Page 37

Wrapping the bandage around his ribs, I keep the pressure firm and even. “Was I really that forgettable?”

Alexei catches the end of the roll before it slips. “No.”

I shake my head and take it back. “You answered quickly because you want the argument finished.”

He holds my gaze. “I answered quickly because the answer is no.”

I tug the wrap across his side. “You remember green eyes and champagne.”

Alexei’s attention moves over my face. “I remember your mouth against the glass.”

My fingers slip once.

Alexei keeps watching me. “I remember your voice near my ear, and I remember anger that sounded exactly like this.”

I tie the knot a little tighter than necessary. “Fragments are little comfort when I carried the whole night for almost four years.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then why didn’t you look for me?”

The truth rises so fast, I nearly say it.

I did look. I found his surname and the Volkov Bratva, then I found two lines on a pregnancy test and decided my child would never become leverage in a war he couldn’t understand.

Instead, I keep my eyes on my hands and snip the end. “I had no full name, no promise, and no reason to believe you wanted to be found.”

Alexei reaches for the loose end. “You left no surname either. No number. No address.”

The accusation is fair, which makes me angrier. I crouch beside him, open the fastening along the leg of his recovery trousers, and peel back the dressing over his thigh. The wound is clean, but I press around the edge anyway. I pull off both gloves and drop them onto the tray.

He catches my wrist and stills my hand. “Stop punishing my stitches for my memory.”

I pull once against his grip. “Your stitches are the only part of you accepting consequences.”

His thumb rests over my pulse, and neither of us moves.

I should pull away, but his shirt is open, his body is close, and the chess knight on his ribs is inches from my free hand. His fever-warm skin presses against my fingers, and my pulse begins to race.

Alexei looks at my mouth.

I remember his hands, his patience, and the way wanting him felt safe for one reckless night. My body knows every missing piece he can’t reach, and I hate that I want him to find them.

I try to step back, but his grip tightens enough to stop me. The humor leaves his face, and his attention settles fully on me.

His thumb presses once over my racing pulse. “Tell me why I know the sound you make when you’re angry.”

8

VERA

“Because you heard it when your hand was between my legs,” I say.

Alexei’s fingers tighten around my wrist. His eyes stay on mine, and I can’t decide whether to pull away or climb into his lap.

“Say it again.” He draws me closer.

“Wait.” I glance at the cannula taped to his forearm. “If you pull that out, I’m not replacing it.”

His mouth curves. “That would hurt me briefly and deprive you of another reason to put your hands on me.”