a moment he was caught up in the sheer magic of it. Men and women dressed in their finest. The smell of fragrance and cologne. They were there to see the play. He was there to murder four people.
His targets were upstairs in one of the most expensive of boxes. They came often and laughed and cried with each subsequent scene. He had thought for a moment to delay the inevitable, so he could hear the star of the play singing once again, but he knew the longer he stayed, the more people had a chance to catch a glimpse of him. He had killed them fast and silently and walked out without ever hearing that beautiful voice again.
“I do,” he replied carefully. “Although I haven’t had much chance to go.” If he did go, he would forever be dividing his attention between watching the production and his back. The bodyguards of his targets had been too busy watching the play to adequately protect their bosses. He’d killed them first.
She tapped her finger beneath his palm, reminding him he had his hand over hers. He hated removing it, but he had no reason to keep covering her hand, so he immediately lifted his.
“I’m so sorry, Ania. I haven’t been around . . .” He forced himself to stop blurting out what a true loser he was with women. “I’m sorry,” he reiterated.
“I liked your hand over mine, Mitya. You’re unusual. Rare. I don’t get to meet men like you very often. I wish we had more time to talk, but I see my tire is back on and your men are standing around in the rain getting soaked. I should go.” She scooted across the seat and dropped her hand to the door handle.
He searched for something, anything, to hold her to him a moment longer. “If you are ever in San Antonio, my sister-in-law owns a bakery, The Small Sweet Shoppe. I’m often there.” If she said she knew it, he would be there every day just to hope to see her again.
“In the business district?”
“Right on the edge, although the businesses seem to be growing up around it.” He found himself holding his breath, his hand on the other door handle.
“I’ve actually been there once,” she admitted. “If I go, I’ll look for you. Thank you again for stopping. It was so sweet of you.”
Before he could ask for her number, she pushed open the door. In all things he wanted, Mitya was extremely aggressive. He had no problem picking up women when he wanted some quick relief, but this was different. Very different. This woman mattered in some undefined way he didn’t fully understand. He wanted to stay in her company. His body wanted her with every breath he drew. His leopard wanted to stay close to her.