Page 86 of Marrying the Savage

His eyes lift to mine. “Can you?”

“No. But I thought starting with confidence might help.”

He doesn’t move. “Were you looking for something specific,” he asks, “or are you committing crimes recreationally now?”

I set the photograph down carefully. “Is snooping a crime?”

“In my study, yes.”

“Seems biased.”

“Sofia.”

My name in his voice should not affect me, but it does. It rolls through the room, low and warning, and my body reacts before my pride can stop it.

I lift my chin. “Maybe if people in this house answered questions, I wouldn’t have to wander into forbidden rooms.”

“This is not forbidden.”

“Really?”

“No.” His gaze flicks over me. “But you knew you should not be here.”

That is annoyingly accurate.

“I was exploring.”

“You were searching.”

“For a library.”

“You found my desk.”

“It was on the way.”

“To what?”

“Knowledge.”

A muscle moves in his jaw. Not anger, exactly. Something sharper.

“Don’t play with me,” he says.

My pulse picks up. “I’m not playing.”

“No,” he says, stepping forward. “You are digging.”

I take one step back. Mistake.

His eyes drop to the movement. I keep backing up anyway, because the space between us has changed, tightened, charged. I hit the wall beside the bookcase sooner than expected.

Excellent. Wonderful. Strategic retreat failed by architecture.

Damir keeps coming until he’s close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. He places one hand on the wall beside my face. Not touching me. Trapping me anyway.

“Did you enjoy interrogating Grigori?” he asks.

My stomach flips. So he knows that too.