Viktor was watching her with those dark eyes, and his expression had shifted—the earnest uncertainty completely gone now, replaced with something that had always been underneath it, something that watched her the way a hand observed a door it had already decided to open.
He chuckled again, quiet, and it rolled through the kitchen.
"Not here," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"I want to check them properly." He said 'them' with no further specification, and she felt her face somehow get hotter.
He pushed off the counter he'd been leaning against and crossed to her in three unhurried steps.
His hand found her wrist—not rough, not tentative, just 'certain,' wrapping around her wrist with the grip of someone who had decided where she was going before she had—and he turned her toward the doorway.
"My bedroom," Viktor said.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. "That is—you don't need to—"
