alone. Now, let’s go, babe.”
Damn him. He made sense. And he was right. She’d never do this by herself. She just hated that he tried to force her to do it without talking to her about it first. She felt a little better now that he explained his motives, but it still pissed her off to no end. Writer or not, they were going to have to talk about his communication skills.
Maybe she should do this with him. If she couldn’t, then she couldn’t, but she’d regret it later if she didn’t at least try.
Becca picked up her purse and keys. Step one down. The next thing would be to actually cross the threshold of her doorway and take Dimitri’s hand. Her breathing sped up, but she forced one foot in front of the other.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just reach out and take my hand.”
She stopped inches shy of the doorway. One step and she’d cross it. Dimitri smiled at her, that damn dimple on full display.
How could he know it would be okay? People were out there. People who might crowd her, ask her questions. She shook her head as the panic started to rise.
This was too much.
“Rebecca. Look. At. Me.”
The bite of the command brought her head up. He looked more determined than she’d ever seen him. He meant to make her do this.
“I can’t, Dimitri.”
“Yes. You can.” His tone left no place for arguments. “Now, give me your hand.”
Dimitri knew she had to do this on her own. If he yanked her out the door, it would mean nothing. She needed her own small victory. He’d already been shipped to his uncle’s house in Virginia when his father came back from a particularly bad tour. He was in the military, and this time, whatever he’d seen had been too much. He’d been diagnosed with PTSD and prone to panic attacks. His mother told him she’d helped him get through it with small victories. And that was what he was going to try to do for Becca.
He wished he’d been home so he could help Becca now. He made a mental note to call his mother and talk to her about panic attacks. Right now, he needed Becca to come to him. Sooner rather than later. This neighborhood, this building, it all made him uneasy.
She closed her eyes, and he held his breath. It was a now or never moment if there ever was one. The kind of moment he wrote about in books. Her chest was heaving, and her face pinked up. He followed the blush all the way down her neck to where it disappeared under her sweater. He forcefully reminded himself once more there would be no fucking his best friend. Wasn’t going to happen.
When her hand reached out blindly, he grinned. His girl always trusted him, even when she was terrified. He twined his fingers with hers and tugged her gently toward him. She stumbled and fell into him. Her scent, warm cinnamon, hit his nose, and he inhaled deeply. Shit. This was bad. He was getting a serious hard-on here. He needed to get this show on the road.
“Good girl.” He stroked her hair and shifted so he could take the keys out of her hand to lock the door. “Open your eyes, babe.”
When she did as he asked, a small gasp escaped her. “I’m outside.”
“You sure are, sweetheart. Now, let’s get out of this shithole and find some food.” If he still had a car outside.
“It’s not a shithole.”
“Becca, there are at least half a dozen dealers on the street outside. Your building reeks of pot. Gangsters are hanging on the corner. This is a shithole.”
“But it’s my shithole.” She wrapped an arm around him when they reached the stairs. He wasn’t sure if it was for her or for him. Either way, he liked it. Too much.
The stairs were his nemesis. He eyeballed them with a mix of anger and disgust. When her low chuckle reached him, he aimed a glare her way. “This isn’t funny. How do you live in filth?”
“Because my apartment is clean, and I don’t come out here.” He noticed she took her time and didn’t try to rush him down the stairs. His legs started to burn after half a flight. By the time they hit the bottom, he was cussing in a mixture of Russian and English.
His rental car was still there when they emerged from the cesspit, but it also had several guys with gang