Tucked behind a laptop, Winter never had to worry about what she was wearing when she was in the middle of a job.

Most of the time, she was in pajamas with three-day old hair and mustard stains on her shirt.

Tonight, though, she wasn’t dressing for comfort—she dressed for efficiency.

She wore a thick pair of leggings—easier to move in than her skinny jeans—and a matching black tank top that was fitted but breathable. Coupled with her trusty Docs, she looked the part.

And felt pretty badass.

By the time she was venturing downstairs and out of her apartment building, Răzvan was waiting for her, leaning against his bike with his muscular arms folded across his chest.

Black shirt and pants. Military boots.

They matched.

His gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Răz. I may only be a hacker, but I’m the hacker.”

She was starting to love that amused smile on his lips—his entire face softened when he smiled.

—Are you ready for this?—

“Haven’t you heard?” Winter asked, accepting the hand he extended her. “I’ve been ready.”

—Then let’s go.—

The city sped by as they headed toward the rendezvous point where Ollie, Tessa, and Nicole would be waiting.

It wasn’t long before they were parking and he was walking her up the set of concrete steps and opening the door for her.

Once through, they walked the lengthy hallway until they reached the office they needed.

Winter was the first through the door, Răzvan following right behind, but she might as well have been invisible with all the attention she was paid.

She’d forgotten they weren’t privy to the sight he made in his gear.

Not that she could really blame them—he looked formidable when he wasn’t in jeans and a T-shirt.

“He’s like a walking wet dream,” Tessa murmured as she stopped at Winter’s side, her eyes on Răzvan.

She knew exactly what she meant.

Răzvan was glorious on any given day, but when he was decked out in his gear and had that serious face on while he worked, he went way beyond that.

But they weren’t the only two to notice.

Nicole didn’t waste any time walking over to talk to him, though Răzvan hardly paid her any attention. That fact shouldn’t have filled her with as much joy as it did.

It didn’t even make sense that she was feeling possessive of him.

Their relationship, if she could even call it that, was brand new.

And flirting didn’t count.

But she couldn’t deny she was interested, even before London. There was just something about him she couldn’t ignore, and why should she?

She was an adult now and didn’t need to ask Syn’s permission for who she could date or hang around with.

“We should get going,” Winter called out.

“Absolutely,” Ollie came over to them with a wide grin. “I’ll drive. You can—”

Răzvan straightened then, his gaze narrowing on Ollie as if what he said offended him. —She’s with me.—

Ollie didn’t seem to need a translation for that from just the expression on Răzvan’s face. “Or not.”

“Tăcut and I’ll take the building. You guys keep everything else running smoothly from the van.”

With the way Răzvan reacted, there was no argument there as they left the building, but before they reached Răzvan’s bike, she touched his arm.

“A kiss for good luck?” she asked with a smile, fully expecting him to ignore the request.

But he didn’t.

He cupped her cheek and yanked her forward, pressing his lips to hers. It wasn’t a peck by any stretch of the imagination—he kissed her like he was starving for her and she’d just given him permission to take what he wanted.

She only froze for half a second before she was kissing him back, allowing herself this moment to give in to something she had only ever thought about.

Răzvan seemed like he would be easy, gentle even, but the way he kissed her, she felt it down to her bones.

A throat cleared behind them, but he didn’t release until he was ready, and when he did, she sucked in a much-needed breath, feeling like her heart was about to explode out of her chest.

He smiled at the reaction before passing her a helmet. —Feeling lucky?—

* * *

The starless sky provided the perfect backdrop as they rode through the nearly empty streets toward the Fulton building in midtown.

She had felt nervous, but every time her anxiety about what they were about to do rose inside her, she only had to flex her arms around Răzvan to remind herself there was nothing to worry about.

“Ready when you guys are,” Ollie said over the earpiece, failing to hide the giddiness in his voice.

Of course, he could be giddy. He wasn’t doing the hard part.

“Roger that,” Winter said back, rolling her eyes when Răzvan smirked at her.

Smartass.

Outside the door, he made quick work of the lock, getting the door open in seconds before nodding for her to go ahead of him.

