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Then we started eating, sitting together on his bed. He ate everything faster than I expected, and even licked a little of the sauce off his finger with a flick of his tongue. I couldn’t help but watch and stare, wondering what else he could do with that tongue. He glanced at me, and our eyes met briefly.
What the fuck, Elise. Seriously.
"Sorry, I was so freaking hungry," he explained, looking a bit embarrassed. He hadn’t touched breakfast due to nausea, so of course he was.
“Do you want more? When someone eats well, it means they’re getting better.”
“Or it means someone is taking good care of them,” he said gratefully.
I smiled and took both of our plates.
“Let me take those into the kitchen, then I’ll check your wound on your back.”
I put the dishes in the kitchen sink and cleaned them. When I returned to the bedroom, I found him taking his antibiotics with a big swig of the bottle of whiskey next to his bed. He held it up to me.
“I figured you might want some after last night,” he explained.
I walked closer and sat on the bed next to him, accepting the bottle with a big swig of my own.
“Jesus, that’s strong.” I coughed. He laughed out loud, for the first time since I met him.
“It’s South African. You’ll never have a whiskey like this one again.”
“No shit.” I coughed, taking another swig. The burning sensation turned into a warm, nice buzz.
“Turn around,” I said. He rolled over and put his head in his hands. Carefully, I lifted the bandage and peeked at the wound. Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that he was out of the woods, but for the first time, I realized how fucking muscular he was. Gently, I placed my other hand on his back and ran it around the area of his wound. He tensed under my touch.
“L-looks great,” I said, letting my eyes wander over his tattooed back all the way to his butt. No doubt it was as steel hard as the rest of him.
“Turn around so I can check the front one,” I said, knowing damn well he could check that one himself. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he rolled onto his back. Carefully, I placed one hand on his abdomen and checked his wound under the bandage with my other.
Maybe my mind was messed up from months of running, because after checking the wound on his ridiculously muscular chest, I still lingered there, looking at his body. My left hand was still resting on his abdomen. I felt something under my touch, a scar of some sort. I looked at it and rubbed the darkened skin gently.
He lifted his head and looked at me with serious eyes.
“That’s not a good idea, Elise,” he said in a low voice. I was drunk with lust as my finger ran gently over his abs to another scar.
“Elise...” he warned again. “I’m not the sort of man you want to be with. Those scars are proof.”
God, how wrong he was. I wanted this man to touch me, hold me, and vow he would never let any harm come to me ever again. How could anything be so fucking sexy like Andrei fucking Kowtisch?
I grabbed his hand and gently placed it under my shirt onto my belly. The scars Marcello had left, to be precise.
"So are mine,” I said in a soft tone.
The moment he felt the first scar on my belly, he shot up into a sitting position. At first, I thought he was grossed out, so I pulled away, but he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me right back next to him. Then he lifted my shirt up.
“Are those... cigarette burn marks?” His eyes darkened.
I nodded.
“Who... the fuck did this to you?”
“My husband. He would put out his cigarettes on my stomach every time I dared to defy him. He did it there on purpose so nobody else could see them.” I pulled the shirt back down and avoided his gaze. I was more embarrassed now than I thought I would be when I started operation “seduce bad-ass assassin.” I never let others see those scars. And after Marcello, I hadn’t let any man touch me either.
My confidence was pretty much below zero now. Shit. This man could have any woman... What the hell made me think he wanted broken leftovers like me?
“I’m... sorry,” I mumbled and was about to leave when Andrei pulled me into his arms.
