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Then she rolls her window up and drives away.
I’m not sure how long I lie there. I close my eyes against the rain and take deep breaths. Maybe I fall asleep, maybe I pass out. I’m not sure. The only thing I know is that sometime later, I wake up to two huge, warm hands on either side of my face.
“Rayne? Can you hear me?”
Is that Kirill’s voice or the rumble of thunder?
“Rayne. Wake up.”
It’s Kirill. I smell him now. Even over the damp scent of gutter that clings to me, I can make out the notes of oak and spice that radiate off of him.
When he picks me up, I don’t even fight it. He wraps his strong arms around my body and curls me against his chest. I’m wet and dirty, and I’m sure he’s wearing a thousand-dollar shirt just because he can. But I don’t care that I’m ruining it.
I press my face to his chest and breathe in deep.
“You’re not dead, then,” he says. There’s amusement in his voice. But relief, too. “Good to know.”
I fist his shirt and cling to him. I only realize I’m shivering when he tightens his hold on me and presses me deeper into his warmth.
I’m vaguely aware we’re moving. The moment we step out of the rain and into the house, my body wakes up. I notice his wet footsteps across the marble floor and his deep, even breathing. I was allowing myself to float between sleeping and consciousness before, but now, I’m alert. My muscles tense and my heart starts to race.
“Relax,” Kirill says, somehow sensing my panic. “I’m going to take care of you.”
“I heard rumors you were some kind of crime boss,” I slur. “Now, I know you are.”
“What are you—” Kirill snorts. “Oh.Take care of you. I get it.”
“Like in the mobster movies,” I explain.
He shakes his head. “Good to know you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
He carries me up the stairs like I weigh nothing and then we’re in his room. I assume he’s going to sit me on the bed, but he walks past it and heads straight for the master bathroom.
Immediately, I try to wriggle out of his arms. “What are you doing?”
Kirill’s grip is like iron around me. “Making sure you don’t die of hypothermia or gangrene on my watch. Is that alright with you?”
“Gangrene? But I’m—”
He hooks his hand under my knee and lifts my calf up. The entire right seam is ripped open and my white sock is soaked with blood. I don’t have the stomach to look at the wound.
“How deep is it?” I ask. “Is it broken? Is the bone showing? Will I need stitches?”
He sets me on the edge of the tub and reaches around me to turn on the water. “This is a far cry from the last time you hurt yourself. ‘I’m fine. I can walk. I’ll take care of myself.’You’ve changed your tune.”
“I don’t like blood,” I admit. “But that wound was on the back of my head. It made it easier to avoid.”
“Then sit back and let me handle this one.”
Kirill grabs the waistband of my pants and slides them down my legs with medical precision. He’s so professional that I don’t think about what he’s doing until he’s on his knees in front of me with my ankle resting on his shoulder.
My libido, confident we’re not going to die, peeks her head out.Well, hello there.
I stare at the ceiling and do my best to moderate my breathing. Kirill runs a washcloth under warm water and washes my calf. As bizarre as it sounds, it might be the single most erotic moment of my life. His touch is sure, but gentle. I wonder what it would feel like everywhere.
Viktoria.Her name is a death rattle in my brain. The last vestiges of my good sense crying out before I’m lost to the fantasy of this man.
“Where’s Viktoria?” I blurt.
