All the Lies We Tell (Quarry Road #1)(32)

She took her first bite and let out a low, breathy moan that sent a shiver through him, one that Ilya cursed himself for feeling. It had been weeks since the last woman he’d brought home. And he hadn’t been doing any self-maintenance in that respect, either, not with a houseful of people and feeling the way he’d been. That was all it was, he told himself, uncomfortable at the way he couldn’t stop staring at the swipe of her tongue along her bottom lip to capture the slick of mustard that had dripped from her sandwich. He was thinking with his dick, the way he usually did.

“So good. What?” she asked, quieter this time. Less confrontational.

“You have . . . umm . . .” He passed her a paper napkin from the basket in the middle of the table. “Something on your . . . yeah.”

Theresa wiped her mouth. Her gaze on him was constant. Steady. Before this moment he wouldn’t have been able to say what color her eyes were, but he could see they were a deep and liquid amber. The color of the whiskey in his glass, actually. The one he’d left on the countertop, still mostly full.

“Thanks.” She dragged a fork through the macaroni salad and ate a bite, watching him. “So. You want to talk about it, or what?”

“I don’t have anything to say.” Ilya eyed the sloppy sandwich on his plate. His stomach rumbled, so he took a big bite, not giving one damn about how the condiments squirted out all over his face.

Theresa handed him a napkin without a word. He used it. Set the sandwich down. Gave her a long and steady glare, challenging her to say anything more.

“It’s okay to miss your grandma, Ilya,” she said finally. “It’s okay to have mixed feelings about your mother coming back around. And your brother . . .”

He stabbed his fork into some macaroni salad but didn’t eat it. “What about my brother?”

“Look, all I’m saying is that it’s okay to miss Babulya. It’s okay to feel uneasy about your mother being here, or feel a little competitive with your brother—”

“Why would I feel competitive with him?” Ilya broke in.

Theresa’s mouth twisted for a second, before she gave an exaggerated shrug. “He’s been gone a long time, but now he’s back. It must be strange, that’s all. But it’s not cool to let yourself get stuck in some kind of depressive lethargy. It’s not going to help you in the long run, you know? You need to get up, get back to work.”

“I wasn’t there for her,” Ilya spit out, uncertain why he was saying it but unable to stop himself.

Theresa nodded as though she understood what he meant, even though he hadn’t been totally clear. “Babulya?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t there for her. I was too busy to see her. I didn’t like the home, I didn’t like seeing her that way, so I put it off. I wasn’t there for her, even though I knew . . . shit, I knew . . .” He drew in a hitching breath, horrified that tears were clogging his throat and threatening to slide out of his eyes. He covered them with his hand, fingers squeezing his temples to keep from weeping. He couldn’t do that, couldn’t break down. Not in front of her.

The scrape of the chair alerted him to her getting up. She put a hand on his shoulder. The weight of it was more of a comfort than he’d expected. Way more than he wanted.

“It’s okay to be upset, Ilya.”

“I’m fine! You don’t know a damned thing about me or how I feel!” He stood, pushing against her before he could get some distance between them.

That perfume teased him again, along with the cloud of her hair. He grabbed her wrist, turning her, not sure why. More to say, maybe, or at least that was what he thought. The motion pulled her close against him. Too close. Theresa drew in a breath, her eyes going wide. Lips parting. He let her go when she yanked her arm from his grip.

“You might not believe that I cared for your grandmother and that I’m very, very sorry that she’s gone, but you don’t have to believe me,” Theresa said. “I don’t really care if you do or not. I don’t care what you think about me, or my reasons for coming back here or anything else.”

“What do you care about?” Ilya shot back. “Me?”

Theresa’s gaze searched his. “I barely know you anymore. But yes. I guess I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why would you?” he muttered.

“Good question. I have no idea.” She stepped back, out of his reach. “You certainly aren’t giving me any reason to.”

He waited until she’d left the kitchen before he went to the counter where he’d left his glass of whiskey and tossed it back. Anything to get rid of the scent of her. She was his . . . well, she’d been his sister. Sort of.

A long time ago.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Alicia was never going to untangle herself. She was stuck, wrapped up, trapped in the Stern-family web. The question was, which of the Stern brothers was the spider, and how long was the venom going to take to kill her?

She could’ve made an excuse about not going over there tonight. She no longer cared much what Galina thought or said, and she was used to dealing with Ilya. It was Nikolai causing the twisting in her stomach. Seeing him, not seeing him, pretending they hadn’t kissed in her kitchen, hoping he would look at her. Wondering what she’d do if he did not. She could have stayed home, but then she wouldn’t know, would she, whether he was going to look at her, and what he might see if he did.