Nicolai's hand shot out, steadying me without completely taking over. Progress, I supposed. Last week he would have simply scooped me up without asking.
"You're still recovering from massive neural strain," he reminded me, his grip on my elbow firm but gentle. "Dr. Petrov said—"
"Dr. Petrov can kiss my electronically gifted ass," I interrupted. "I've been in that bed for over a month. I'm using the bathroom on my own even if it kills me."
"That's precisely what I'm worried about."
I took a step forward, then another. My legs trembled, but they held. The bathroom door seemed miles away, but I was determined to reach it without Nicolai carrying me like a damsel in distress.
I made it exactly four steps before my left leg decided it had fulfilled its contractual obligations for the day and promptly went on strike.
Nicolai's arms were around me before I could fall, one large hand splayed across my stomach, the other gripping my arm. His chest pressed against my back, solid and warm and infuriatingly necessary.
"Don't," I warned, sensing he was about to lift me. "I can do this."
"You're the most stubborn human I've ever encountered," he growled near my ear, the vibration of his chest against my back sending an entirely inappropriate shiver down my spine.
"That's why you love me," I replied without thinking, then froze as I realized what I'd said.
He'd whispered those words to me during my coma, not knowing I could hear him. We hadn't discussed it since I'd awakened. The elephant in the room had just trumpeted loudly.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then his arms tightened fractionally. "Yes," he said simply. "It is."
My heart did another one of those inconvenient flips.
I cleared my throat. "Bathroom, before I embarrass myself in an entirely different way."
I felt more than heard his sigh as his massive arms shifted, preparing to lift me.
"For the last time, I don't need to be carried to the bathroom," I snapped, frustration making the lights flicker again.
"Humor me," he growled, the words rumbling through his chest and into mine.
That voice. That damn voice. It sent heat pooling low in my belly despite my irritation, my body responding to him even as my pride bristled.
My fingers twitched with frustration, green energy crackling between them. The television across the room suddenly turned on, blaring a home shopping channel at full volume. The ceiling fan began spinning at top speed, and every digital clock in the bedroom reset to 12:00, flashing in unison.
Nicolai raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the electronic chaos I'd created. "And you wonder why I'm concerned."
I exhaled slowly, reining in the energy that leaked from me when my emotions ran high. The television fell silent. The fan slowed. The clocks stopped their synchronized flashing.
"Fine," I conceded, deflating slightly. "Carry me, but this is the last time."
I refused to acknowledge how safe I felt as he lifted me effortlessly, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. Or how my body fit perfectly against his chest. Or how my head automatically found that spot between his neck and shoulder that seemed made for me.
"This doesn't mean you're right," I muttered against his collar.
"Of course not," he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice without seeing it.
Bastard.
But as he carried me to the bathroom with the careful precision of someone transporting priceless art, I couldn't completely suppress the warmth that spread through me.
For someone who'd spent his life alone, Nicolai Aleksandrovich was disturbingly good at making me feel treasured.
Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.