“Security feeds are taken care of.”

Nerves shouldn’t have been getting the best of her, not when she’d seen a few breaking and enterings up close and personal, but it was different when she was the one committing the act—when she was the one carefully moving through brightly lit back hallways wondering when, at any moment, a security guard could appear.

During her research, this building should have been the more secure between the two, yet the last had security roaming the halls on a constant rotation. This one, on the other hand, she had yet to see a guard of any sort.

Răzvan had been right after all.

Just as she rounded a corner, he snatched her back, slapping his hand over her mouth before a startled yelp could leave her mouth. In seconds, he had them in a shadowed corner, just out of view of the guard making his rounds. The brief glance the guard shot down the hall didn’t catch them.

Maybe she’d spoken too soon.

—Sorry,— she signed to which he nodded, but instead of her going first again, he walked ahead of her. Though he did make sure she was behind him the entire time.

She couldn’t fathom it.

He not only was aware of everything happening around them and staying vigilant, but he was also making sure she was okay.

“The server room should be coming up on your left,” Ollie said over the earpiece, sounding every bit as anxious as she felt.

But the door they came upon now wasn’t like the one they’d had to go through earlier when Răzvan could use tools to get it open.

Instead, she had to insert one of her key cards and wait for the program she’d coded to unscramble the combination.

But once the lock clicked open with an audible snap, she smiled in victory before quickly stepping in.

That victory was short-lived once she found the server they were looking for.

“Shit.” She ran her hand over the glass, peering at the lock that Răzvan didn’t have the tools to break. “This is a problem.”

He glanced at her, at least she thought he did when his head turned in her direction before he gestured for her to step aside.

“You can’t pick—shit, Tăcut!”

She hadn’t been able to point out he couldn’t pick the lock before he was making a fist and punching the glass with enough force to splinter it.

The second was enough to break it completely, sending shards raining down on the floor.

She didn’t mean to stand there and stare at him in wonder, remembering quite vividly the way he’d looked punching the bag her first time at the loft. The force behind it.

That was nothing compared to now.

Before he could notice her unabashed appreciation, she darted forward, plugging in her thumb drive and pulling up the program on her tablet.

“Three minutes,” she whispered to him, waiting for his nod before she focused back on the progress bar and the green slowly eating away at the gray.

He disappeared out the door—probably to check and make sure no one was coming after the noise he’d made breaking the glass.

One minute came and left before she was finally inside the actual system and could access the archives.

She was actually doing it.

They were close, actually close enough to say they were minutes away from winning the game, and while she was good at what she did, Răzvan was to thank for their success.

The screen on her tablet flashed, a list of file names scrolling down in rapid succession.

She scanned down the list, searching … searching … until Sylvain’s name appeared. With a few clicks, she downloaded everything attached to his name, and just for good measure, anything where his name was even mentioned.

“It’s almost finished,” Ollie called over the comms, undoubtedly reading the data as it downloaded into their system.

Răzvan still wasn’t back yet, but as long as the guards stayed away, then all was good.

“Done. The download is complete. Get out of there!”

Winter unhooked the wire and turned away, stuffing everything back into her bag before she reached the door.

“Răz? Any time now—”

“Stop right there!”

Winter froze in place, her gaze darting up to the security guard currently pointing a gun at her.

Another was just off to the side, a walkie-talkie in his hand though he seemed too focused on Winter to actually talk on it.

“Uh, this is awkward.” She tried a smile. “Would it be too much for me to say this is a prank?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he warned her, grabbing her arm before she could even think to take a step, but in his haste to grab her, neither he nor his partner noticed Răzvan moving up behind them.

“Ya know, he really doesn’t like when men touch me. A bit protective of me, I think.”

The guard’s brow furrowed as he stared at her as though she had lost her mind, but it only took an absent smile and a point over his shoulder for him to realize they weren’t alone.

His partner was the first to feel the unforgiving force behind a punch from Răzvan, his head snapping to the side as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped to the ground unconscious.

The other barely had a chance to fumble for his gun before he was on the floor too.

