“Go get some food,” she told Luka, kicking off her shoes. “I don't care what it is.”
He hesitated in the doorway, watching her with a look she couldn't interpret. “I'll wait until you've showered and we'll go together.”
Her spine prickled. “Do you think someone might have followed us?”
“No, not at all. I just wouldn't be doing my job very well if I left you alone in a strange motel room.”
She laughed and shrugged. “I can't argue with that, I suppose.”
“You shouldn't argue with me at all,” he told her, with just a flicker of humour. “Brigadiers are not to be argued with. We are to be obeyed.”
Liking even that small hint of playfulness, she tipped him a mocking salute. “Yes, sir.”
Something dark and fierce crossed his face, lighting a little fire of excitement deep inside her. “Clean up,” he ordered, turning away from her abruptly. “The sooner you do that, the sooner we can eat and rest.”
The fire died. She reminded herself, as she had hundreds of thousands of times over the years, that Luka Sokolov was off-limits. Now, of all times, was not the time to forget that. He'd rescued her on her father's orders, not out of some chivalrous, romantic impulse. She was part of his job, and once she was back home, she'd cease to even be that. She be back to being the Pakhan's Daughter, a precious, protected exotic pet.
Frustrated with herself, she went into the tiny bathroom and locked the door.