Russian Tattoos Obsession by Kat Shehata Page B

everything, but our lives were interrupted when my work took me back to Russia. I had to stay longer than expected.”
    “Because you went to prison?” I lowered his hand and pointed to the tattoo of a watch on his wrist visible under his Rolex. “Time served. I noticed it when you took your watch off the other day. I Googled it.”
    I worried he might be mad, but he actually seemed impressed. I picked up his other hand and continued. “This cross means you served one prison term. This ring tattoo of a crown means you’re the pakhan , the Russian letters across your fingers spell out your nickname ‘B-O-C-C’ which translates to ‘Boss,’ the five dots represent four guard towers and you in the middle. I don’t know what all the other stuff means, but Boris has way more ink than you do.”
    He squeezed my hands and lowered them down to my side. “Don’t dig too deep. It’s not a pretty story. I wish you’d let me in on your secrets. So much pain behind your eyes.”
    “So, by the time you got out of prison, she was gone ?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
    He smiled weakly, but I could tell he was holding back. “I think of her every day. Seeing you at my house the night we met, I couldn’t help but wonder if—”
    “If what?”
    “Let’s get you out of the cold.” Vladimir put his arm around my shoulders, and I inhaled his heavenly cologne as he guided me back inside. Instead of sitting when we reached our table, he spoke to the manager in Russian. The guy nodded and led us back to the kitchen. At first, I didn’t get it. I followed him curiously.
    Our waiter cleared off a prep counter, and brought in two bar stools. Vladimir guided me to sit and scooted his chair next to me. The manager delivered a bottle of wine and set it on the table along with a corkscrew. Vladimir went to the bar and got a couple of glasses. He opened the wine, poured our drinks, and clinked my glass.
    “Like home.” He winked.
    Finally, I understood. Our first dinner together in the formal dining room was noticeably painful for me. Sitting down at a fancy table and staring at each other didn’t fly in my comfort zone. He’d picked up on my apprehension and moved our gathering spot to the kitchen. We ate zakuski standing at the bar, sipping drinks, and talking—like a Russian family.
    He was nothing if not thoughtful. “Thank you,” I said, not specifying but he knew anyway.
    The chef gave us a cooking lesson as she prepared the orders. She even taught me how to grill kabobs, which I managed to do without gagging. Hearing the meat sizzle and watching the fat bubble up and melt down, feeding the flames, usually made my stomach turn. I guess Vladimir was the distraction I needed to maintain my sanity.
    He even ate, like, three skewers of meat and veggies and said it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. I’d had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t really a vegetarian. He’d dropped a few pounds since I’d become his personal chef. We took a break from cooking to sample the food and to enjoy our wine like we did at home, and before the clock bonged curfew , the tension had lifted.
    Vladimir and I were, “Over our bullshit,” as Boris would say.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 16
     
     
    Ticked
                 
    The next day it was drizzling outside, so I took a shortcut through the weight room to get to the back parking lot where Boris picked me up. A shirtless Leonardo, the studly basketball player, up-nodded as I walked past. “¿ Cómo estás? ” He flexed his muscles.
    “ Bien .” Thanks to a good public education, I’m fluent en español.
    “In a hurry?” He mopped a gym towel across his face.
    Well, I would face the Wrath of Boris to hang out with you for a minute or two. “Not really.” I set down my tennis bag and filled a cup of water from the cooler.
    His dreamy olive green eyes lit up as his gaze moved up and down my sweaty bod. “I haven’t seen you. You don’t work