Winter glanced down at the man at her feet before stepping over him. “Gotta mean swing there, big guy.”

He shook his head, and she imagined if he wasn’t wearing that mask, he’d be smiling.

But the moment was cut short when a screeching alarm sounded, and the lights in the hall flashed red.

Wrapping his hand around hers, he took off, forcing her to practically run to keep up with his quick strides.

—Take a breath,—he’d signed when it was a matter of just getting into the building, but she could hardly manage one as they raced out of the building and down the block to where his bike was parked.

The sound of screeching tires could be heard down the road—Ollie and the others taking off, no doubt.

Sirens came soon after, but they headed in the opposite direction, and with her arms wrapped around Răzvan’s waist, Winter didn’t look back.

* * *

Adrenaline still thrummed inside her an hour later once they were back at the loft and the fear of getting caught dissipated.

The sky had darkened with the promise of rain earlier in the day, but she hadn’t seen any evidence of it actually raining until they were on their way back to the loft and the skies decided to open up.

It was still coming down pretty hard as they sped through rain-soaked streets, but she hadn’t minded as long as they made it away.

Winter couldn’t count the number of times she’d glanced back, expecting to see a squad car or flashing lights only to find the street empty.

But it was over now.

And they’d done what she hadn’t been sure could be accomplished.

She could still hear Ollie’s excited voice in her head when she’d taken his call earlier to let her know they’d made it back without any problem.

He wanted to talk more, but she didn’t have the patience to hash it out with him, promising to call the following day so they could work out the details with Piston.

Once that was done, there was nothing left to focus on but Răzvan and the empty loft.

Contrary to what she’d originally thought, his brothers, with the exception of Fang, weren’t around nearly as much as she thought they would be.

She was curious, though, wondering where they disappeared to for so long that she’d yet to actually see them in person in all the time she’d been spending with Răzvan.

Then again, she kind of liked that it was just the pair of them without any distractions, and now that the job was over, there was nothing left to take her attention away from him.

And after their kiss earlier, he had her undivided attention.

She couldn’t think of anyone who had ever kissed her like that. Not Mike Specter who’d liked to use way too much tongue during her freshman year in high school or even Harvey Ross who thought trying to suck her lip off was sexy.

No one compared to Răzvan.

Cleanliness was obviously next to godliness for him going by the state of his room.

No clothes were all over the floor or overflowing in a basket in the corner. If anything, his bedroom was almost too clean, and she doubted he’d gone through this much trouble just because she was here.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, she unlaced her boots and tugged them off, ready to start on her wet clothes next, but paused when she heard the clatter of something metal.

Răzvan had disappeared some time ago, but now she found him standing in front of the bathroom sink, his gaze on his hand.

She hadn’t thought he’d been hurt when he punched through the glass protecting the server, but it had been dark in there, and he hadn’t given any indication.

“How bad is it?” she asked, coming up beside him to look for herself before he had a chance to answer.

His glove had obviously taken the worst of the damage, thankfully, but despite the layer of protection, the glass had still managed to shred through the material and scrape across his knuckles, leaving gashes in some places.

“Nothing life-threatening, I don’t think,” she said softly, “I can patch you up. First-aid kit?”

He nodded once, but instead of telling her where she could find it, he hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her onto the sink counter, making her heart trip over itself.

She’d always noticed the difference in their size, but Răzvan reminded her when he did things like that, or how he’d had to bend at the waist when he kissed her.

Once he grabbed the kit and set it beside her on the sink, he stood between her legs. As if she could think about tending to his wound when he was just there, so much of him.

But bandaging his hand was far more important than where her thoughts were going.

She checked his hand first to make sure no glass remained before picking up the bottle of peroxide and soaking two cotton pads with it.

Gently, she cleaned the blood away, glancing up every so often to see if this was hurting him in any way, but he gave no reaction to what she was doing at all.

Ointment came next and finally gauze. She fully expected him to move away, to let her drop down from the counter, but he stayed right where he was, his hand still in hers.

This time, when she met his gaze, she didn’t look away.

