All the Secrets We Keep (Quarry Book 2) Page 20

  Galina waved a hand. “Your brother is grilling me. Yes, yes, Kolya, I quit my nursing job to work in a diner. What’s the problem?”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Ilya pushed past Niko to get at the fridge, where he bent to pull out three beers. He handed one out to each of them and lifted his. “Cheers. I have news.”

  Niko cracked the top on his bottle and drank, watching his brother. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “I bought Zimmerman’s.”

  “The diner?” Galina had set her bottle on the counter and looked at Ilya now, her face a mask of surprise. “What on earth? You don’t know anything about running a diner, Ilya.” Galina shot Niko a glance. “Tell him.”

  Niko clinked his bottle to his brother’s and grinned. “I’m not going to tell him anything. If he wants to buy a diner, let him. Hey, maybe you can work there.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Galina said with a frown.

  “I thought you liked working for the diner,” Ilya put in. “But, relax, I’m not going to ask you to work for me.”

  “Thank God,” their mother said.

  Ilya’s look turned serious. “I might ask you to help us figure some things out, though. If you worked at a diner, then you’d have a better idea of how it all works than I do. Or Theresa.”

  “Theresa?” Galina asked, tone sharp. “What does she have to do with it?”

  “She’s going in on it with me. Kind of a silent partner,” Ilya said. “Sort of. Not silent. Just not half and half. But she’s going to get us set up to serve good old-fashioned Babulya recipes.”

  Galina took a step back, clearly shocked, a hand over her heart. It was a reaction that seemed both feigned and forced. “What? My mother’s recipes? Ilya, what are you talking about?”

  “Good diners serve burgers, fries, open-faced turkey sandwiches. That sort of thing. Great diners,” Ilya said with a grin so infectious Niko couldn’t stop himself from grinning, too, “serve something special. Greek salads, gyros . . . well, my diner’s going to serve the kind of food Babulya cooked for us.”

  “Nobody in this hick shitstain of a town is going to eat that,” Galina said flatly. “You’ll be out of business and broke within six months.

  Ilya’s grin faltered, then faded. “Wow, thanks for the vote of support.”

  “I’d eat there,” Niko said. “Are you going to have matzoh-ball soup?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m in,” Niko said. “Sold. Especially if it’s from Babulya’s recipe.”

  “How do you have my mother’s recipes? You boys never bothered to learn to make anything more complicated than cold cereal or disgusting sandwiches.”

  Ilya shrugged. “Theresa says Babulya taught her how to make a number of things. I remember her in the kitchen a lot, cooking.”

  “I don’t remember that at all,” Galina said.

  “Maybe that’s because you weren’t around,” Ilya replied, but lightly, in the way he and Niko had both adopted over the years to keep from starting drama with her. “Almost every day after school, they’d be cooking something. Just because you weren’t there doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

  “Because I wasn’t here?” Galina’s shriek rose up and up, her voice cracking. “You say that like I was out gallivanting around, whoring myself! I was working! To support the two of you! You think sports equipment was cheap? You think those new jeans and sneakers you always had to have just grew on trees? No! I had to work to pay for those things to support the two of you—and that old woman! You think I liked being gone so much? You think it was easy for me?”

  The microwave beeped.

  Nobody moved.

  She turned to Niko. “Will there be a wedding, do you think?”

  Niko frowned. “I have no idea. We haven’t talked about it.”

  “I could get a mother-of-the-bride dress. I didn’t have one the first time around. Same daughter-in-law, but this time with a dress. Unless you decide to run off and elope the way they did the first time.” Galina gave him a small but vicious smile.

  “How about,” Ilya said conversationally, “you keep your damned mouth shut about anything that ever had to do with me and Alicia.”

  Galina threw the beer bottle into the sink where it shattered and fizzed. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Niko and Ilya to stand in silence.

  “Well, that went well,” Niko said finally when Ilya didn’t seem like he was going to say anything.

  “She’s crazy.”

