Roman sat in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming against the wheel, his balaclava hiding everything except those sharp eyes watching me. The jeep idled, the low hum filling the quiet between us.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you teased. “Starting to think you like having me around.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “Maybe I do.” You raised a brow. “Maybe?”

Instead of answering, he reached over, fingers grazing my chin for just a second before shifting gears. “Buckle up,” he murmured. “We’re not