my senses and the distraction of the medical staff bustling around me, his effect on me is devastatingly, terrifyingly potent. I’ve never known a man who could make my body react by merely walking into a room. And it’s not just his looks; it’s everything about him, from the raw animal intensity in his striking amber-green gaze to the aura of power he wears as comfortably as one of his custom-made suits.
Right now, he’s dressed more casually in a pair of dark jeans and a light-blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He must’ve changed and showered while I was under, I realize; not only are his clothes different from what he’d worn in the car, but the smear on his cheekbone is gone and his raven’s wing hair is slicked back wetly, exposing the sharp symmetry of his striking features.
Greedily, my eyes trace over his face, from the thick black slashes of his eyebrows to the full, sensuous shape of his mouth. For once, it’s not curved in that dark, cynical way of his; instead, the smile on his lips is warm, tinged with unsettling tenderness.
“I had Pavel warm up some leftovers and prepare a selection of different snacks,” he says, crossing the room toward me as I reflexively power off the TV. His deep, rough-silk voice is like a caress to my ears, so much more pleasant than the newscaster’s strident tones. Placing the tray on my nightstand, he takes a seat next to me and begins uncovering the dishes one by one. “I figured you might be dealing with some nausea, so I have some plain toast here as well.”
Wow. Could he be any more considerate? If I hadn’t seen him kill and torture with my own eyes, I would’ve never believed him capable of such cruelty—even with that dark, dangerous vibe I kept getting from him.
“Thank you,” I murmur, trying not to think of his hands wielding a blade that sliced open a man as he extends the tray toward me, letting me pick what I want. There’s everything from cut-up fruit to stuffed blintzes to cold cuts and various cheeses, but I am still nauseated, especially with the gruesome images refusing to leave my mind, so I just grab the plain toast and a handful of grapes.
He watches me eat with an approving half-smile, and I try not to think about how warm that smile makes me feel—and not just in a sexual way. It’s an illusion, this feeling of safety and comfort he gives me, a leftover from when I thought he was a good man who just had trouble connecting with his young son.
I was beginning to fall for that man.
No. I’m lying to myself. I did fall for him, so much so that even with Alina’s terrifying revelations ringing in my ears, I had turned my car around and was heading back here when the assassins ambushed me.
His own sister told me he was a monster, and I didn’t believe her. I didn’t want to believe her.
I still don’t.
“Where’s Slava? How is he?” I ask, choosing the most innocuous topic I can think of. There are so many things we need to discuss, from Bransford’s motivations to whether or not I’m a prisoner here, but I’m not ready to go there yet.
That last question, in particular, is too disturbing to contemplate at the moment.
“He’s just returned from a walk with Lyudmila,” Nikolai replies. “Alina had her take him away before our arrival.”
“Ah, good.” I was worried the child might’ve seen us from his window. “What will you tell him about… you know?” I wave at my sling with my left hand.
“We’ll just say you fell on a branch.” His jaw tightens. “I’d rather he didn’t know you left him.”
“I didn’t—” I stop, because I did. I was coming back, but Nikolai doesn’t know that. Nor am I planning to tell him.
I don’t want him to know how easily he’d fooled me, how even now, a part of me refuses to believe that he’s a killer as ruthless as the men who’d murdered my mom.
His tiger eyes narrow with speculative interest. “You didn’t what?”
“Nothing.” The word comes out unconvincingly fast. I scramble to cover it up. “I just meant, I didn’t leave him.”
It’s as if a thundercloud passes over Nikolai’s face, blocking out all light and warmth. His gaze turns shuttered, his magnificent features taking on a statue-like hardness. “Right. You left me. Because of what Alina told you.”