  “You pushed her buttons.”

  Ilya rolled his eyes and took a drink from his beer. “Are you kidding me? She was acting like we were in a freaking elevator and she needed to stop on every single floor. Pushing buttons? Please, man. She’s the queen of that. And you weren’t going to say anything to her about it, because you never do.”

  “I don’t need you to defend me,” Niko said.

  Ilya shrugged. “You haven’t been here, Niko. You haven’t had to deal with her, remember?”

  “You haven’t, either,” Niko pointed out. “She’s been gone, too.”

  “And now she’s back.”

  The brothers looked at each other, both of them solemn.

  “She was reading a book in the garden,” Niko said.

  Ilya made a face. “What kind of book?”

  “I couldn’t see, and she put it away when I came out. But something’s going on with her, for sure,” Niko said, and added after a few seconds, “We haven’t talked about getting married. I want you to know that.”

  Ilya shrugged. “You’re going to do what you want to do. So is Galina.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I just bought a diner,” Ilya answered with a grin.

  “With Theresa Malone.” Niko looked at his brother’s expression, noticing the shift in his gaze. “What’s up with that, anyway?”

  Ilya muttered under his breath. “Nothing. She’s pretty.”

  “Dude.” Niko shook his head.

  Ilya looked defensive, embarrassed, but not quite ashamed. “Don’t worry. I’m not a total idiot.”

  “You into her like that?” Niko took a drink, relishing the crisp flavors of the craft beer but really using the drink as an excuse not to say more than he just had. When his brother didn’t answer, Niko held out the bottle and frowned. “Dude!”

  “No. That would be stupid, wouldn’t it?”

  Niko shook his head. “It wouldn’t be smart, that’s for sure.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not like I’m going to be a dumbass and get myself into some weird situation with someone who’s kind of related to us, sort of, like, oh, say . . . a sisterish sort of thing,” Ilya said sarcastically. “That sure would be stupid.”

  Niko put down his bottle on the counter. Holding one hand out in front of him, middle finger pointing downward, he said as he twisted his wrist to reverse the gesture, “Oh, hey, is this too quiet for you? Do you need me to turn it up?”

  “It’s just a business thing,” Ilya said when they’d stopped laughing. He looked serious. “She thinks I’ll be good at it. It’s been a long time since anyone thought I could be good at anything.”

  Niko lifted his drink. “All right, then. Mazel tov on your new adventure.”

  They clinked their bottles together.

  “Hey,” Niko said after a pause, “you want to help me tear down that garden shed?”

  Ilya grinned. “You’re on. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  She owned a diner.

  Theresa grinned to herself as she pulled into the parking lot, then walked around the back and up to the kitchen doors, the ones not for public use. She could use them because she owned the diner. Owned. The diner. Well, she didn’t actually own the diner. She’d simply agreed to help run this diner, with the potential to eventually own part of it, so long as she kept up her part of the payments they’d agreed on.

  She and Ilya Stern: partners.

  This thought sobered her a littl
e, her smile fading. It had all happened so fast her head was still spinning a little. This was crazy. Beyond insane. Yet she’d couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so excited to be part of something. Maybe she never had.

  The door creaked open before she could even knock, revealing Ilya. His grin was as broad as her own. “Hey.”

  He stepped aside to let her in, then danced beside her as she stepped all the way into the kitchen. Such a kid, she thought, but fondly, letting his blatant enthusiasm coax some from her. She watched him shimmy up and down between the gigantic industrial stove and the stainless-steel prep area. When he flipped her another one of those infectious grins, she gave in to laughter.

  “We are going to kick ass with this,” she said.

  Ilya snorted laughter. “Sure, because owning a restaurant is notoriously one of the easiest and most profitable businesses to take on, right? Money’s going to rain down from the heavens.”

  “Don’t be a cynic. This is a diner with a long history in this town, and you’re going to make it better than it ever was.”