The moment stretched into seconds—seconds that ticked away with aching slowness until she was painfully aware just how close they were and how desperately she wished they were closer.

He had a way of looking unaffected, as if nothing could get to him, but he didn’t look that way now.

Desire was clear in his blue eyes, and even her own reflected in their depths. He didn’t try to hide it—he wanted her, and he wanted her to know it.

She could smell the distinct scent of him, and the sweat did nothing to dampen his appeal.

This wasn’t like London when she’d been in a drunken hurry to get Syn undressed, everything fast and rushed as he did the same to her.

It was methodical.

She was aware of every moment and every second that passed before the hand he had resting on the sink counter next to her hip slid around her waist then flattened at the curve of her spine, pulling her to him.

And at this height, the feel of his arousal couldn’t be ignored.

His fingers danced beneath the edge of her shirt, goosebumps erupting in their wake, but as he reached the front of her leggings, he paused, blue eyes coming up to meet hers.

Oh, she wanted to look away—it was too much, meeting his gaze while knowing what he was about to do next.

She expected him to strip her quickly—she wanted him to—but instead, he just shoved his hand right between her legs, bypassing the layers of fabric until his fingers were right there between her thighs and her own were curling back along the counter, gripping it so hard her knuckles blanched.

Nothing could have prepared her for the too tight feel of his hand pressed against her, talented fingers dancing over wet flesh.

Maybe he just needed to know for himself how wet she was for him. How desperate.

And when the very corners of his mouth curled up, she couldn’t hold his gaze then, her eyes squeezing shut as she focused on the way he seemed so intent on learning her pussy.

It was far too easy for him to slip a finger inside her, driving in as deep as he could with the restrictive leggings she wore.

But it wasn’t enough.

For either of them.

His name balanced on the tip of her tongue, but before she could even say it, he was pulling his hand free and yanking her off the counter, using both hands to pull her leggings and panties down her legs then off completely.

It was better like this, but it was so much worse.

Sure, she could spread her legs wider now and give him better access, but now he was staring at her pussy as if he was transfixed—as if he were staring where he would kill to be.

Now he hadn’t just felt how wet she was. He could see it.

They both watched as his fingers ghosted up her thigh, her entire body humming, throbbing for his touch.

At first, he was gentle, seeking out her clit before rubbing his thumb there in tight, controlled circles.

Her head tipped back, the sensations overwhelming, but worse, he knew exactly the kind of effect he had on her.

That reverent touch grew bolder, rougher, and then he was back standing at his full height, seconds before his mouth was on hers again.

She couldn’t even concentrate on what his lips were doing, not when she was racing toward an orgasm he inspired.

Her nails dug into his veiny forearm, but that didn’t deter him at all. If anything, his touch became more deliberate, more aggressive, as if he knew if he touched her just right, she would come on the spot.

“Please.” The plea left her mouth before she could stop herself, but she was too far gone to care what she must have sounded like.

Every twist and pinch and slide of his fingers against her slit sent bolts of pleasure shooting through her.

Just a little—

“Răz, where the fuck are—”

She didn’t think she had ever seen Răzvan move as fast as he did, slamming the bathroom door shut with a kick of his foot.

“Well, damn, you surly bastard. It was just a question.”

Winter blew out a breath, her hand over her chest to calm the frantic beating. She bit back her laughter at the look on Răzvan’s face, but he didn’t look amused at all.

Instead, he looked like he wanted to kill whoever was on the other side of the door.

—Give me a minute to get rid of him.—

With a rough shake of his head, he slipped out of the bathroom without revealing her presence inside.

“Whose shit—why are you being so pushy? Fine, I’m leaving!”

She waited until she heard the door open and shut before she peeked out, but Răzvan had left too.

* * *

“No offense, Răz, but I hope that’s not for me,” Thanatos said with a pointed nod at Răzvan’s pants. “I’m into a lot of shit, but you might be a little much for me.”

—Leave.—

“Doesn’t sound like you’re giving me much of a choice.”

—Then get the fuck out and if Nicu is here too, take his ass with you.—

“At least one of us is getting laid. Nicu is being a picky little shit.”

