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“First, we get you cleaned up.”
I want to protest, but I’m sore, and I need to know exactly how much damage was done. Once we’re both inside the room, it suddenly feels far too small. Maxim turns and stares at me. He slides a hand under my jaw and tilts my head to the side so he can inspect the damage. I avoid making eye contact, feeling a little odd being this close to him.
“I don’t think you need stitches, but the bruising will last a few weeks. I’ll call for ice. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I hesitate for a second, but it’s just long enough for Maxim to answer his own question. He growls low.
“Show me.”
“Maxim, I said I’m fine. I just need—what the fuck?”
His hands move to the hem of my shirt. Before I can stop him, he has the material pushed up to underneath my breasts. He curses, a long string of profanity mixing both English and Russian, making me grin. I can’t help but find his anger at me being hurt adorable.
“You think this is funny?” He looks at me incredulously.
“No, I think you getting angry over me being hurt funny, when five minutes ago I thought you were here to kill me.”
“I do not kill people who haven’t earned a dance with the Grim Reaper.”
He drops into a squat, his large hands sliding around my waist, making me flashback to another room with another man.
I pull back and move to grab the material of my shirt, but he stands up and presses me back against the sink.
He murmurs something in Russian that sounds likeshh ahn-gyiland then switches back to English. “I feel your panic, but it is not needed. I won’t hurt you.”
My heart thuds in my chest. It’s not fear that he’ll hurt me that’s freaking me out, it’s fear of something else altogether. I scramble for something to say and latch onto his words.
“What doesahn-gyilmean?” Because of the nature of my job, I know multiple languages, but Russian has always eluded me. I do know a few words, though I have never heard this one.
He winks at me before squatting back down and slowly lifting the hem of my T-shirt once more. He doesn’t curse this time as he takes in the bruises, but his facial expression can only be described as murderous.
“I want to kill whoever did this to you. I want to rip out their fingernails and feed them to the assholes one by one.”
“Okay.”
“Then I would move on to their fingers before I made them eat their own intestines.”
“And they say romance is dead,” I tease, smiling, which drops when I remember that I’m a married woman.
“Women want hearts, no? I would bring you a heart.”
“Why do I get the feeling you don’t mean the chocolate kind? And I’m married, remember?”
“Yes, so you say, but nobody seems to know this. Therefore, it stands to reason you tell me this lie because you feel threatened.”
“And lying about being married would achieve what, exactly?”
He stands up, dropping his voice lower as he presses me against the counter again. “Well, you might assume an honorable man wouldn’t touch you if you belonged to another.”
“I belong to no one.” I walk into the trap he sets.
“That’s what I thought.” He grins before he slams his mouth down over mine.
I freeze, my shock rendering me unable to do anything for a second. I shove against his chest, but the man is like a brick wall. He nibbles my lip and tugs it between his teeth. Foolishly, I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off. That leaves me open to his tongue sliding inside.
Naturally, he takes advantage of the situation by grinding his hard dick against me. That’s okay, though. I take advantage of the situation too, by sliding my hands up the back of his shirt and pulling the gun free from the holster he’s wearing. I click off the safety and press it to his head in one swift move.
By the time the sound registers in his brain, it’s too late. “You make me lose my mind,” he mumbles against my lips.