  Ilya stopped his shuffling to spin slowly in a circle. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Not me. We. You’re the one who got us into it. We’re in this together, or not at all. Don’t tell me you’re backing out.”

  “If I didn’t think we could, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.” She leaned against the prep counter, arms crossed. “I did all the numbers back and forth, sideways and upside down. Yes, I think we can make it work.”

  “There’s my girl,” Ilya said.

  He’d tossed off the endearment like it meant nothing. He might as well have ruffled her hair and called her “champ,” Theresa told herself, even as something tingled and buzzed inside her at the way he’d claimed her so casually.

  “The kitchen’s in great shape. Stove, fridge, freezer—all good. We’ll need new dishes, flatware, glassware, pots, and pans. That sort of thing.” She touched the pocket of her jacket, where she’d been keeping a list of things she’d jotted down as they came to her. “But, really, most of what we need to do here is going to be more cosmetic than anything else. The key’s going to be the menu—”

  “Which is going to kick ass.”

  “And hiring a competent staff.” She waited to see if he was going to comment on that, and when he didn’t, she added, “It’s going to mean a lot of long hours, working very hard.”

  Ilya turned to twist the knob on the stove, waiting until the blue gas flame flared to life. He shot her another grin. “We should cook something.”

  “We don’t have anything to cook.” Theresa went around the counter to the rows of cabinets on the wall where the plates and glasses were stored. She took one out, eyeing the thick white porcelain. “I wonder how many people have eaten meals off these plates?”

  “Millions,” Ilya said at once. “Bazillions.”

  “Weirdo.” Laughing, she put the plate back and turned. Ilya was staring at her. Not smiling. Her own smile faded.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He put both his hands on the prep counter, leaning. “This is real. It’s happening.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s really happening.”

  “I don’t want to mess it up. That’s all.” Ilya shook his head, shoulders hunching.

  Theresa went around the counter to stand in front of him. “I don’t want you to mess it up, either.”

  “Thanks,” he said dryly. “You’re always so good to me. So positive. Such a cheerleader.”

  She punched him lightly on the arm. “Hey, someone has to keep that insane ego in check. If not me, who?”

  “Good question.” He slid a hand down her arm to let his fingers circle her wrist, tugging her a step closer.

  She let him.

  “I really need someone who’s good at keeping me in hand,” Ilya said in a low voice. His gaze met hers and lingered. His smile, small and tilted, made her think of secrets. “Someone who can keep me in line.”

  She must’ve been standing closer to him than she’d thought, because she could feel his heat. It sent an echoing rush of warmth through her, up her throat to paint her cheeks. When he tugged her wrist again, bringing her right up next to him, her lips were already parting in anticipation of the kiss that came a moment after.

  She should never have told herself she could deny this, but there wasn’t time to think about it now. As Ilya’s kiss deepened, his free hand slid up her back, between her shoulder blades at first, and then higher to cup the back of her neck. His fingers twitched in the thickness of her hair, loose over her shoulders and down her back.

  He kissed her long and hard, stealing her breath. His tongue swept hers, probing, and she opened more to give him every access to her. At the press of his hardness against her belly, Theresa gave a small, helpless groan.

  “I love the way you taste,” Ilya whispered into the kiss. “So damned sweet. I want to touch you. Let me touch you.”

  She tipped her head back to give him her throat. “You’re touching me.”

  “I want to touch you here.” He let go of her wrist to slide between her thighs, pressing her through the thin material of her dress and the soft cotton panties she wore beneath. “Say yes, Theresa.”

  She could not say yes. First of all because the way his knuckles rubbed against her had taken most of her voice, but also because to give him permission was going to send them both tumbling into a very dark rabbit hole she wasn’t sure they’d ever be able to climb out of. Ilya buried his face in the curve of her neck. The press of his teeth made her squirm.

  “I want to touch you,” he murmured. The hand between her legs moved. Stroking. Pressing.