Răzvan stabbed his finger against the button of the elevator rapidly, wishing the fucking thing would hurry up.

“Am I going to meet her?”

—Not tonight.—

“Ashamed of me?”

—Yes. Now, stay gone.—

“Luckily for you, Nicu isn’t here.” Thanatos stepped into the lift and laughed. “Have fun. Use protection—STDs are a real thing.”

Idiot.

Once he had the alarms reset, he headed back for his bedroom.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight Winter made in his bed, completely naked.

Her hair was free of the braids, silver locks curling down her back—hair he wanted to sink his fingers into.

Winter wasn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, but when she looked over her shoulder at him, she couldn’t hide the blush staining her cheeks.

Her gaze ducked to the front of his pants, her lips parting as he drew closer.

“Saved the best for you.”

She was fucking perfect.

A smile still firmly in place, she rolled over, proudly displaying the tattoos he’d never seen—the same roses that decorated her arm wound around her hips, dipping down onto her thighs.

There was no hesitation as she spread her legs for him, just as eager for this as he was.

And fucking hell, the sight of her—wet and eager, open and inviting.

Now he had a better view as he eased his fingers back inside her, his gaze briefly darting up to her face to catch her reaction.

The arch of her back.

The sigh leaving her lips.

He added a second, testing her, feeling her, but fuck, if she was this tight around his fingers… his cock jerked at the thought.

But no matter how badly he wanted to be inside her, he wanted—no, he needed to make her come first.

She’d been close before Thanatos interrupted, and he badly wanted to see that expression on her face again.

He eased his fingers in, watching her face with every inch. Her hips came up, offering herself to him, silently begging for more.

But only when he felt her legs trembling did he add a third, his other hand cupping her breast, his thumb rubbing over the bar piercing her nipple.

A low moan that he felt down in his balls fell from her lips before she was whispering words he barely caught.

Please.

Please.

Please.

He was almost sure at that moment he could come just watching her.

Shit, he needed her to come now.

Răzvan leaned down and kissed her, taking her mouth before thrusting his fingers inside her the way he would with his cock later.

Her reaction was immediate, a cry spilling free, her pussy going tight around him.

But he didn’t stop.

Not when she was bucking up to meet him, and definitely not when she whispered his name against his lips before breaking apart.

What little patience he had left snapped.

Easing his fingers free of her, he moved back, only to grab her hips tight and drag her closer, watching as she reached for the waist of his pants and slowly undid the button and yanked down the zipper.

He’d wanted to go slow, savor the moment, but that shit went right over his head once his cock was in her dainty hands and he forgot his own name.

Blindly, he felt around in his pocket for a condom, ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on, her eyes on him the entire time.

Slowly, carefully, he lined himself up with her pussy, sliding over her wet folds before dipping down to find that notch at her opening and pushed.

It took every ounce of control he possessed not to just thrust the rest of the way inside her, not when she felt impossibly tight wrapped around the head of his cock.

A breathless laugh left her as her nails dug into his forearms. “God, you’re big.”

If he were capable of rational thought, he might have responded with something clever, but he was concentrating too much on making this good for her.

Maybe she needed a little more—just enough to pierce the tension that had taken her over.

He pressed his fingers against her mouth, watching with rapt satisfaction as she sucked them in, her eyes on him the entire time.

Was there anything better than that?

She watched him until he took his wet fingers and stroked her clit.

That was what she needed before her thighs tightened where they were pressed against his sides, flexing involuntarily, letting him gain another inch.

“God, yes. Please.”

What a gorgeous fucking sight she made—lips parted, cheeks flushed, pierced nipples begging to be toyed with, but that was nothing compared to her pussy swallowing his cock.

And each time he drew back, just to shove back in moments later, he could see the glistening proof of how badly she needed him to fuck her.

But when she clenched around him, he had to squeeze his eyes shut and take a breath.

He shouldn’t have been close.

Not this soon.

Not when only half his cock was buried inside her.

The plan had always been to go easy, but when he pulled out and slid back in again, his brain stopped working.

He just needed to fuck her.

