“I am scary.”
“Not to him.” I step into the shower, and the water is almost too hot. Roman’s hands find my waist immediately, pulling me against his chest so the spray drums against my back, and his mouth hovers an inch from mine. “You’re going to be his brother. His family. You don’t get to be scary to family.”
He kisses me instead of answering. Slow and deep and thorough, that makes my knees weak and my brain go quiet.
I love him.
The thought surfaces unbidden, and I don’t push it down. I let it sit. Let it breathe. Let myself imagine what it might feel like to say those words out loud to a man who signs death warrants with the same hand that’s currently cradling my jaw.
“Roman,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Hmm.”
“I need to change your bandage. I’m serious. The wound looks—”
“Later.”
“Now.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “Five more minutes,” he says. “Then you can torture me with antiseptic all you want.”
I lean up and press my lips to the corner of his mouth, and his grip tightens on my waist, and the steam wraps around us both. For one perfect suspended moment, I let myself believe this might actually work.
The hotel phone rings from the bedroom.
Roman’s head turns toward the sound. His hands don’t move from my body.
“Ignore it,” he says.
“It might be Luka.”
“Luka left for medical supplies an hour ago. He won’t be back until tonight. And he’d use the secure line, not the hotel switchboard.”
“It might be—”
“Anya.” He tips my chin up with wet fingers, forcing my eyes to his. “Whoever it is can wait. You’re the only thing that matters right now.”
The phone keeps ringing. Shrill. Insistent.
“Fuck.” I pull back, and his hands slide reluctantly off my hips. I step out of the shower with water streaming down mylegs and grab the towel he left on the counter. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
I wrap the towel around myself and pad barefoot into the bedroom, dripping on the carpet, already annoyed at whoever decided forty-three hours wasn’t enough time to let us breathe.
The hotel phone sits on the nightstand. I pick it up.
“Front desk, Mrs. Volkov. I have a call transferred for you. The gentleman says it’s urgent family business.”
Before I can answer, the line clicks over.
“Check your messages.”
Vadim’s voice slithers through the speaker, and my grip tightens on the receiver.
“How did you find us?”
“I find everything eventually. Surely you’ve learned that by now.” A pause. The soft clink of ice against crystal. “Open the file I sent to your phone. Then we’ll discuss whether my nephew’s little war means anything beyond theater.”