  She shivered with the pleasure of it and said Ilya’s name instead, her back arching. Her stance widening. One hand went to his shoulder, her fingers digging deep. She waited, breathless, for him to slide his fingers under her dress. Inside her panties. She waited for him to touch her, even though she had not said yes.

  “Tell me yes,” Ilya said. “Please. I need to touch you.”

  Say yes to danger. That was what she’d be agreeing to. No pleasure was worth that, she thought. They’d signed away their lives to buy this diner, he with the money up front, she with the commitment to follow through over time. She was going to let him take her right here in the kitchen, and when it ended between them, as it certainly would, she would end up like Alicia had, working alongside him for years and watching him drift from woman to woman, never able to escape him because they owned a business together.

  “Yes,” Theresa whispered. “Yes, touch me.”

  His groan tightened her nipples and sent another slow roll of tingling heat through her. He inched up the fabric of her dress and slipped a hand along her belly, bared above the panties. His fingertips skated along the lacy waistband before dipping inside to find more heat there. He found her sweet spot effortlessly, circling, sending waves of desire flooding her.

  When Ilya dropped to his knees in front of her, Theresa’s first instinct was to slide her fingers into his hair—but to hold him back or pull him closer against her, she wasn’t sure. The feeling of his tongue on her made it almost impossible to think straight. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs, sliding up to cup her ass, pulling her close against his mouth so he could feast on her.

  “Wait, wait,” she cried breathlessly, although she didn’t actually have any idea what she wanted him to wait for.

  She looked down at him. He looked up. His eyes gleamed. She shivered again with pleasure when he swept his tongue over his lips and gave her that specifically knowing grin she had not yet been able to resist. In seconds, Ilya was on his feet, turning her to face the prep counter. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of his zipper coming down.

  “Wait,” she said again, but he was already pulling something out of his pocket to hold up to her.

  Theresa groaned at the sight of the small square. She had condoms in her bag, always.
She’d decided she’d never again go through the embarrassment of visiting the clinic. He must have planned this, she thought, and wondered if she ought to be offended or aroused by his consideration. Her fingers skidded on the prep counter’s metal top as he pushed her shoulder gently to bend her over. Her eyes closed as her muscles tensed, waiting for him to fill her.

  She should protest.

  She didn’t want to.

  “Tell me you want this,” Ilya said in a low voice. He pushed her skirt up to her hips and tugged her panties down.

  She felt the brush of him, his heat against her bare skin. His foot knocked against the inside of hers, urging her to open for him, and she did. “I want this.”

  “Tell me you need this.”

  But she would not. It didn’t matter. He groaned when he entered her, and so did she. Eyes still closed, Theresa bent to let her cheek press to the cool metal of the prep counter. Ilya moved inside her, slowly at first. Then faster. It wouldn’t be enough, she thought, and it wouldn’t matter, because casual sex was one of those things she most often simply did so she could think about it later, turning it over and over in her mind and getting off more on the memories than the event itself.

  His hand slipped around to touch her, his fingers stroking in time to his thrusts. She tensed, pleasure sparking and crackling through her. What had been an uncertain thing was becoming rapidly more likely. Theresa breathed, letting the desire build. Riding it. Letting it overtake her.

  There is always a moment when orgasm becomes an inevitability. Unstoppable. She’d raced lovers in the past to get there, desperate to get off before they finished. There was nothing of that sense of desperation now, nothing but slow and easy, rising ecstasy. She was on the edge before she knew it and lingered there, gasping with it, waiting to explode.

  Ilya’s mutter urged her closer. “Yeah . . . like that . . .”

  Theresa let herself give in. The rush of climax overwhelmed her so that she shook with it, moaning. She opened her eyes. She hadn’t seen their reflection before this, the two of them clearly outlined in the glass of the cabinet across from them. Shadow figures, transparent, but nonetheless clear. He was looking at her when he came, his lips pressed together in grim concentration. He closed his eyes in the last few seconds, slowing, and then at last burying himself all the way inside her with a long, low groan.