Bury himself in her and forget everything else.

And when she started calling his name, he dropped down to his elbows, one hand curling around her throat to feel the vibrations of her cries.

He whispered words she couldn’t hear against the side of her throat—about how good she felt squeezing his cock.

How desperately he wanted her to come again because he wouldn’t. Fucking. Last.

Fuck, he could already feel it, the way she would clench and squeeze and jerk.

And with one more brutal thrust, she went blissfully fucking tight around him, enough to make him see stars, before she was screaming, begging, pleading.

He was helpless to last, and as he finally said fuck it and let go, he knew before the last pulse shot down his spine that he was never letting her go.

* * *

An almost uncomfortable warmth woke Winter the next morning.

It only took half a second to remember she wasn’t in her own bed, but in Răzvan’s, her back tucked against his chest while he was still fast asleep. He had one arm hooked around her waist, and even if she made the slightest movement, he adjusted with her.

This was … different.

Not a bad different, but different all the same.

First, she had never slept next to a man before, and definitely not tangled up with him so close it was hard to tell where he stopped and she began.

But the longer she lay there, the more she realized she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Was it stupid to feel this way about someone she’d only known for months? Probably.

His arm banded around her waist. Even in his sleep, he held tight as if he never wanted to let her go.

Maybe it was the job they’d just finished the day before.

Maybe it was because of what happened after.

But she didn’t care why he held her like a lifeline—she never wanted him to stop.

God, where did that thought come from?

Hadn’t it only been some weeks ago that she was in London chasing another man—a man she had been so sure she loved with every last bit of her heart?

Răzvan wasn’t making her question her love for Syn. She loved him with every breath in her body, but she did wonder about the kind of love.

Because if she loved him the way a woman loved a man, would she be here now? Naked, in bed with someone else?

This hadn’t been where she’d meant to end up with Răzvan, not even a little bit, but even still, it felt right.

It wasn’t forced.

It hadn’t been because they’d had one too many drinks.

Inevitable, she thought as she traced the veins on the back of his hand.

This moment felt inevitable.

As she reached his wrist, Răzvan’s hand twitched a moment before the rest of him stirred.

He was awake now—she could tell from the way his thumb lightly stroked over her stomach before he loosened the hold he had on her and she could finally turn to properly face him.

The early morning sunlight did wondrous things for him as it spilled across the bed from the high windows.

His blue eyes were soft and sleepy, watching her watch him.

Considering everything they had done the night before, it was ridiculous that butterflies were fluttering to life in her stomach now.

He’d done things to her that made a flush of heat race down her spine and color rise her cheeks.

She definitely shouldn’t have been feeling shy, yet she was, and there wasn’t a shy bone in her body.

But she was lying beside him as naked as the day she was born.

Maybe a small part of her had wondered what sex would be like with him. Whether it would be awkward at all, but awkward was the last thing she felt last night.

Never trust the quiet ones.

Răzvan smiled as if he knew what she was thinking and thought her cute for it.

With a kiss on her forehead, he slid from the bed and walked naked across the floor into the bathroom, pushing the door closed behind him.

She’d never understood why some women were crazy about men’s butts—she’d never thought anything of them—but Răzvan made her reconsider.

Her phone chimed as the faucet turned on in the bathroom.

Before she could wrap her hand around the device where it was plugged into the wall on the floor, another message came in.

The first was from Tessa, wanting to meet later to go over what they had before presenting it to Piston.

And the second … the second made her grip her phone a little tighter.

Syn: Give me a ring.

They hadn’t spoken much since London, not that she had put much effort into trying. At first, it had been purely out of embarrassment from waking up next to Syn who’d looked horrified at the sight of her, but then Răzvan had stolen her attention.

Weeks ago, she would have texted him back immediately—truthfully, she would have found any excuse to talk to him—but rather than answer, she clicked the button on the side of her phone to turn off the screen.

Letting it drop on the bed before rolling over, she jolted as she caught sight of Răzvan standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, now in a pair of loose shorts.

“The silent thing? Kind of hot when you have your mask on, not so much now.”

