The answer was clipped, evasive.Lena frowned, but she didn’t push.Stubborn man.
“Take off your shirt,” she said instead.
He lifted his gaze to her hers again.A flicker of something, surprise, maybe, crossed his face.
“You’re helping me,” he said, like he was testing the words.
Lena exhaled sharply.
“You’ll bleed out if I don’t,” she replied.“And I’m pretty sure that doesn’t help either of us.Besides, my father taught me to always help someone in need.That’s you, despite everything you’ve done to me.”
A beat of silence passed.Then, slowly, he reached for the hem of his shirt.He pulled it off in one smooth motion.Lena’s breath hitched.
She hadn’t expected the way his body was built, muscle layered cleanly over strength that spoke of discipline and violence.Not even the ink that traced along his skin, dark patterns curling across his shoulder and down his side.
Her eyes dropped immediately to the wound.
Focus, she silently told herself.The wound, that’s what mattered and not his hot body.There was a deep gash along his ribs, the edges angry and raw.It wasn’t clean.
Her hands moved before she could overthink it.She reached for the antiseptic, her fingers brushing briefly against his unexpectedly warm skin.
He didn’t flinch, hell, Maksim didn’t react at all.Which somehow made her more aware of every movement she made.
“This is going to hurt,” she said.
“Do it,” he ordered.
So she did.The moment the antiseptic touched the wound, his body tensed just slightly, but she felt it under her fingertips.That was proof he wasn’t untouchable, not entirely.
Lena worked in silence after that, cleaning the wound as carefully as she could.The room seemed smaller now, the space between them charged with something she didn’t want to name.
Her focus narrowed to the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and the warmth of his skin beneath her hands.The quiet between them that felt heavier than words.
“Hold still,” she murmured at one point, pressing a clean cloth to the wound.
“I am,” he argued.
She glanced up at him, and their eyes met.For a moment, everything stilled.She realized she wasn’t afraid of him like before.Something else had taken its place, an emotion that was certainly more dangerous.Curiosity.
Maksim watched her like he was trying to understand something that didn’t make sense.
“You should’ve let me bleed to death,” he said suddenly.The words were calm, matter of fact even.
Lena blinked.“What?”
“If I am weak,” he continued, “it would be easier for you.”
She tightened on the cloth.
“What the hell?”she asked, her voice sharper now.“You should be thanking me, not telling me I should’ve let you die.”
“Thank you,” Maksim muttered, and he even sounded like he meant it.
Silence fell again.She finished bandaging the wound, her movements slowing as she secured the last strip of gauze.
“There,” she said, stepping back slightly.“Try not to reopen it.”
He didn’t respond immediately but merely studied her like she was an interesting specimen he came upon.
