Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Pasha had returned with boxers printed with sparkling red hearts in his mouth. In the right size.
A faint sound from the passenger seat. A stomach rumble.
Adorable in how quiet it was.
“We’ll stop for food,” he said while reminding himself never to say his earlier thought aloud—for surely this secretly angry woman would strike him dead for even daring to think she was in any way adorable. “We need to talk and strategize regardless—might as well do it over food.” Even his easily amused bear knew that place was drenched in evil. If he could blunt a little of that for Theo by offering the comfort of food?
Hell yes, he was going to do that.
And no, it had nothing to do with the fact that he was finding Theo Marshall intensely more fascinating with every second that passed. So much fury to her. So much intelligence. And so many secrets.
Bozhe, but he wanted to feed her delicious desserts and charm each and every secret out of those lips so soft and full.
* * *
* * *
A wave of heat pulsed under Theo’s skin, snapping the loop of memory and gnawing anxiety that had held her prisoner. Yakov had heard her stomach make that demanding noise. That was not something for which her research on bear changelings had prepared her. It was, quite frankly, mortifying.
Despite her discomfort, she clung to the sharp burn of her embarrassment—because otherwise, the darkness might return, the echo of screams might return, and with them, her realization that her life was a lie. “That sounds sensible,” she said.
“Do you eat ordinary food or only Psy nutrients?”
“I can eat ordinary food.” One good thing about being an unimportant member of the family without agency or power was that after a while, nobody had cared to watch her. “Though . . . I have been warned about accepting food gifts from bears.” By Aunt Rita, who was clearly an extremely wise woman.
Yakov rolled his eyes. “It’s all lies. Food is just food.” Keeping his eyes on the road, he added, “I know a good place. Far away from rowdy bears. Only minor culinary subterfuge involved.”
Oddly enough, she already knew this stranger better than she knew anyone else in her life apart from Pax. He was amusing himself with his words but not in a way that shut her out. Rather the opposite. Yakov was inviting her to play with him. He was . . . warm. Not only in the body, but in everything about him.
“I do believe I’m traveling with a rowdy bear,” she said in such a solemn tone that he shot her an assessing look, his eyes kissed by amber.
“Funny,” he muttered with a scowl, but she heard the laughter he did a bad job of hiding beneath. “I’ll have you know Mischief Bear One has grown into a most well-behaved adult.”
So much warmth and heart. Theo wanted to crawl into his lap, into him.
Her mind flashed with the memory of his piercing gentleness with the poor broken bird on the path, his big blunt-tipped hands carrying the fragile body with utmost care. Even as her chest squeezed against the surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her senses, her fingers curled into her palm in instinctive memory of her contact with him.
Being enclosed in his grip had made her feel safe in a way that was disturbing.
Theo had spent a lifetime relying on no one else to find balance, but right then, she knew it would be terrifyingly easy to rely on Yakov Stepyrev. Pitiful, she told herself. He’s only being polite. You’re nothing but an assigned task to him, just like you were to Colette.
Even brutally conscious of that, she couldn’t stop herself from indulging in this moment with him where she could pretend to be a normal woman with a man who drew her like a bee to a pollen-laden bloom. No one needed to know of her internal foolishness. “I read an article that stated bears take pride in being unruly, but that beer is off-limits. Never to be spilled or wasted, no matter how bad the fight. Is that true?”
His wicked grin, the single dimple she could see, it made things low in her body clutch in ways unfamiliar and disquieting. “You should ask Nina Rodchenko sometime. She owns a club in Moscow that’s a favorite with the clan. Her bouncers have broken up many a fight.”
Squeezing her thighs together against the strange ache that was turning into a low, deep pulse, she found herself leaning a touch further toward him. Another small foolishness for a stolen beat of time. “In which you were a participant?”
The grin grew wider, a deep crease forming in the cheek she could see. “I told you, I am the very picture of good behavior.” Pious tone at odds with his expression. “It’s my brother who’s the troublemaker.”