Inked Adonis: Chapter 21

I can’t take my eyes off the one hand he’s got on the steering wheel.

Mostly because, after last night, it’s the only part of him I can look at without erupting into flames.

“Keep staring at my hand and I might be forced to show you some of its other talents while I drive,” he drawls, making me jump in my seat.

I hide my face so he can’t see how red my cheeks are. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Nova.” The way he says my name—like dark chocolate melting on his tongue—should be illegal. “You’ve been gawking since we left the penthouse.”

“I was making sure you follow traffic laws,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. “You did say you were a criminal.”

“Yes, but a criminal with a code.” His lips quirk. “I always signal before turning.”

I want to say something bitchy and clever, but my brain short-circuits every time I remember last night. We got so close to the cliff’s edge of Do Not Fucking Go Here that it still makes my chest do strange little squiggles every time I think about it. His smell, his eyes, all of it so up close and personal and consuming every fucking bit of me that it’s a miracle I didn’t spontaneously combust…

And now, here I am, taking him to meet my grandmother like some lovesick teenager. The thought makes my chest tight. Grams isn’t just family—she’s my anchor, my North Star, the only person who’s loved me unconditionally since I was born.

I’ve never brought a man to meet her. Not once.

I asked for this last night. Specifically requested it, as a matter of fact. I entered a literal fucking negotiation with a literal fucking mob boss to engineer this exact outcome.

So explain the panic swallowing me whole. I sure can’t.

We pull up to Legacy Retirement Village, and anxiety claws up my throat. I grab Sam’s forearm before he can open his door. “Wait.”

He turns those gunmetal eyes on me, one dark brow raised.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds. “Meeting Grams is… it’s not casual. At least not for me.”

“Are you not ready?”

“No, I…” I swallow hard. “Just… she’s everything to me. The only person I’ve ever really trusted.”

His expression softens for a fraction of a second before his usual arrogance slides back into place. “Then we better not keep her waiting.”

I take a deep breath and nod. I must be losing my mind.

Or maybe I’ve already lost it—lost it the moment this dangerous, beautiful man crashed into my life with his sharp smiles and gentle hands.

But then, to add shock to my panic, Samuil wraps one of those gentle hands in question around my waist and coaxes me through the front door.

No going back now.

“Your dog seems to have other ideas about the schedule,” Sam says dryly as Rufus immediately abandons us in the lobby to bask in attention from residents and visitors alike.

The Great Dane is in heaven, accepting pets and treats like the shameless attention whore he is. Every senior who passes has to stop and coo over him, and he’s eating it up, those paws dancing across the tile floor in excitement.

“Go ahead,” Sam tells me, his mouth quirking at the corners. “I’ll wrangle the social butterfly.”

I hesitate for a split second, but my need to check on Grams wins out. My heels click against the floor as I hurry toward the common room, rehearsing what I’ll say. Just a friend. Nothing serious. Definitely not the man who pinned me against a cage last night and whispered filthy promises in my ear about what will happen when—not “if,” but when—I come to his bed.

But the moment I see her sitting in the common room in a wheelchair, my stomach drops.

But all thoughts of Sam evaporate when I spot her.

“Grams!” The word rips from my throat. “Why are you in a wheelchair?”

She startles, one delicate hand flying to her chest. “Nova? What are you⁠—”

“What happened?” I drop to my knees beside her chair, gripping her hands in mine. They feel so small, so fragile. When did that happen? When did my strong, vibrant grandmother become breakable?

“I thought you were away,” she deflects, but I see the guilt in her eyes.

“And I thought you could walk.”

She waves dismissively. “Oh, I can. I just got tired of it.”

“Grams.”

A sigh escapes her. “It’s nothing serious, honey. I took a little tumble two days ago, hurt my hip. The chair is temporary. Just for a week.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice cracks. “And why didn’t Hope say anything when she visited yesterday?”

