So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(67)

Heat flushed Isobel’s cheeks. She was fully aware of what a nap with Vadim invariably led to and, with that text message still doing a number on her sanity, she realized that her feelings for the Russian were skirting the edges of falling into a deep pile of shit.

While Vadim made sure Mia had numerous cushions supporting her, Isobel grabbed a bread bowl filled with potato and leek soup, her favorite. The bready container quickly got soggy, so it was best to eat it fast. Pig at the trough was not her most attractive look, but what did she care? Vadim had a French-speaking, buxom playmate—with a heart tattoo on her boob, no less!—coming for a visit.

Once Vadim had Mia settled in with her soup, he picked up his own.

“This is excellent,” he said after the first mouthful. “Better than Alexei’s borscht.”

“Ugh, borscht. The worst,” Mia said with great passion.

“It is the soup of your people,” Vadim said. “You must be respectful.”

Isobel tried to say with a straight face, “Yes, Mia, respect the soup of your people,” which set Mia off laughing, and then Isobel couldn’t help joining in.

Vadim shook his head at their silliness, but Isobel could tell he enjoyed being teased.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Vadikins,” Isobel said. “What’s with the shirtless thing? Not a fan of the above-waist articles of clothing?” Or just keeping it simple for the quick sext and pic you might need to shoot off to that French-speaking hussy?

Mia giggled. “It’s freezing out, and he insists on walking around like he’s on a modeling shoot.” She touched a finger to his shoulder. “What’s this tattoo for?”

“It is a jaguar, signifying strength and grace. It also eats schoolgirls who do not finish their soup.”

“What about this one?”

“Matryoshka.” At Mia’s querying frown, he explained. “A babushka. Russian nesting doll. Your cultural education has greatly suffered, I see.”

Isobel added, “It signifies many layers.”

“Not for me,” Vadim said. “What you see is what you get.”

So not true. Mia continued asking for the meaning of the tattoos, and Vadim explained when he had gotten each one and why. Isobel enjoyed how easy he was with his sister, their undeniable love for each other making them glow.

“What about this?” Mia asked around a yawn. Isobel tilted her head, wondering which one she meant. Ah, one of her favorites: the skates bursting into flames.

“It represents speed on the ice. Devushka s goryshimi konkami.”

Mia squinted. “What does that mean?”

“You, young lady, should learn your mother tongue.” He took the remains of her bread bowl from her and placed it on the tray. “Now you must sleep. And I must check on the others.”

“I can do that,” Isobel said. Dante was still being an annoying pain in her ass about Vadim’s proximity to the plague, or the “Petrov contagion” as he’d dubbed it, especially since he’d caught it himself.

“You will wait here, Isobel. We must discuss strategy.” He lifted Mia into his arms.

“I can walk, you know, bro.”

“I know, pchyolka.”

Isobel cleared up the tray and put the plates into the dishwasher. When she returned, Vadim was back in the living room, sitting on the sofa.

“They are all asleep. I’ll wake Alexei and Victoria in a while to feed them.” He patted the seat cushion. “You will stay and nap with me.”

Oh, God, what was she doing here? It seemed she was incapable of resisting that blue-eyed stare, those chiseled cheekbones, and that to-die-for tatted body.

She was addicted to Vadim Petrov.

That one night in New York should have been enough to sate her hunger, and if not that, the orgasm against the window a few days later. Napping together was a dreadful idea.

Yet, like a sex-starved zombie, she went to him and settled in while he covered them with a faux fur blanket. There was no missing the part of his anatomy that was opposed to the idea of a power snooze.

“Napping,” she said firmly. “That’s all we’re doing.”

“Yes. Napping.” He kissed her softly, a prelude to so much more than a nap. She sank into him, but he didn’t take it any further and neither would she, not when there were flu survivors likely to wander in at any moment. Kissing was okay, though. Pretty harmless, she insisted to the parts of her that were flirting with self-control.

“Mia’s already getting interest from agents. I think she needs advice.”

“Then give it to her.”

“Her brother’s advice.”

He blew out a breath that ruffled the hair at her temple, close to her scar. “She is too young to be tying herself to all of that. And it’s not as if she will ever want for a thing. Half of our father’s wealth belongs to her.”

“You’re just going to give it to her? Millions of rubles?”

“A million rubles is only twenty thousand dollars. We are talking billions. It is her inheritance, and her father would have wanted her to have it.”

Sure it was Vadim’s to do with as he pleased, but she suspected Victoria would have an opinion here.

“That doesn’t really answer Mia’s problem about an agent. She’s going to be under a lot of pressure and . . .”