Free Kissing The Enemy by Helena Newbury

the world. I could have been in Moscow.
    For the first time since I arrived in New York, I really wanted to go home.
    When Angelo had walked out, it had felt like a slap in the face. It was a million times worse because of everything I thought I’d seen in his eyes that evening: not just raw, hot lust but a hint of a deeper need.
    But all of that had become irrelevant as soon as he’d found out who I was.
    Bastard!
    I knew it was unfair. Everyone was scared of Vasiliy. Angelo was some sort of banker and what banker in their right mind would want to get mixed up with the Malakov family? There’s a reason that all the suitors I’d met were criminals themselves. Who else would want me?
    And anyway, this was for the best. It was my own fault. I should never have gone to dinner with him. I’d known it couldn’t go anywhere.
    If he hadn’t seen the photo, we would have slept together. Maybe we would have managed a few more dates but, sooner or later, he would have found out about Vasiliy or Vasiliy would have found out about him and we would have been torn apart. This way, at least we hadn’t had time to get to know each other.
    So why did it hurt so much?
    My phone rang. I very nearly didn’t answer. Whatever excuses he made would only make it worse. And yet…
    And yet, when I closed my eyes and felt the snowflakes landing on my cheeks, all I could think about were those brown eyes burning into me, the feel of his lips on mine….
    Without opening my eyes, I answered and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
    Silence for several seconds. I could hear the tension in his breathing, imagined his big hands clenching and unclenching. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.
    Hearing him say it should have helped, but somehow it made the pain real. “It’s okay,” I lied.
    And then I could hear it coming: an intake of breath as he braced himself for what had to be said. I screwed my eyes closed. I didn’t want to hear the words. I didn’t want to hear: I think it’s best if we don’t see each other again. I didn’t want to be reminded that, however far I ran from Moscow, I could never, ever escape who I was.
    “I want to see you again,” he said.
    I was braced so hard that it took a few seconds to sink in. My eyes slowly opened. “What?”
    He sounded as surprised as I was. But he repeated it and his voice grew more determined with every word. “I want to see you again, Irina. I need to see you again.”
    I just breathed for a while, processing it. Then, “Why? So you can do this in person?” My voice went cold. “So you can let me down gently?!”
    “No!” I heard him rub his face with his hand. “I want to see you. I want to keep seeing you. I’m sorry I...left. I was just...you caught me off-guard.”
    “And now you’re okay with it?” I didn’t allow my voice to warm up. “You’re okay with me being a Malakov?”
    Another long silence, as if a battle was going on inside him. “Yes.”
    A tiny flame flared into life inside me, barely enough to push back the cold. Hope. I wanted it to be true. But I couldn’t let that hope build until tonight or tomorrow, only to have it snuffed out again. I had to know. I had to see him in person, now.
    There was a metallic creak as the door to the stairwell opened. I sat up and saw Rachel standing there. “Irina!” she called. “Move your ass! Break was over five minutes ago. Miss Kay’s about to go freaking nuclear!”
    Our ballet teacher’s rants are legendary. “I can meet you in front of Fenbrook in a half hour, when this class ends,” I told Angelo.
    “I’ll be there,” he said immediately. And the tiny flame flared a little brighter.
    I ended the call and ran for the stairs. Rachel held the door for me and gave a long-suffering sigh, ruffling my hair affectionately as I passed. As we raced down the stairs to class, all I could think about was Angelo. In a half hour, I’d find out if this thing was real or not.
    I wanted it to be real so bad it scared