A corner of his mouth tugged up, but he remained where he stood. —Everything good?—

He nodded at her phone, but she didn’t look away from him. “Nothing important.”

His expression said he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t call her on it. —Hungry?—

Tangled strands of her hair fell over her shoulders as she sat up, holding the sheets to her chest. “Is that an offer, big guy?”

He started toward her. —Come on.—

“I need clothes,” she reminded him as his fingers wrapped around her ankle. “Or did you forget your brothers are here? I’m into a lot of things, but being put on display isn’t one of them.”

His expression changed, darkening around the edges a bit. —I don’t plan on sharing you.—

Well, when he put it like that. “Then, by all means, feed me.”

Grabbing his shirt, she pulled it on, yelping as he tugged her down the bed and lifted her over his shoulder, not faltering a step as he carried her from the room and down the hall.

Even as she reached back to pull her shirt down to cover her ass, there was no point with his arm banded across her thighs.

“I probably shouldn’t enjoy you manhandling me,” Winter muttered, swatting his butt as he walked, “but I can’t complain.”

Răzvan shook with laughter, but she didn’t get to see the smile on his face until he dropped her onto one of the four barstools and rounded the island.

From the refrigerator, he pulled a pack of bacon, eggs, and several other things that made her brows inch up.

When he’d suggested breakfast, she’d thought something small—oatmeal, maybe, since that was usually what she went for—but he was apparently going all-out, though going all-out for her could have been his usual.

Bacon, eggs, even bagels. She was surprised a group of bachelors actually had food in their place, and the counters weren’t littered with an assortment of old fast food containers.

She watched him work in silence, captivated by his quiet intensity.

Would she ever get used to that? The way he could fill up a room without ever speaking a word.

Others might have been lost or forgotten in the shadows and silence, but nothing about Răzvan could be overlooked.

Once he set the plate in front of her, she could only stare at it all for a bit.

Răzvan was studying her, trying to read her expression. —Too much?—

“Oh, no. You can bet your ass I’m eating all this. It’s just … my father could burn water if you let him.” She laughed even as she thought of those days when she’d been a little afraid to eat his food. “He was awful. One time, he even gave me and my mom food poisoning.”

He’d been terrified while they were practically bedridden for nearly two days after, but he had promised never to cook again after that.

Funny how a memory of nausea and puking made her smile.

“So,” Winter said with a shake of her head to clear her thoughts. “Who taught you how to cook? Your mom?”

At the mention of his mother, he grimaced, his entire expression changing. They all had their issues—only a certain type could do what they did—but there was a story behind this and knowing what she did about Syn, she only hoped Răzvan’s story wasn’t as bad.

—I learned out of necessity.—

She tore off a piece of bacon and chewed thoughtfully, wondering how best to broach this topic. She knew all too well how parents, or family in general, could be a hard limit, and the little she remembered him telling her that night when she told him how she’d ended up with the Den didn’t speak highly of the woman.

—My mother died when I was very young, and my father’s wife didn’t know her way around a kitchen.—

The way he phrased that, the two women weren’t one and the same, and while there seemed to be affection for his mother, there was only disdain for his stepmother.

“But your father was a baker, wasn’t he?”

—He was.—

“Did he teach you that?”

—For a time. I spent two years in his bakery before …—

He hesitated, and she had a feeling whatever memory he was lost in wasn’t a pleasant one.

Which, if she had to guess, ended with thoughts of the orphanage. But if he’d had his parents, or his father rather, why had he ended up there anyway?

“Does that mean you can make a mean cake?” she asked, hoping to lighten his mood.

He looked appreciative for the change. —I do okay.—

Her phone buzzed again, drawing her attention to it. Seeing Syn’s name again made her fingers twitch.

“Looks like I’m overdue for a meeting.” She couldn’t meet his gaze as she slipped off the barstool. “I should get going.”

—D’you want a ride?—

“I’ll take a cab.” His frown told her he didn’t like that much. “Don’t worry, big guy. Pretty sure I can manage that much.”

Plus, she needed to be alone.

She would need her wits to call Syn.