“Don’t you dare blame Hope.” Grams wags a finger at me. “I made her promise not to worry you. You were finally taking some time for yourself, and I didn’t want to ruin that.”

I open my mouth to argue, but a familiar, booming bark cuts me off. Rufus charges into the room like he owns it, making a beeline for Grams. But instead of his usual bulldozer routine, he approaches her gently, laying his head in her lap with surprising tenderness.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” Grams coos, her face lighting up. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”

I can’t help but snort. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a menace.”

“Now, don’t listen to her,” she tells Rufus, scratching behind his ears. “She’s just grumpy because I didn’t tell her about my fall.”

“Damn right I’m grumpy⁠—”

“Give the woman a break, Nova. She was trying to protect you.”

And there’s the other beautiful boy.

Sam leans against the wall like he owns it, all coiled power in casual clothes. The soft blue t-shirt stretches across his chest in a way that makes my mouth water. His dark slacks hug his thighs, and for a moment, all I can think about is how those thighs felt bracketing my hips last night.

“And who might you be, sweetheart?” Grams asks, but I catch the knowing glint in her eye.

Sam pushes off the wall with predatory grace, extending one large hand. “Samuil Litvinov. I’m the owner of this oversized attention seeker currently drooling on your lap. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hogan.”

“Call me Serena.” Grams takes his hand, her eyes dancing. Then she turns to me with a look that spells trouble. “Nova brought a boy to meet me?”

“A friend,” I cut in quickly. “Samuil and I are friends.”

Friends. It even tastes like a lie. Friends don’t do what we did last night. Friends don’t snarl dark vows or threaten almost-kisses that would undo both of us in unfixable ways.

We aren’t friends.

Not even a little bit.

Sam drops into the chair beside her like a king claiming his throne, those long legs stretched out before him. Every woman in the room—from the residents to the nurses—is staring. I don’t blame them. I am, too.

“I have lots of questions.” Grams grins.

“Oh, God,” I groan.

“Let me guess,” Samuil interjects smoothly. “You want to know all about Rufus. Well, that’s a great place to start, because he’s the one who introduced me to your granddaughter. In a manner of speaking.”

I sink into a chair, caught between them like a ping-pong ball. For the next twenty minutes, I barely get a word in edgewise. Sam has Grams eating out of his hand, telling stories that make her laugh until she wipes tears from her eyes.

The bastard is charming my grandmother. And he’s doing it effortlessly.

“Well, it’s this old lady’s lunchtime,” Grams announces finally, clapping her hands together. Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “But I’m not done with you yet, Samuil. You’ll both stay for lunch. I insist.”

My stomach drops. I know that tone. It’s the same one she used when she convinced me to adopt a three-legged cat in high school. The one she used when she talked me into starting my own business instead of working for my father’s friend’s security company.

It’s her ‘I know what’s best for you’ voice. And right now, she thinks Sam is what’s best for me.

Fuck.

Because the worst part? Watching him with her, seeing how he leans in when she talks, how he keeps Rufus calm without even thinking about it, how his sharp edges seem to soften just a fraction…

I’m starting to think she might be right.

I have only myself to blame, though. I made a mistake by bringing him here, by letting him charm my grandmother, by not just allowing but inviting him to step into my world and annex it as part of his.

Now, he’s not so easy to hate. He was a kidnapper before. A bad idea. A distraction. A sin.

After twenty minutes, though, he’s suddenly the man who makes my grandmother laugh, who notices when her water glass is empty and refills it without being asked, who looks at me like he wants to devour me whole but speaks to her with genuine respect.

How the hell am I supposed to keep my walls up when he’s systematically dismantling them brick by brick?

Even as I watch him wheel Grams toward the dining room, his massive frame dwarfing her wheelchair, my chest aches. This isn’t what I signed up for. One night of pleasure in my cramped apartment shower wasn’t supposed to turn into… this.

But as he glances back at me, a small, private smile playing at his lips, I realize it might be too late to stop it.

I’m already falling.

And something tells me the landing is going to hurt like hell.